Chapter 16 - Cold Shower

Marcus

I need a cold shower. A very long one. Maybe an ice-bath.

Instead, I’m walking down the hall with Sophia beside me, her expression shuttered, her stride tight with tension.

I’ve seen her confident. I’ve seen her smug. I’ve even seen her furious.

But this version of her? This vibrating-wire, don’t-touch-me-with-your-eyes version? That’s new.

And it’s my fault.

I push open the glass door to my office and gesture her inside, like this is just another part of the program.

Like I’m not fighting the urge to push her up against a wall and kiss her until she’s dizzy.

The door clicks shut behind us with the sound of a coffin closing.

“Do all the compatibility sessions end with a post-mortem in the CEO’s lair?” she asks acidly.

“Only the dramatic ones,” I reply, heading straight for the bar cart.

She scoffs. “So just mine, then.”

I pour myself water instead of whiskey and take a long, necessary sip. It doesn’t help. I still feel her, lingering in my head like heat lightning.

Her voice. Her scent. The soft tremble in her hands before she pulled the blindfold off like it was burning her.

I’m not supposed to feel like this.

I turn to face her.

She’s leaning against the edge of my desk like she’s daring me to try something. But there’s a flicker of unease under all that sarcasm.

Like she’s not sure if she’s Sophia Sterling or someone else right now.

I take a breath.

“I didn’t bring you here to escalate anything,” I say.

Her gaze sharpens. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I brought you here because there’s something you need to know. And I didn’t want to say it in a hallway full of cameras.”

That gets her attention. She straightens a little, the armor sliding back into place.

Good. That’s safer for both of us.

“Go on,” she says.

I grab the file from the drawer behind my desk.

“Richard Pemberton was found dead this morning.”

Silence. Absolute, complete silence.

Sophia blinks. “Dead? As in-?”

“Dead dead. Unresponsive in his penthouse gym. Heart attack, according to initial reports. No forced entry. No witnesses.”

“Convenient,” she says flatly.

“Very.”

She walks around my office in a slow, deliberate circle, hands tucked into the pockets of her blazer like she’s trying to hide her secrets there.

“He was my first match.”

“I know.”

“And now he’s dead.”

Her jaw tightens. “And you’re only telling me now?”

“I found out half an hour ago.”

Her eyes narrow. “So you knew before you deprived me of my senses and tried to discombobulate me. Were you hoping I’d let something slip?”

I cross my arms. “I thought you’d prefer to be told about it somewhere private.”

“Why would you think that? Because you suspect I have something to do with it.”

That stings, just a little. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it, Marcus? A warning? A bonding moment? Am I supposed to swoon over how honest you’re being?”

“I want you to be careful, Sophia. I don’t want you flinging yourself into harm’s way.”

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just lifts her chin like she’s done this before. Like the risk feels familiar. That tells me more than anything else she’s said.

She doesn’t speak. Just turns toward the floor-to-ceiling windows and stares out at the city. The silence stretches between us, taut and humming.

“I should go,” she says finally.

“You can,” I reply. “But if someone is targeting clients, you need to be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“You weren’t today.”

She spins to face me, eyes blazing. “You pushed me.”

“I didn’t touch you.”

“No. But you knew what you were doing.”

She’s not wrong. And I won’t apologize.

Instead, I meet her glare head-on. “You didn’t run.”

She looks at me like she wants to punch me. “Next time I might.”

My voice is low. “I hope not.”

The space between us is crackling again, too much heat in too small a room. I’m either going to walk her out like a professional or grab her and make a much bigger mistake.

Luckily, she makes the choice for both of us.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” she says, already striding toward the door. “Next time, just text me the corpse count.”

And then she’s gone.

The door clicks shut, and I’m alone again, surrounded by the scent she left behind. Jasmine, coffee, and pure fucking danger.

I sit down hard in my chair and press my fingers to my temples.

She seemed genuinely shocked to learn about Pemberton’s death. Surely I would have noticed if there was even a hint of deception in her response?

I was terribly distracted by her beautiful mouth though. And thoughts of kissing it.

I’m not happy when I realize that Rodriguez is right.

I can’t be trusted to be objective where Sophia is concerned.