Page 104 of Their Arrangement
I shut the laptop. Closed the file. Grabbed my bag. Stood too fast. My chair scraped back with a sharp sound that made me flinch.
I turned to go.
And froze.
He was there.
Wolfe.
Standing ten feet from my desk. Half in shadow. Black button-down, sleeves rolled. Collar open. Veins visible along the inside of his forearms.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t speak.
He justwas.
Like the room belonged to him.
Like I did.
My heart slammed into my ribs.
He tilted his head. Just a fraction.
“You always this jumpy when no one’s watching?”
His voice was a knife dipped in velvet.
Low.
Deadly.
“Or do you just feel me first?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Wolfe took one step forward.
And the airshifted.
Not warmer.
Not colder.
Claimed.
“Sit back down, Cloe.”
My knees obeyed before I did.
I sank into the chair like gravity had changed just for him.
He moved closer. Slowly. Like he had all the time in the world to ruin me.
The air around him changed shape as he walked—folded in, wrapped tight, pressed itself into the gaps between my ribs.
Wolfe didn’t look at the screen on my desk. He didn’t glance at the files. His eyes were fixed on me.
