The word hung in the air between us. Stay.
I stayed.
But Damian didn't look at me like he'd said something soft. His jaw was still tight, his shoulders set. The glass of whiskey was back in his hand, and he swirled it slowly, watching the liquid like it had answers.
"Sit," he said, nodding toward the chair across from his desk. Not the couch. Not near him.
I walked over and sat. The leather was cold. I waited.
He pulled out his phone, typed something, then tossed it onto the desk. The silence stretched until it felt like a living thing. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I folded them in my lap.
"You're wondering why I asked you to stay," he said, not looking at me.
"Yes."
"I needed the noise in my head to stop. You're quiet. That's rare."
It wasn't a compliment. It was an
