I let out a growling exhale and flex my fists at my sides. The crack of my knuckles is the only response needed to remind Rooney who dictates the rules here.
“I didn’t mean to—you’re dependable. A man of your word. That’s all I’m saying.” Rooney looks away nervously, and I see the moment his eyes catch on something over my shoulder.
He frowns, his brows knitting together. Then his eyes go wide. “What the f—who is that?”
Before I spin around, I already know.
Only one person under my roof would be stupid enough to eavesdrop on this conversation.
Timofey’s office isn’t quite so intimidating without him sitting behind the desk.
The desk chair is warm, worn leather and massive like an emperor’s throne. I can see the imprint of his broad shoulders on the back and similar wear and tear in t
