The espresso machine in the corner of the DUMBO office hissed sharply, the sound slicing through the quiet like a blade.
I flinched.
Too fast.
Too obvious.
My fingers snapped the laptop shut before Reid could take another step closer, the soft click echoing louder in my ears than it should have. My pulse was still racing, frantic and uneven, like something trapped and desperate to escape.
Julianne's smile lingered in my mind.
That kiss she blew at the camera.
At me.
"Maya?"
Reid's voice grounded me, but only barely.
"You're pale."
He handed me a cup of coffee, his fingers brushing mine for a brief second. The warmth should have comforted me. It didn't.
He leaned casually against the mahogany desk, but his eyes—sharp, observant, unrelenting—were already studying my face, reading me the way he read blueprints.
"Is it the Silver Star designs?" he asked. "If the budget is too tight, we can—"
"The budget isn't the problem, Reid," I cut in quickly.
Too quickly.
