The silence in the suite was deafening.
Malia’s pulse thundered in her ears, the phone still hot in her hand. Andrew’s voice had been a hiss seconds before, dripping with fury and threats, and now it hung in the air like smoke she couldn’t wave away. But the problem wasn’t Andrew anymore.
It was Kieth.
He stood in the doorway like a shadow made flesh, lean lines of power drawn in the sharp cut of his suit, his gaze locked on her as if he could peel her open with his eyes alone. He hadn’t moved. He didn’t need to. His presence filled the room, swallowed the air, made her throat dry.
“Malia,” he said finally, low, calm, almost conversational. But it wasn’t. There was an edge beneath the quiet, one that made her hand tremble around the phone. “Who were you talking to?”
Her mind scrambled
