Page 83 of Man of the Year

He shows his palms, his hands gloved—there’s something strange about people wearing gloves around here.

“I’m going to check your vitals, okay?” he asks in what could pass for a bedroom voice if this were that kind of scenario.

“Is this your idea of flirting?” I ask without thinking.

The corners of his eyes crinkle, but the smile doesn’t break, and I suddenly realize what’s so different about him—he’s concerned about me. He’s looking at me with care, and that—that!—is something Julien-Mister-Freaking-Warden has never done before.

“Natalie, I’m going to touch you, okay?” he repeats.

I nod. My head spins for a second, and I wonder if I should fake passing out, if he would give me mouth-to-mouth, if this cold-as-ice man is a decent kisser.

It must be the sedative still in my system. The thought is inappropriate and out of context. But when Julien reaches for my face and gently takes it between his palms, a pleasant shiver goes down my body.

Am I high? I am. Definitely.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Dreaming, obviously,” I say, not fighting him.

His expression softens even more. “Sense of humor is a good sign.”

I lean into one of his palms, not on purpose, but because my head feels like it weighs twenty pounds, and his touch is comforting.

“Hold still,” he prompts. “Look at me.”

I release a sigh. He sounds like a gentle warrior, and I’d really like to cuddle right now and sleep.

Julien tips my chin with his fingers. “Natalie,” he repeats softly, “look at me, please.”

I do. His hazel eyes are so close that it feels almost intimate. His thumbs reach for my eyelids and gently pull them up, opening my eyes wider, inspecting my pupils. He’s playing doctor, and I’m kind of liking it, though I’m not sure how he knows to check for signs of trauma.

“Is this your idea of foreplay or something?” I ask, my tongue still thick and heavy.

The corner of his mouth hitches in a tiny smile as he presses two fingers to the side of my neck to check my pulse, then lets go of me and stands up.

“She’s good,” he says, turning to Walter. “I’ll take it from here.”

Walter gets up from the desk too abruptly. “We don’t have the passkeys,” he says with slight hostility. “We can’t wrap this up yet.”

“We don’t have time,” Julien argues. “It’s now or never.”

“We have time! Leave her here, and we’ll carry on in the way we were supposed to.”

“You know what will happen to her then,” Julien says firmly. “We can’t.”

“We are aborting this because ofher?” Walter points a finger at me, his angry stare on Julien. “Are youserious?”

“I am,” Julien says, his cold voice back. “There’s been enough collateral. We can’t keep doing this.”

“Fuck!” Walter throws his head back.

“What’s happening?” I ask weakly, rubbing my wrists.

Walter turns to Julien again. “We can make it look like she broke out of here and hide her elsewhere, get her off the property. We need time, man. We need to find the passkeys. We need to finish this. Otherwise, the entire year goes down the drain. It’s not just about us. Thousands of people will suffer.”

I close my eyes, trying to piece together bits of information.

“I know,” Julien says sternly. “I will copy the files onto the hard drive, then get her out of here, and we will execute the emergency plan.”

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