The statuesque and painfully gorgeous red-head behind the front desk waved at me. “Can I help you?” she asked.
Stepping forward, my eyes tracked along the nearby hallway. Was he down there? “I'm looking for...” I nearly spilled the name Silver. “Keswick. Is he here?”
“Mr. Silverwell?” she asked, her pouty lips scrunching tight. She flicked her eyes down to the jacket I was holding. Did she recognize it? Then, she gave his location away by peeking over her shoulder. “Um, let me just make a call and see if—”
I was already marching down the hallway.
“Hey!” she shouted, following behind me. “Wait! You can't just go down there!”
Watch me. Clenching my hands, I moved faster. I was done not understanding his motives.
I was going to get answers.
And I was getting them now.
Rounding the corner, I entered a new room. It was big and wide, a long staircase crawling up the other side. Computers filled several counters, people hunched and typing away. Some were drawing on gigantic screens, and one look had me blushing.
Dildos are obvious from any distance.
Everything was a whirl of faces and colors, a low murmur of music and voices. This was no sweatshop, people were smiling and joking from their chairs as they worked.
“Excuse me, Miss!”
Ignoring her, I spun on my heel, head swinging. Where is he? He had to be here, I was sure. So why didn't I see him?
“You need to...!” She reached for me; I darted away, infuriating her further and not caring one bit. I didn't feel like myself, I'd slid out of my own skin somewhere along the way. The old me, the shivering and traumatized me, was on the sidewalk outside.
His face was turned away, speaking to someone who was hunched over their laptop.
But I knew him with miles between us.
Silver lifted his eyes, catching me from the corner of one. I watched with amazement as his sure smile shattered. I saw it drip lower and lower, almost sliding from his jawline.
The person sitting next to him perked up, sensing Silver's sudden change in mood. The other man twisted his chair, looking between us curiously.
Pet, Silver mouthed, but no sound came out. It should have felt so fucking good to see him shocked. But standing there under his powerful stare, I began drifting.
Hold on, I told myself. My internal voice was hollow. Focus, get angry! He ruined everything you were! You need to hate him!
In my chest, something clutched my heart and squeezed.
Neither of us had moved. His toes pointed at me, his hands—hands that had always been unexpectedly soft—clenching at his hips. He was coiled all the way to his eyebrows, and even so, frozen to the ground.
I could feel every breath he took, my own body swelling simultaneously.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, danger flashing through his tone.
“I'm sorry, sir.” My red-headed pursuer came around, her phone lifted calculatingly. “I tried to stop her, but she just ran back here! I'll call the police.”
“Wait,” he said, motioning for her to stop. “It's fine.”
I felt a twinge of delight at how her mouth flapped. “Sir?”
Silver hadn't stopped watching me. I was rooted to the spot, digging for any fragment of the strength I'd stormed in with. Remember who he is. Cutting into my own palms with my nails, I steeled myself. “We need to talk.”
He eyed me closely. I could feel his pupils trying to slip into my head and understand why I was here. “My office,” he said, gesturing at the stairs. Then he turned enough to talk to the man at the computer. “Florian, send that data to me and I'll finish looking it over.”
“Alright,” the blonde stranger said. He squinted at me again, like he could grasp what was going on if he looked hard enough.
The woman from the front desk stood there another minute. I think she kept expecting Silver to change his mind and tell her to call security after all.
Of course, he didn't.
The office was gorgeous, high ceilings, tall windows, and a black couch that glistened in the corner. Silver shut the door behind us; the lock clanked through the air pointedly. “How did you find me?” he snapped.
“I thought you'd be happy,” I said, not hiding my sarcasm. “You wanted to see me, here I am.”
“You know I didn't mean like this.” Running a palm over his hair, he stayed by the door. The tension in his face made me realize that as big as this office was, there was little space between us.
“Your business card,” I said, shaking his jacket. “It was in the pocket, Keswick.” I spit his real name out, then threw the garment onto the floor by his desk.