Your stomach dropped. You hadn't spoken to Suguru Geto since the brief, impersonal orientation on Monday. He'd been a distant figure at the head of the conference table, his presence so commanding the air itself seemed to still around him.

His voice was low, a quiet command that slid through the wood. You pushed the door open. He was standing by the vast window, his back to you, silhouetted against the sprawling city skyline. His suit jacket was draped over his chair, his white shirtsleeves rolled precisely to his elbows, his tie loosened. He didn't turn.

You did, the soft thud echoing in the spacious room. Only then did he half-turn, his dark eyes finding you. They didn't sweep over you; they settled, taking you in with a focus that felt like a physical touch.

He gestured with two fingers toward a folder on his desk. He still hadn't moved from his place by the window.

A compliment. From him. The words hung in the air, weighted and rare. He finally moved, walking toward his desk with a quiet, predatory grace. He stopped closer than was strictly professional, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, catching the subtle notes of cedarwood and warm skin.

His gaze dropped, lingering for a heartbeat on your mouth, then drifting to the simple chain at your throat before returning to your eyes. The pause was deliberate.

He picked up the folder and held it out to you. When you reached for it, his fingers brushed against yours. The contact was brief, but deliberate. He didn't flinch or apologize. His skin was warm. He didn't let go immediately, his touch lingering for a second that stretched too long before he finally released the folder.

His voice was quieter now, a low murmur meant only for the space between you.

Closest to him? The implication settled heavily in your chest. He turned and walked back to the window, but didn't resume his former position. He simply stood there, watching you, his expression unreadable, his calm a mask you were already beginning to suspect hid something far more turbulent.

It wasn't a request. The way he watched you—utterly still, completely focused, undeniably aware of your every breath—made one thing perfectly clear: This job was going to be infinitely more complicated than you'd ever imagined.