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Abe’s attention was fully on Freya.

Her clear disdain for their presence should have been off-putting, but it made his pulse tick faster. Her eyes were rimmed pink—a lingering reminder of yesterday’s tear gas attack. A muscle clenched in his jaw. Three men had taken on a lone woman. He’d love a private moment to show them what he thought of their cowardice.

With an effort, he dragged his gaze away from the steely scientist and focused on her boss. Einar was babbling, his hands fluttering like trapped moths in front of his face. “We appreciate you coming on such short notice.” His Adam’s apple bounced. “The data will ship out on Monday, but there are checks to complete tomorrow.”

Fox, ever the diplomat, smiled at Freya, all charm. “What time do you need us here tomorrow?” He held out his cup, and Einar’s secretary, Sylvie, nearly spilled the coffee in her eagerness to fill it.

“I’m not sure I need you here tomorrow.” Freya’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

As if sensing his scrutiny, her eyes locked onto Abe’s. He bit back a smile. She radiated fierce intelligence and an obvious unwillingness to suffer fools. She was a challenge. The kind that keeps you on your toes.

She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, but there was something about her. The upturned nose that hinted at defiance, the smoothness of her skin marred by a few tiny scars on her temple that suggested a life lived. Her long, blonde hair was coiled at her nape, and Abe couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to drive his fingers through the softness.

She wasn’t fragile, but she was intriguing.

“Our presence tomorrow will be as unobtrusive as possible,” Abe said, his voice calm. “We want to familiarize ourselves with the layout and security protocols. Standard procedure.”

She straightened, her spine rigid with resistance and the unyielding grace of a duchess from a bygone era.

“Freya, it would be better if they were involved in the final security arrangements,” Einar chimed in, his gaze flitting nervously between her and Abe.

A flicker of something crossed her face—irritation, maybe. Probably because Einar was right.

“We would prefer that,” Fox added, smoothly stepping in. “If you’re agreeable, of course, Freya. This is your project.”

Now all eyes were on her.

She tugged her sweater down over her hips, a paleness in her hands that betrayed her frustration. “Well. Yes. Of course. Like all of you, I only want what’s best for the project.”

But the tightness in her voice made it clear. She hated every word she had to say. Abe hid his smile by studying the reflection in his boots. She was pissed enough already.

“Well, gentlemen,” she said, smoothing her hands over her tailored pants—a movement that inadvertently drew Abe’s attention to the shapeliness of her legs. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to complete. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Abe couldn’t resist. “You know, this might work out really well.”

She spun on her heel, eyes like blue ice as she shot him a medusa-level glare.

Maybe I should’ve kept that last thought to myself. He braced for the retort, but it never came.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her voice was cool, but the slam of the door behind her made the glass rattle in its pane.

“Well.” Fox cleared his throat. “That went well.”

Sylvie bustled between the men, tidying up. “Freya takes a little getting used to. You’ll be fine.”

“She also clearly doesn’t want us here,” Fox muttered.

“Details, details.” Einar waved dismissively. “She’ll come around.”

Abe loosened his collar, but his thoughts weren’t on Einar anymore. The meeting was over, yet all he could think about was the next few days. There had to be more to Freya’s story than the tough, icy exterior she let the world see.

And despite her thorns, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wanted to find out.