ROOSEVELT’S POV

I stood outside the glass doors of the suite, holding the black folder tightly against my chest.

It was Tuesday morning. I hadn't seen Zyran since I spotted him standing across the street from the restaurant yesterday. He hadn't called, texted, or sent his guards.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked twice and pushed the door open.

Zyran was sitting behind his desk, typing on his laptop. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. When he heard the door open, he paused and looked up.

His dark eyes locked onto mine. For a moment, I saw a burning hunger flash in his gaze. But he...