Page 12 of Protect Thy Enemy

My eyes dart around for an empty seat and land on one near the back. Perfect. Out of sight, out of mind. At least, that’s the hope.

I’m halfway to the chair when I hear it. A low, mocking voice cuts through the tense silence like a whip.

“Made it just in time, didn’t you, Williams?”

Agent Corbin.

He’s slouched in a seat near the middle of the room, arms folded and legs stretched out like he owns the place. His sharp grin is all teeth, a calculated display meant to bait me.

Before I can respond or ignore him, Park, sitting two rows over, shoots Corbin a sharp glare. The kind that could cut glass. It’s subtle, just a flick of his dark hazel eyes in Corbin’s direction, but the message is clear.Shut the fuck up.

Corbin’s grin falters for half a second, but he recovers quickly, leaning back in his seat as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Grateful for the silent intervention, I slip into the empty seat next to Park, my shoulders stiff with the effort of holding myself together.

I glimpse him out of the corner of my eye as I settle in, his jaw tight and gaze forward as I completely wipe my face of all traces of emotion.

But something about having him here is steadying, like an anchor in the chaos.

Just as I take a deep breath, Harris strides in, followed closely by Agent Grant. His presence sucks all the air out of the room. Even if I wasn’t looking, I had no doubt that I would still feel him.

I'm admittedly jealous of how he carries himself with effortless confidence. I bet he doesn’t have a single doubt in his mind about his ability or capability. He doesn’t have to prove to a single soul he belongs here since you can tell just by one look at him.

My instincts tell me to keep my head down, but my eyes betray me, lifting just as his dark gaze cuts through the room and lands directly on me.

It’s like he’s magnetized, always finding me. Or maybe it’s worse.

Maybe he’s hunting me.

No, Arden. That’scrazy. Why would he be hunting you?

I force myself not to react, locking my spine straight and turning my focus back to Harris.

The debrief wraps up, and I’m already halfway to the door when I feel him. My steps falter as Agent Grant cuts me off, standing squarely in my path.

“Agent Williams,” he says, his tone sharp enough to slice through steel. He nods toward the hallway, his dark eyes unreadable. “With me.”

Just my fucking luck.

For a moment, I consider arguing, fleeing, hellanything. But it’s something about the way he’s looking at me stops me cold.

My pulse kicks up, but I keep my face carefully blank. “Yes, sir.”

The hallway feels narrower than it should as I follow him. The click of his polished shoes echoes against the silence, but I keep my focus straight ahead.

At least I try to.

But it’s like I can feel the heat radiating from him as we walk. Against my better judgment, I flick my eyes to the sharp cut of his suit and how it perfectly fits his broad shoulders.

It only makes sense that the devil is good looking. I hate it. I hate how much I notice it. It’s suffocating, and I hate the way it makes my stomach twist.

My jaw tightens with every step, tension building in my shoulders as we make it closer to our destination. When we reach his office, he opens the door and gestures me inside. I stepin without a word, the faint scent of coffee and cedar lingering in the air.

He closes the door behind him, the soft click of the latch louder than it should be. Turning, he leans back against his desk, crossing his arms. Again he's looking at me like that puzzle he doesn’t know what to do with.

“Agent Williams,” he begins, his voice calm but with a razor-sharp edge. “Let me be direct. Being late during your probationary period?” He tilts his head slightly, the motion calculated. “Not exactly the impression you want to make. I just hope your skills aren’t as lackluster as your punctuality.”

Lackluster?

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