But he didn't close the door. Didn't lock it. Just started emptying the trash can by the door, moving mechanically, his movements stiff.
The tension in the room was suffocating.
I tried to focus on my laptop, but I could feel his awareness of me. The way his eyes would flick toward my desk every few seconds. The way his breathing had changed.
He moved to the trash can beside my desk. Close now. Close enough that I caught his scent—not cologne, just clean sweat and laundry detergent and something masculine that made my thighs clench together.
"Long night?" I asked, my voice softer than usual.
"Same as always." His voice was tight. Controlled.
"You work every night?"
"Five nights a week." He tied off the trash bag but didn't move away. "You work late a lot."
"The Harrison merger is..
