Page 77 of Defended By Love

Finally, we reach the seventh floor, and the door opens. I release the breath that I’ve been semi-holding for the last minute.

“Excuse m—” I start.

The tall, scarred man just reaches forward and taps the close door button. “You think just anyone gets to enter my domain?” He shifts his body. In that shift is more threat than anything overt every could offer. He exudes power and strength. Like he said, I’m in his domain and he is filled with the power of being its king. “Would you like to tell me how a little fly that I’ve never seen has come buzzing up to a place it ought not to be?”

He takes a slight step forward, his tall frame casting reaching fingers of shadow over me, clutching me with its grip. In that moment, I know without a doubt that he is a man who is capable of absolutely anything.

Unluckily for him, I love a challenge.

“Are you forcibly detaining me here?” I ask, taking a half step towards him.

The tall man’s lips twitch and his eyes flash with an echo of what might have once been human emotion.

“Why would you think that?”

“Isn’t it reasonable that one could construe that pressing the ‘door close’ button and the ensuing question could be ascertained as a poorly veiled attempt to detain me here against my will for unconsented questioning?”

Again, the corner of his mouth twitches. Whatever emotion he’s feeling doesn’t reach his eyes. It could be the beginning of a smile. It could be the beginning of a murderous bellow of rage. It could be gas. I have no way of knowing.

“Is that how my actions might be construed?” He reaches towards the buttons, but this time presses the door open button.

When I walk out of the elevator and into the lobby that’s the central hub for all the legal offices, I’m immediately struck by the view. The far wall is made up entirely of windows that stretch impossibly skyward. While the eye socket looks big from the shore, it’s unimaginably immense from within. Winding staircases extend the offices upwards just as much as they stretch horizontally. Single offices lie suspended in bricks of glass at regular intervals along the staircases.

As amazing as those are, they hold none of my interest. Nothing of note in a law firm is walled in by glass. No, the good stuff is couched in concrete and swaddled in shadow.

Trying to look as practiced as possible, I casually steer myself towards the only wing that has a hallway that leads away from the windowed wall. The room that Grant confirms to be a records room of sorts. If there’s dirt, that’s where it’ll be.

“You can’t really expect me to afford you open access, can you?”

I turn towards him, adopting my best bored, but also surprised look. While I give my him my best raised eyebrow, I secretly contemplate my chances at a successful run towards the records room. There isn’t any security up here—the keycard negated the need for that—but I doubt I’d come across anything of use by the time they could get security up here.

“Would you join me in my office?” he asks in a way that is most certainly not a question, gesturing to a main office right up against the window. It even has a glass-floored balcony that overlooks the whole façade.

I was really hoping that office would be his.

“Let’s call this a professional courtesy that we have this chat sans the presence of my security team for the moment, shall we?”

Since I’m nothing if not professional, I follow him into his office.

Which was exactly my plan all along.

Chapter 34

Despite the fact that I’ve already met him, I’m struck by how intimidating this man is. He’s tall and wiry, but solid, like a slab of granite weathered by decades of unrelenting storms. Like he’s taken a beating from life and laughed in the face of its torturous machinations.

“Won’t you have a seat?” He gestures to the two chairs opposite his desk, opposite his own throne-like chair. They’re the same uncomfortable chairs that Dominic has in his office. The ones that have their users continually shifting and squirming.

The whole office, in fact, looks to have been decorated with an aesthetic of unease. In sharp contrast to the luminous window and balcony that are walled with glass, the rest of the office is black. The blacks upon greys swallow all natural light. The only pops of colour come from oil paintings of particularly gruesome-looking 18th century battles. Although it’s roomier than most apartments in Vancouver, it feels claustrophobic. Between the dark colours and the swords and revolvers displayed, the walls creep into my peripheries like ghosts breathing down the back of my neck.

I don’t move at his request. If those prequels Grant made me watch have anything to teach me, it’s that you don’t give up the high ground. (Also, that you don’t make prequels of beloved classics movies that are suddenly geared towards children.) There’s no way I’m going to sit in an uncomfortable chair, squirming like a kid in the principal’s office while he looms over me looking like a cartoon villain.

No, I stand and look him in the eye.

I may not be able to date, but I can spar. Given a choice between the two, I’d choose battle any day.

“Can I at least ask your name before you start interrogating me?” I ask sweetly, a favourite tactic of mine. Don’t let them see the teeth until I’m ready to strike.

He smirks.

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