"No!"
My voice cracked at the end, the word bursting out of me with desperate haste. I pressed my lips tightly together, my heart drumming against my ribs, and shook my head hard.
"It's nothing like that. No worries. What would I even have to worry about, director?"
"Is that so?"
Elara didn't push. As if her interest had simply evaporated, she lowered her eyes and began to knead my hand. Her touch wasn't tender, her long fingers firmly grasping the soft flesh between mine, then moving up to my wrist, my forearm, and finally my upper arm. She squeezed with a strength that felt both like a tether and a threat. When she finally released me, stark red marks blossomed against the pale skin of my arm like rising heat.
"Sit," she commanded softly, gesturing to the space between her legs on the sofa.
