ROOSEVELT’S POV
I stood outside the glass doors of the suite, holding the black folder tightly against my chest.
It was Tuesday morning. I hadn't seen Zyran since I spotted him standing across the street from the restaurant yesterday. He hadn't called, texted, or sent his guards.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked twice and pushed the door open.
Zyran was sitting behind his desk, typing on his laptop. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. When he heard the door open, he paused and looked up.
His dark eyes locked onto mine. For a moment, I saw a burning hunger flash in his gaze. But he blinked, and it quickly shifted to professionalism.
"Good morning, Ms. Evans," Zyran said, his voice smooth and steady. He gestured to the chair across from him. "Please, have a seat."
I walke
