Primal Instinct

2- INTERVIEW

When the elevator doors finally opened, I forgot to breathe for a second.

The entire floor was one long expanse of open space and glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around in an unbroken line, the mountains and forest spread out in a panoramic sweep that made my chest tighten. The sky was a pale, hazy blue. The trees were a deep, endless green. We were so high up, the rest of the town looked like scattered toys in the valley.

There were desks and offices, yes—glass partitions, dark wood furniture, people moving with quiet purpose. But the only thing my eyes locked onto was the figure standing by the far window, back turned to me.

Black suit. Broad shoulders. Hands clasped loosely behind his back. The faint glint of a gold chain at his collar, catching the light.

"Ms. Carter," he said, without turning. "You're late."

The voice hit me first—smooth, rich, calm in that way that wasn't truly calm. The kind of voice used to being listened to. The kind of voice you either obeyed or learned to regret ignoring.

I forced my feet to carry me forward. "Traffic," I replied, because it was true and because my mouth had a mind of its own. "The mountain roads are not exactly straight and the service was terrible when I hit the treeline."

His head tilted a fraction, like he was considering that. "You left Atlanta at four a.m." It wasn't a question.

I stopped walking. "How did you—?"

He turned. For a moment, the room, the windows, the whole damn mountain went quiet.

He was beautiful in a way that was almost wrong. Dark bronze skin, smooth and unblemished, high cheekbones, a sharp jaw dusted with the faintest hint of stubble. His mouth was full, curved in a line that wasn't quite a frown but definitely not a smile. His suit fit like it had been sewn directly onto his body. Black, tailored, the jacket hugging wide shoulders and a chest that wasn't just gym-built, but something else. Something powerful.

And his eyes, my God. They were dark brown at first glance, deep and cold. But as they met mine, something flickered in them. Silver, quick and bright, like moonlight caught on a blade.

My breath caught. Something in my chest jerked, then stilled. For a heartbeat, it felt like my heart had been waiting for this, for him to look at me, to see me. Which was ridiculous. I'd never been in the same room as this man in my life.

Still, the hum under my skin surged, sharpening into a low buzz.

"Four fifteen," he said, watching me. "You got onto the interstate at four fifteen. You would've been on time if you hadn't stopped."

"I needed coffee," I said automatically.

His gaze dropped to the travel mug in my hand, then lifted back to my face. "You prefer hazelnut."

That made my spine straighten. "Did my references tell you that too?"

This time, the corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. More like the ghost of one. "I read your file."

I scoffed before I could stop myself. "I didn't send you my coffee order."

Something in the air shifted. It wasn't obvious. The room didn't suddenly go dark, the windows didn't rattle. But the hairs on the back of my neck rose, and the hum in my veins spiked. For a second, I would've sworn the temperature dropped ten degrees.

He stepped closer.

Not much. Just one measured step away from the window and toward me. It felt like he'd crossed a battlefield.

"Sit," he said, nodding to the sleek black chair in front of his desk.

I sat, mostly because my legs had started to feel like they didn't entirely belong to me. He rounded the desk with slow, unhurried grace and took his own seat, the leather chair barely whispering under his weight. The faint glint of a gold grill flashed when his lips parted—subtle on his bottom teeth, a gleam of metal when he spoke.

"Tell me," he said, steepling his fingers. "Why did you leave your last position?"

Straight to it, then. No small talk. No "how was your drive," no "did you find the place okay?"

I swallowed. "I... needed a change."

His expression didn't move. "That's vague."

"I was there eight years," I said. "I hit the ceiling. There were no promotions available, no movement. It was time."

He watched me like he was watching numbers on a screen. Like he could see past the words into the spaces between them.

Something in my chest twisted.

"And personally?" he asked. "What made you choose Crystal Lunar Springs instead of staying in the city?"

I hesitated. This wasn't an HR questionnaire. This was the CEO. The man whose signature had been on the offer letter that had upended my life.

He tilted his head. "You relocated quite suddenly. You resigned before you secured housing. That suggests urgency. Or impulsiveness."

"Or courage," I shot back, before I could stop myself.

One of his eyebrows lifted, just a fraction. The hum in my veins turned into a spark, sharp and bright.

"I was in a relationship," I said, hearing my own voice flatten. "Five years. We were supposed to be building something. A life. A future."

His gaze didn't soften. "Supposed to be."

"He wasn't ready," I said, the old, familiar words burning my tongue. "Not for marriage, not for commitment, not for anything that required more than convenience. He wanted options, and I was tired of being a placeholder while he figured himself out with every girl who gave him a chance."

I hadn't meant to say that much. Especially not to a stranger. But once I started, it was hard to stop. The drive, the early morning, the mountains– it all loosened something in me.

His jaw tightened.

"If he wasn't ready," Trenton said calmly, "then you didn't have a relationship. You had a bad habit."

The words hit harder than they should have. Partly because they were true. Partly because of what happened next.

The air changed again.

It rolled through the room like a silent wave, pressing against my skin. The hum in my chest jumped. And from somewhere deep within him, from his chest, his throat, his very bones a sound leaked out.

It wasn't loud. Not fully formed. More vibration than noise. A low, guttural rumble, barely audible, but unmistakable.

A growl.

I froze.

His eyes flashed silver, much brighter this time, almost luminescent—before darkening back to brown. He exhaled, a short, sharp breath, and the sound cut off. When he spoke again, his voice was steady, clipped, like nothing had happened.

"Your attachments," he said, "are irrelevant here. Freight Technology Distributions doesn't care who hurt you. It cares how well you execute.. We want to make sure your focus is here and not somewhere else. Distractions will not be tolerated."

Heat climbed my throat. Embarrassment. Annoyance. A flicker of something else I didn't want to name.

"I know how to do my job, Mr. Steele," I said quietly.

He held my gaze for a long beat. The tension between us stretched tight, thin as glass.

Then, without warning, it snapped.

He stood, the movement smooth and unhurried. Walked around the desk. Stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back slightly to keep looking at his face.

"Stand up," he said.

Every sensible instinct in me, the part that had dealt with arrogant bosses and manipulative exes and men who thought volume equaled authority, wanted to balk at the order. To say, ask nicely. To remind him that I was being recruited, not drafted.

But there was something different here. His words didn't feel like a threat. They felt like a fact. Like gravity.

I stood.

He extended his hand. "Welcome to Freight Technology Distributions, Ms. Carter."

His palm was large, dark, calloused in a way that didn't fit perfectly with boardrooms and bespoke suits. When my hand slid into his, the contact was like flipping a switch.

The hum in my skin roared.

Heat shot up my arm, down my spine, pooling low in my belly. Every hair on my body stood on end. My breath hitched. My heart tripped, then sprinted, skipping a beat before catching up. It felt like the world tilted, like the floor under my feet shifted sideways a fraction of an inch.

His expression didn't change. But his fingers tightened around mine for a heartbeat, just enough to let me know that he felt it too. The silver flicker returned to his eyes, sharper, like a crack in the surface of something contained.

Then he let go.

"You'll be staying at the estate," he said, already turning away. "Corporate housing for relocated staff."

"Estate?" I echoed, trying to get my pulse under control. "Like... a house?"

"Like a compound," he corrected. "Crystal Lunar Springs is small. Proximity is efficient."

I frowned. "I can find my own place."

He picked up his phone, dismissing my protest as easily as he'd dismissed my five-year mistake. "Someone will collect you before sunset. Be ready."

And just like that, I was excused.

I walked back to the elevator on unsteady legs, the hum inside me finally thinning but not disappearing. As the doors slid shut, I caught one last glimpse of him standing by the window again, silhouetted against the mountains.

He looked... alone.

The thought surprised me.