Page 140 of The Rules

She kept her eyes on the paper.

And pretended she wasn’t already on fire.

Chapter 35

Benjamin

He watched her with narrowed eyes, tracking the subtle shift in her posture as she continued flipping through the documents. Defiance poured off her like heat from a flame, undimmed by his earlier dismissal. The silence between them pulsed—sharp, unresolved, a standoff waiting for one of them to break.

He knew Winters well enough by now. Her silence wasn't capitulation—it was tactical retreat. She was simply regrouping, waiting for the right moment to strike again.

And right on cue—

"We should still go after former employees. That angle's not dead," she said without looking up, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Ben glanced up. He let his gaze linger on her, taking in the stubborn set of her chin, the intensity in her eyes as she scanned the documents. Part of him admired her persistence. A larger part was irritated by it.

"Planning on kicking down doors in your stilettos, Winters?" he asked, arching a brow, his tone dry and dangerous.

She didn’t rise to his taunt. Not with words.

Instead, she tapped a finger against one of the pages—firm, deliberate. Confident.

“Him,” she said, indicating a name near the top of the document. “I could reach out. His contact info’s still public.”

Benjamin stilled. Across the table, his gaze sharpened, then drifted to the document she’d slid toward him. He said nothing. Just moved.

He circled the conference table, slow, methodical—more a calculation than a motion. When he reached her side, he leaned down to read the name she had marked. A mid-level executive.Quiet departure. But the date—it didn’t sit right. A thread left dangling.

Ben’s eyes stayed on the paper, his mouth tightening around a thought he hadn’t voiced aloud in years.

Sterling & Co. Again.

He remembered the name. The timing. The gut-level instinct that had flared even then. And he remembered the man.

One of Crawford’s. Not directly. But close enough to raise suspicion. And now, years later, that ghost had circled back—delivered to his desk by the last woman he should’ve let get this close.

His eyes lifted. Met hers.

There it was.

Recognition. And something else. Not fear. Not challenge.

Surprise.

She hadn’t expected him to entertain it. Much less agree.

“If we go after it,” he said, his voice steady and edged with resolve, “we do it together.”

The word landed like an echo in her chest. Together.

She blinked, lips parting before she caught herself. Just a flicker—but he caught it. Logged it.

She’d come bracing for resistance. For another shut door.

Not this.

Not a door opening.