Page 17 of Kentrell

And despite the danger he carried like cologne, I wasn’t entirely sure I minded.

“Good evening, Miss Davis,” Malcolm said, clearing his throat in that pretentious way of his, as if commanding the spotlight.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.”

It was the most he’d ever said to me.

In the office, he barely acknowledged my presence—treating me more like a coat rack than a colleague. His behavior was even more condescending than his mother’s, which was saying something. I would’ve preferred he ignored me entirely rather than speak just to make me feel small.

“Oh—Mr. Caldwell, this is Zoe Davis, the one I mentioned,” he added, flashing a performative smile toward the man beside him.

Mr. Caldwell.

So this was the man with the piercing stare—and now a name to match the presence.

“She’ll be managing your accounts from this point forward.”

I blinked.

What accounts?

My left brow arched almost as quickly as Mr. Caldwell’s did when he turned to Malcolm, confusion written all over his face.

Malcolm never passed clients my way. That role usually went to Kendra—his little shadow, always one whisper away. But she was noticeably absent.

“Mr. Caldwell has several ventures underway,” Malcolm continued, rubbing his hands together like he was prepping for a feast. “And I’m confident that Anderson & Hartman can provide him with exceptional support.”

There it was—that shimmer in his eyes. The kind he got when money was involved.

Translation:Mr. Caldwell was loaded, and Malcolm wanted a slice of whatever pie he brought with him.

“Zoe is one of our premier attorneys,” Malcolm went on, clearly laying it on thick. “She oversees our high-profile accounts and ensures your time and resources are wisely utilized.”

As he spoke, Mr. Caldwell’s eyes wandered across my figure. Boldly. Blatantly.

He didn’t even try to hide it. His gaze moved with intention, avoiding my face entirely until the last possible moment.

When our eyes finally met, I held his stare, forcing a polite smile. Professional. Composed. But inside?

I was screaming.

“Feel free to stop by Hartman Towers tomorrow?—”

“Uh, Malcolm?” I cut in, voice smooth but cool. “My schedule is filled tomorrow.”

The heat rushed to my cheeks for a hundred different reasons.

First, Malcolm had no right assigning me to clients like I workedforhim.

Second, Mr. Caldwell’s lack of etiquette was grating on my nerves.

Third…

I needed air. Space.Distance.

“Excuse me,” I said, barely finishing the sentence before I turned sharply on my stilettos and strode out of the boutique, following the signs to the restroom like my sanity depended on it.

Inside, I moved to the sink, snatching several paper towels from the dispenser and soaking them in cold water. I pressed them to my face, my pulse a drumbeat against my temples.

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