Page 7 of The Dark Before Light

“Come in and close the door.”

Please drips to the edge of my tongue. A light clench of my teeth holds it there.

When his eyes return to me, there’s new life in them. Waves in a formerly placid cove. But I still can’t decipher their depths. If eyes are a window to the soul, Kieran’s soul is a footstep from the void. He’s not broken yet. But he’s close.

With smooth grace, he closes the door and turns. There’s no hesitation in his movements as he strides forward and lowers his body to the chair I chose for him, placing his hat and sunglasses on the floor beside his feet.

I settle in the chair opposite his. A larger, more comfortable chair. I’m sure he registers the difference, maybe even realizes I manipulated him, but there’s no outward indication.

Oh, he’s good.

As I cross my legs, his gaze drops to my feet and pauses for an instant on my stilettos. No subtle flaring of his nostrils. No twitch of eyelids. Zero physical reaction, but it still feels like a victory.

His eyes lift back to my face. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Stirling.”

Goose bumps unfurl like wings across my lower back. One wing his voice—deep and lilting, warm and a little bit rough—and the other the movement of his lips shaping the words. All familiar and not, distorted by time and memory and faded fantasy. An absolute mindfuck.

I’ve never been more thankful for my skill at masking emotion.

“You as well,” I say with a brief nod. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

“I think we both know the answer to that,” he says flatly.

“Indulge me.”

The silence stretches, as does our eye contact. The urge to drop my gaze grows the longer he stares at me. In another life, I might laugh at his clear bid for superiority. After all, it’s his fault I grew claws.

The sudden buzz of my phone on my desk ends our stalemate with no winner declared.

“Apologies,” I murmur as I snag the device and put it on silent.

When I look at Kieran again, his eyes are roaming the framed degrees and certifications on the wall to my right. Depending on the client, I either display them or don’t. If I’d had the time—or thought about them at all—I would have removed a few of them.

Nothing to be done about it now.

Kieran’s gaze stalls, and I know exactly which frames have caught his attention. Another moment passes before his eyes return to me. The blue is frigid. The vast, underwater depths of an iceberg.

He finally deigns to answer my question. “My brother informed me this morning that he’d have me removed as CEO of the company I founded if I didn’t present myself here.” His gaze flickers back to the wall. “Though I suspect he was obeying the whims of my sister-in-law.”

“And why do you think he felt it necessary to threaten you?”

He sighs, an ocean of annoyance conveyed in the sound despite little to no change in his expression. Color me unsurprised when he ignores the question and nods at the wall.

“That fancy degree from UCLA. Is it real?”

“According to the bank that acquired my student loans, yes.”

“You look a little young for a PhD.”

“I have one of those faces.”

His eyes narrow. “Unlike my brother, I looked you up. Made a few inquiries.”

I uncross and recross my legs, gratified when a muscle ticks in his cheek. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Mr. Hayes.”

His fingers drum on the arm of his chair. When he realizes what he’s doing, he stops immediately. I almost smile.

“No one could tell me shit about what you actually do. They made you sound like the Wizard of Oz. Your website is vague, your social media presence almost nil. Besides that ridiculous Buzzfeed article, I have no idea if you’re a legitimate professional.”

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