Page 89 of The Rules

He watched her, a cold calculation settling into his features. He could feel the tension between them pulling taut, a wireready to snap. The confined space of the storage room only amplified the electricity crackling in the air.

"That's exactly what I want to talk about. Your professionalism," he said, voice clipped and cold.

The air went still, sharp. Like the moment before glass shatters.

Katherine's eyes narrowed, her body going rigid.

"Excuse me?"

Ben stepped forward. Controlled. Merciless. His movements precise as he closed the distance between them, not enough to crowd her, but enough to establish dominance in the small space.

"Your focus is slipping. You're letting distractions affect your work," he stated, each word delivered with maximum precision.

Katherine exploded before she could stop it. He saw the accusation hit somewhere deep, watched as her composure fractured right in front of him.

"That's bullshit and you know it," she fired back, color rising in her cheeks.

Ben just shrugged. Calm. Casual. Cruel. The dismissive gesture calculated to cut deeper than any words could. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you're just naturally undisciplined."

And that? That landed hard.

He watched as Katherine burned. As she snapped. Her eyes flashed with a fury that transformed her entire face, her hands uncrossing to ball into fists at her sides.

"Are youfuckingkidding me?" she demanded, furious and breathless. "I work harder than anyone here."

Benjamin tilted his head, a slow, deliberate smirk spreading across his face. Something dangerous flashed in his eyes—a predator who'd just spotted weakness.

"Do you?" he asked, voice mockingly soft.

The question hung in the air between them, deceptively simple yet loaded with accusation. He watched her reaction with razor-sharp focus, cataloging every minute change in her expression.

Katherine was panting now. Flushed. Shaking. Her chest rising too fast with each breath, lips parted, fists clenched at her sides. The controlled professional facade had cracked wide open, revealing something raw and volatile beneath.

He felt a surge of dark satisfaction at the sight. This was what he wanted—to strip away her composure, to see the truth beneath all her careful pretense. She looked wrecked. Beautiful in her fury. Desperate in a way that made him wonder if she was about to slap or kiss him.

Ben could hear his own pulse. It pounded against his temples, thick and relentless, drowning out everything except the sight before him.

Katherine stood there—furious, flushed, and utterly fucked up. Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath, her composure completely shattered. The flush that had started on her cheeks now crawled down her neck, disappearing beneath her blouse like an invitation his body desperately wanted to accept.

And her mouth—God, her mouth—soft and parted, waiting for something she might not even realize she was asking for.

He was one second away from closing that distance.

One heartbeat from grabbing her wrists, from shoving her against the door, from kissing her until she broke for him again. The way she had that night. The way Blondie had.

His fingers twitched at his side, imagining how she would respond. Would she gasp against his lips? Or would she claw at him, fighting even as she surrendered?

Then reality slammed into him with the force of a physical blow. The risk. The professional line. The consequences that would follow.

What if he was wrong? What if she wasn't Blondie at all? What if she was just Winters—just another lawyer who happened to have a similar build, similar mannerisms?

The doubt paralyzed him.

His hand tightened at his side, knuckles going white.

His teeth clenched so hard he could feel the muscle jumpbeneath his skin. He forced himself to exhale slowly, to take a deliberate step back.

And the worst part? Katherine was still looking at him. Waiting. Her eyes dark and challenging, like she knew exactly what he was thinking and was daring him to act on it.