Page 42 of Money Reigns
No softness. Just a slow blink.
I move quick, like a child caught doing something wrong. Fumble open the drawer, grab the printout, and slide it across my desk.
He doesn’t sit. Doesn’t even glance at the chair across from me.
Just flips the first page open, scans it once, and places it flat again. Closer to me.
“Summarize.”
The word lands hard. No lift, no question mark. Just expectation.
“Now?” I ask before I can stop myself.
His jaw moves once. That’s all it takes.
I swallow. “Section 3.4b is a dormant clause filed five years ago, it allows a historic-use exemption for the Parker Building. If it’s filed under a community reinvestment incentive before the quarter closes, the city will fast-track all variances. I also—”
I stop.
Because he’s moving.
Behind me.
His cologne hits first, dark spice and smoke and something ruinously expensive.
Then the warmth of his body.
Then his hand, palm resting on the back of my chair, fingers brushing the fabric right behind my neck.
I stop breathing.
“Keep going,” he says.
I force the words out. “I also highlighted a tax deferment opportunity that correlates with the variance if the filing is backdated—”
“Not bad,” he murmurs, closer now. I feel it in the shell of my ear. “But not good enough.”
He reaches forward. Nudges closer to my keyboard.
“Open your draft,” he says.
I do.
The cursor blinks at the conclusion. My hands hover.
“There,” he says, and his finger brushes the screen. “You hedge.‘Possibility.’ ‘Potentially.’Words for people who apologize when they speak.”
I freeze.
“Delete them,” he commands.
My chest tightens, I want to push back. To ask why it matters.
But instead… I press delete.
“Better,” he says.
He doesn’t step away.
