Page 31 of Protect Thy Enemy

It shouldn’t bother me. He shouldn’t bother me. But everything about him sticks, his words burrowing under my skin in a way I can’t shake.

When I pull out my phone, I’m not surprised to find a text from Luna.

Luna: I’m starting to forget what your face looks like.

I roll my eyes and shoot back a text:Don’t be so dramatic.

Luna: I’m serious. You’re never home anymore. I miss you. Who’s supposed to beta read for me?

Me: I’m sure one of your very eager fans would be more than willing to fill in for me.

Luna: It’s not the same.

Me: Ask Tavia to do it.

Luna: Hardy har. Fuck you.

I chuckle as I respond: Well, that’s not nice. I’ll be home as soon as I’m done going over this report.

I lock my phone and throw it onto my desk before glancing toward the break room, hoping the promise of coffee will clear my head. My body coils with restless energy, and I know I won’t sleep if I go home like this.

The light flickers as I step inside, the usual scent of stale coffee clinging to the air. I fumble with the machine, my hands clumsy as I load a new pod. The adrenaline from earlier has worn off, leaving behind a sharp edge of frustration and something I don’t want to name.

“Williams.”

I freeze, and as if it’s a paid actor, the hair on the back of my neck stands. His voice is unmistakable. Low, calm, and entirely too close.

Grant.

I turn slowly, gripping the counter for balance. He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his usual scowl firmly in place.The dim light casts shadows across his face, making him look sharper, harder, like he was carved from stone.

“Agent Grant,” I say evenly, forcing my voice to stay steady.

He steps inside, his movements measured, deliberate. “Late night?”

I shrug, leaning back against the counter. “Could say the same for you.”

“I had reports to finish,” he replies, his tone clipped. “What’s your excuse?”

I bristle, the defensive edge in his voice lighting a spark in my chest. “Not everything needs an excuse. Maybe I just felt like being here.”

His eyes narrow, and I can tell he’s not buying it. “You’re still thinking about the detail.”

“Shouldn’t I be?” I shoot back. “It wasn’t exactly a clean operation.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he admits, his voice softening just a fraction. “But dwelling on it won’t change anything.”

“It’s not dwelling,” I say. “It’s learning.”

He steps closer, the air between us growing heavier. “And what have you learned?”

I open my mouth to reply, but the words catch in my throat. His presence is overwhelming, the intensity in his gaze pinning me in place. It’s not the first time he’s looked at me like this, like he’s trying to dissect me and figure out what makes me tick, but it feels different now.

My body reacts before my mind can catch up. My pulse quickens, my chest tightening as if I’m standing too close to a fire. I hate it.

I hate the way my mouth goes dry and the way my skin prickles under his gaze.

“I’ve learned,” I say finally, forcing the words out, “that nothing I do will ever be enough for you.”

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