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She steps through, guarded. Careful.

“You wanted to see me?”

The scent of her fills my office, drowning out the lingering trace of Kit. Lavender. Vanilla. The faint salt of dried sweat from a long day of rehearsal. And underneath it all, that intoxicating hint of arousal that spikes whenever she’s near me, no matter how hard she tries to suppress it.

“The show looks incredible, Blake,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. Professional. “You’ve done exceptional work. I hope you know that.”

Surprise flickers in her expression before it settles into something softer. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“It should. We’re sold out for the next three nights.” I let the corner of my mouth curve faintly, watching her process that. Her eyes widen with something like relief. Then pride.

“Wow. That’s... incredible.” There’s sincerity in her voice. But she still lingers closer to the open door. Ready to flee. “I still have a lot to do before I’m done for the day. There are still some costume adjustments?—“

“Close the door and have a seat, Blake.” I gesture to the chair across from my desk. Not a request.

She hesitates, then closes the office door with a quiet snick. She crosses to sink into the leather seat; her heartbeat picking up its pace. Her scent grows stronger, mixed now with the sharp tang of anxiety. She knows something’s wrong. She’s too smart not to have noticed how I’ve been watching her since last night.

I open the drawer and lift out the gift box, setting it between us like a loaded gun.

“Want to tell me about this?”

She stills, every muscle in her body going taut, like a wire pulled too tight. I watch the flicker of tension lock her jaw as her gaze drops to the gift box, the color draining from her cheeks in real time. Her heartbeat falters, then picks up speed—quick and uneven, like the rhythm of someone who knows exactly what they’re looking at and dreads it.

Her voice is low. Controlled. But I hear the strain beneath it. “You went through my desk.”

“I didn’t.” I push the box slightly closer to her, watching the way her eyes track it like it’s something that might bite. “I found it on your coffee table last night. At your house. After the break-in.”

I pause, narrowing my eyes slightly. “I assumed it had been delivered there. But if you left it in your desk drawer...”

My voice trails off. That changes everything.

The air sharpens, like static before a storm. It means somehow he got into this building—past our guards, past the cameras, past every subtle, invisible net I laid after the bracelet was delivered. I’d made sure the security wouldn’t feel intrusive, wouldn’t alarm Blake or the staff. And yet, someone walked through all of it. Unseen. Unchallenged.

It makes my skin crawl.

“When did you get it?”

Her breath hitches and the sound is like a serrated blade to my heart. “Yesterday. It was on my desk at the end of the day. I didn’t want to deal with it, so I left it in the drawer at my desk. Locked.”

The last word lands like a blade dulled by doubt. I can see it in her eyes. She’s questioning everything now. Herself. The locks. Her own sense of safety. Twice, then. Twice this mangy mutt has come into my territory, under my very nose. First, to deliver the gift and then again, to retrieve it when she didn’t take it.

Her fear makes me want to turn feral, to unleash my fangs and paint the Barrows red with his blood.

The pressure in my chest builds as I watch her stare at the box, her throat working. Every instinct screams to put myself between her and that threat, but I force myself to stay seated. To keep my voice level. “Did you read the note inside?”

She lifts her chin, a tell I’m starting to recognize. Defiance masking fear. “Yes.”

One word. But it’s enough to snap the last thread of my control.

“And were you planning to tell anyone?” My voice drops lower, rougher. The beast inside me clawing at my ribcage. “Or were you going to follow his instructions and keep quiet?”

Her eyes flash. “I hadn’t decided yet.” She sits forward, fingers curling into fists on her thighs. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a little busy trying to make sure your show opens without a hitch. I locked it away to deal with later.”

“Later?” The word comes out as a growl. I rise from my chair, unable to stay still. Energy crackles under my skin, demanding action. Release. Blood. “Someone breaks into your workplace, leaves you gifts, threatens you—and you decide to deal with it later?”

“Why do you care?” She stands too, matching my intensity if not my height. The scent of her anger fills the space between us, sharp and bright. “You made it very clear that night was just sex. That we’re nothing more than employer and employee. So why are you suddenly acting like?—“

“Like what?” I prowl closer around the desk, drawn by the flush in her cheeks, the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat. “Like I give a damn what happens to you? Like the thought of someone stalking you, threatening you, makes me want to tear this city apart?”