BEATRICE
He's stretched out in one of the corner chairs like he owns the building, Legs sprawled, fingers tapping against a closed textbook like the world moves to his rhythm. His jacket is draped carelessly over the back of the chair.
Of course he's early. Of course he looks like trouble dipped in charm.
I stop across from him and let my bag hit the table with a satisfying thud. "Let’s get this over with."
Xavier lifts his head, one brow arched like I'm amusing. "You wound me."
I sit, flipping open my notebook like he's not even here. "If I aim better next time, maybe I'll finish the job."
He chuckles. It’s low. Too easy. "You always this warm?" I don't answer. No point wasting words on someone who thinks this is a game. I reach for my pen, not looking at him. "Just focus."
"On the
