Page 28 of The Oyabun's Boy

"You too, Chen," Kenji said, not taking his eyes off me.

Chen hesitated, giving me a look that clearly communicated both warning and puzzlement before exiting, closing the door behind him.

And just like that, I was alone with Kenji.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Without his men watching, Kenji's posture relaxed fractionally, the weight of command temporarily lifted from his shoulders. He looked younger somehow, though no less dangerous.

"You should be resting," he said, studying me with those intense eyes. "It's early."

"Says the man who looks like he hasn't slept since the Obama administration," I retorted. "Besides, I woke up in yourbed, which was not where I went to sleep. Care to explain the midnight relocation?"

Something flickered across his face—satisfaction, perhaps, or possessiveness. "The guest quarters weren't secure enough."

"Uh-huh. And it had nothing to do with your 'you'll be in my bed eventually' declaration?"

Kenji circled the desk, moving with the fluid grace of a predator despite his obvious exhaustion. Each step closer sent my heart rate climbing, though I held my ground.

"I meant what I said," he replied, stopping just close enough that I had to tilt my head slightly to maintain eye contact. "But when that happens, Princess, I'll be in that bed with you."

I swallowed hard, frantically searching for a witty comeback and finding my usually reliable brain completely offline.

"So," I said, desperately changing the subject, "is there a reason you look like you've been awake for three days straight? Or is the whole 'exhausted but sexy' thing just another tactic to make me worry about you?"

His eyebrow arched slightly, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "You're worried about me?"

"Well, yeah," I admitted, surprising myself with my honesty. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually enjoy seeing people suffering, even kidnapping crime lords with boundary issues."

For a moment, something genuine and unguarded passed through Kenji's eyes—surprise, perhaps, or something deeper I couldn't name. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual controlled expression.

"Your concern is noted," he said, but his tone had softened slightly. "And unnecessary." Kenji's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he moved back behind his desk.

With one elegant gesture, he indicated a sleek black box sitting on the polished surface that I hadn't noticed before. It was about the size of a hardback novel, wrapped in matte blackpaper with no visible tape or seams. Because apparently even gift wrapping had to be intimidating in Kenji's world.

"I have something for you," he said, his voice neutral but his eyes watchful, gauging my reaction.

I crossed my arms, cocking my head to one side. "Is it my freedom? A phone call? The deed to your criminal empire? Because I have to warn you, I'm terrible with paperwork."

The corner of his mouth twitched—that almost-smile I was beginning to recognize as his version of full-blown amusement. "Open it."

I approached the desk cautiously, as if the box might contain a live grenade rather than a gift. Which, considering who it was from, wasn't entirely outside the realm of possibility.

"Just so we're clear," I said, lifting the box and finding it surprisingly light, "accepting gifts from kidnappers goes against all the stranger danger rules I learned in kindergarten."

"I'm hardly a stranger anymore, Princess."

That was unfortunately true. I peeled back the wrapping, surprised by how easily it came apart despite seeing no obvious place to start. Inside was a sleek black case that opened to reveal a smartphone—not just any smartphone, but the latest model that had tech geeks camping outside stores and selling non-essential organs to afford.

"For emergencies," Kenji explained, leaning back in his chair. "My number is already programmed in."

I picked up the phone, turning it over in my hands. It was already charged, ready to go. "And what constitutes an emergency in Kenji World? Nuclear apocalypse? Zombie outbreak? Someone using the wrong fork at dinner?"

"Any situation where you feel threatened." His voice had that deadly serious quality that made the hair on my arms stand up.

"What about existential crises? Like suddenly wondering if cereal is soup? Or if a hotdog is a sandwich? Or why they calledthem 'buildings' when they're already built?" I scrolled through the phone's features, noting it had no social media apps, but it did have what looked like a highly secure messaging system. "Are those emergency-worthy?"

Kenji's gaze was unwavering. "You feeling unsafe is an emergency."

Oh. That's... actually sweet in a terrifying way.