Page 12 of Fractured Allegiance

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I offer a faint smile and close the door behind me.

“I’m Lydia Carr. I consult for some of your partners. I was told you could help clarify a few logistics discrepancies.”

No reaction.

He gestures toward the chair across from him. “Have a seat.”

I do. Cross one leg over the other. My knee doesn’t bounce. My hands rest loosely on my thigh.

He leans back.

“You want to show me what you’re here for, or should we keep pretending this is a real audit?”

I don’t blink.

Neither does he.

“Well,” I say, voice like satin over a blade, “that depends. Are you going to tell me what you’re pretending to be?”

There’s a pause. A longer one, this time.

Then, for the first time, his mouth tilts. Just slightly.

Not a smile.

A crack.

“I guess we’re dropping the paperwork, then.”

“Yes,” I say. “Let’s.”

He leans forward.

He isn't aggressive or even particularly confident, just close enough to notice things most men miss.

The curve of my shoulder.

The way I don’t flinch.

He studies me with the same precision I use on men before I gut them emotionally. Only this time, I’m the one being read.

I hate it.

“You work for Dom?” he asks.

“No.”

“Drazen, then.”

I say nothing.

He watches my mouth, like he's cataloging the pause.

“Interesting.”

He leans back again, and I feel like I’ve lost something. The room feels different now, heat pressing closer.

I glance once at the walls. No cameras. No recording devices. But that doesn’t mean anything.

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