Page 6 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

He didn’t so much as blink as his eyes swept the room like I wasn’t even there. No heat. No flicker of recognition. Just professional detachment and a black book tucked under his arm.

“Stations will be assigned shortly,” he said. “Please pay attention…”

His voice faded away as Thalia leaned in, eyebrows up. “Okay. That was your poker face, but your eyes just screamed ‘that’s the guy who almost fucked me’.”

I didn’t answer.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Not really. Nothing happened, we just…talked,” I muttered, voice low and disgruntled. “I didn’t know who he was . ”

“And now he’s pretending like you don’t exist? Damn. That’s ice fucking cold.”

I clenched my jaw so hard I thought it might crack, and turned my attention back to the front of the room.

“Thank you, Theo,” Timothy said with a saccharine sweetness that didn’t match his face. “It’s an honor to have you as part of the team.”

Theo. I rolled his name around inside my head, certain it was short for something pretentious like Theodore, but I liked the way it sounded in my head.

I can’t believe I didn’t get his name last night.

If I’m being honest with myself, I never thought I’d see him again, and now that I had, I didn’t know what to make of it.

Timothy droned on about responsibility, impression, and every ridiculous thing that would be expected of us.

His voice was as monotonous and bland as his face.

At one point, Thalia started snoring on my shoulder, which earned her a round of stifled laughter from the other new staff members.

If Timothy had been a cartoon character, steam would have been pouring from his ears.

Theo slipped from the room while the Timothy show was in full production, no one else seemed to notice, but I felt his absence. The shift in the air. The ability of my lungs to fill with oxygen while still feeling starved.

Once the lunch rush had died down and the clinking of cutlery gave way to the drone of industrial fans, I was stuck in the back kitchen, elbow-deep in dish racks and bone china. Because God forbid the ultra-rich eat off anything less than the powdered bones of old money.

Each plate had its designated place—teacups aligned to the left, dinner plates stacked by size, not a single blemish allowed on their glossy little egos. I was three seconds away from smashing one just to feel something.

Every part of this place made my skin itch.

The stiff uniform. The expectations. The hierarchy disguised as hospitality. Fucking Timothy constantly breathing down my neck.

I’d been told not to slouch. Not to swear. Not to flirt. Like that last one wasn’t practically breathing for me. I’d been told to smile more, but only the “right” amount. No teeth. Don’t scare the club members and their friends.

My eyes wandered toward the wall clock and fuck it was only two p.m. Still ninety agonizing minutes left in this polyester purgatory. No phone. No music. Just the clink of plates and the slow, grinding death of my soul.

I needed a nap. A drink. And a good, filthy fuck that made me forget what my own name was. My right hand was on strike from overuse. My dick chafed every step I took. I slammed the washer shut, a little too hard, and turned—and he was there.

Theo.

He was a goddamn ghost in the machine. He was leaning against the wall, flipping through the pages of his black book like he wasn’t the human embodiment of every impulse I’d been trying to suppress.

His sleeves were rolled up, revealing thick, veined forearms—of course they were—and he was frowning with the intensity of someone grading a moral philosophy paper.

The air thinned. My pulse didn’t just spike—it flipped the bird and ran off a cliff. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?” I said, voice low. A cut waiting to bleed.

Theo didn’t flinch. “You’re on dish duty today. Not front of house, you should be working, not talking.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend like you didn’t watch me last night like you wanted to press me up against the wall and ruin me.”

His pen paused mid-tick. Eyes lifted. I saw the flicker of undeniable heat there in those green depths. Gone in a breath. But I saw it.

“You’re mistaken,” he said, flat as glass.

“Bullshit.” I leaned against the metal table with a casualness I absolutely did not feel. “Your eyes followed me like you wanted to say something. Or maybe…you wanted to taste something.”

He exhaled—tight, irritated, clearly pissed that I wasn’t playing the game he’d just rewritten without telling me.

“This isn’t the Hollow. This is work.”

I stepped closer. “And yet here you are. Again. Watching me like I might combust if you blink too long.”

“That was a mistake.”

“Didn’t feel like one,” I murmured, eyes narrowing. “Unless your idea of a mistake includes almost kissing someone like your life depended on it.”

Theo’s jaw ticked. He looked at me now—not through me, not around me—but at me. Like I was the hurricane he’d invited in, then regretted opening the window for.

“Don’t push me.” This time, his voice was tighter. Rougher. The leash on his self-control straining.

“Oh, sweetheart,” I cooed, lips curling into a grin designed to get me slapped or kissed, “You’re already this close to the edge.” I pinched my thumb and forefinger together. “And I’m not even touching you. Imagine what it would be like if I were…”

Something cracked inside him. Not loud. Not visible. Just a shift in the air, a flicker of tension so thick it had gravity. Theo stepped forward like instinct pulled him before his brain caught up, and he stopped himself short. Inches between us. His hot breath ghosted over my face.

His voice dropped. “You don’t know who you’re playing with.”

“No,” I said, dragging my gaze down his perfectly ironed shirt and back up again. “But I know I want to keep playing.”

For one charged, blistering second, we just stood there breathing the same air, pretending we weren’t imagining how it would feel if we just let go. Then, like someone flipped a switch, Theo stepped back and shut down.

Straightened his book like he needed to remind himself he still had a spine. “This conversation never happened.”

“Sure,” I snarked, voice dripping with sugar and spite. “We’ll just keep lying to ourselves. You’re great at that.”

His lips parted, like he wanted to say something—maybe defend himself, maybe ruin me—but he didn’t. He just turned and walked out.

No apology. No explanation.

Just the scent of high-end cologne and self-denial trailing in his wake like a curse. I stood there, hands on the counter, jaw clenched. Every part of me vibrating with rage, want, and something a hell of a lot more dangerous.

Behind me, the door creaked. Thalia leaned in, arms crossed, one brow arched like a movie critic about to deliver a scathing review.

“So…” she said slowly, “you gonna tell me what that was, or should I start guessing based on how hard you’re clenching your jaw?”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “That was my boss gaslighting me into insanity.”

She gave a long, dramatic pause. “Okay. But like… in a hot way?”

“I hate it here.”

“You hate it everywhere. But this place has scandal potential, so count your blessings. It could be fun.”

I flipped her off and went back to stacking plates.

And maybe, just for a second, I let myself imagine how it would feel to break Theo open completely.

What it would be like to taste him, smash his walls down, and trace every inch of his body with my tongue.

Working with a boner tucked into my waistband wasn’t on my to-do list for the day, but it looked like it would be a regular occurrence.