Elena’s POV
If you looked up the definition of smugness, it would have been Dax leaning against the edge of his desk at five o’clock sharp on Friday evening.
Arms crossed. Tie loosened. A smirk that could curdle milk.
“So,” he drawled, eyes sweeping over me like he was peeling off my skin. “Where’s this boyfriend of yours? Or is he perhaps invisible?”
I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, refusing to let him see the way my palms were sweating. “He’s not invisible,” I said sweetly. “Unlike some people, he doesn’t spend all his free time hovering over me.”
Dax’s brow ticked, but his smirk didn’t falter. “Hovering? That’s a creative word for protecting what’s mine.”
I rolled my eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t get stuck. “Newsflash, Mr. Valiente—some wome
