Page 77 of Their Arrangement
Then it stopped.
Reversed.
Opened again.
Barron.
He walked in like the space belonged to him.
Because it did.
He didn’t look at me.
Not at first.
He pressed a button. One floor above mine. Then stood behind me—just slightly to the left. Close enough to radiate heat. Power. That scent again. Tailored charcoal and control.
The doors closed.
And then there was nothing.
No music.
No words.
Just breath and restraint.
I didn’t turn.
But I felt him.
His eyes.
Dragging over the blouse.
The bow.
The skirt.
“You fixed it.”
His voice wasn’t gentle.
It was precise.
Like the words were there to measure me.
I nodded.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t trust myself to.
“Good.”
That was it.
Until the doors opened at his floor, and he stepped out like the ground owed him passage.
