Page 59 of Protect Thy Enemy

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, brushing past him. This time, he doesn’t stop me.

I don’t look back as I leave, but I can feel his eyes on me the entire way.

On my way back to the table, Agent Park intercepts me, his expression unreadable.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, his voice casual, though there’s an edge to it.

“Trying to,” I reply, lifting a brow, not entirely sure what he’s hinting at.

He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

I force a laugh, pretending I don’t understand. “No idea what you’re talking about, Park. I just needed to use the restroom.”

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t push further. Instead, he steps aside, letting me pass.

But his words linger, a warning I can’t quite shake.

Chapter Twenty-One

Arden

Aping comes from my laptop, cutting through the early morning stillness of the office.

With my coffee still too hot to drink, I open my inbox, expecting some briefing notes or the latest updates from Harris.

Instead, the subject line slaps me in the face:Notice of Violation: Employee Fraternization Policy.

I blink at the screen, my brain stumbling over the words. My fingers hover above the touchpad, reluctant to click, but curiosity or dread wins out.

The email opens to a wall of HR speak. Cold, formal language accusing me of “potentially inappropriate workplace conduct.” All thanks to an annoying complaint from one of my fellow coworkers.

Anonymous complaint, my ass.I knowexactlywho placed the complaint.

The irony. The hypocrisy. The nerve. He followed me into that bathroom, and now he’s reportingme? It’s almost laughable.

I stare at the email from HR, the words “Violation of Employee Fraternization Policy” starting to blur. As if my day wasn’t set to be irritating enough.

All this because of him. Agent Holden “Policy Police” Grant.

My fingers curl into a fist as my other hand snaps the laptop shut a bit harder than necessary. The heat building in my chest has nothing to do with the coffee still steaming on my desk. My pulse pounds in my ears, a dull roar that echoes how absurd this all is.

Do not barge into his office and give him a piece of your mind, Arden. He isn’t worth it. At least, he shouldn’t be.

But of course, he finds a way to mess with me even when he isn't in the room.

This is ridiculous. I don’t know what this man wants from me. I don’t even like Agent Beckett, at least, not in that way. Sure, he’s charming in a smug kind of way, but I’m not stupid enough to mix work with romance. Not that it matters. Thanks to Mr. Hypocrite and his anonymous tip, here we are.

He knows exactly what this will do, how it’ll make me look. That’s the part that stings. Because if he’s trying to sabotage me, he’s winning. And if this is his fucked up away of trying to protect me, he’s doing a piss-poor job of it.

I try to focus on the reports scattered across my desk, but my eyes keep darting back to the closed laptop as if it might spring open and demand my attention again.

By the time the morning briefing rolls around, my nerves are frayed. I walk into the room with my now lukewarm coffee in hand, determined not to let the irritation of it all show on my face.

As usual, Grant is already here. His presence is as subtle as a clown at a circus, not a regular one—a dark and brooding clown who hates his job. His focus is fixed on whatever report he’s reading. He doesn’t so much as glance my way, but the tension in the air between us is almost palpable.

Good. It’s taking everything in me not to curse his ass out.

That’s what I tell myself anyway. There’s no mistaking the way my body warms as my mind briefly flashes back to that night in the bathroom.

---