Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Orion reaches across the table, his hand hovering for a moment before gently touching mine. The warmth of his fingers calms the nerves racing beneath my skin, grounding me. “You’re safe here, Briar,” he says, his voice steady. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”
I glance up, meeting his eyes for the first time since we started this conversation. There’s something in his gaze—something strong and unwavering that makes me believe him. It’s not just empty words. He means it.
I manage a small, grateful smile, my heart swelling just a bit. “Thanks,” I whisper, my fingers curling slightly around his, holding on to that tiny thread of reassurance he’s offering. For now, it’s enough.
Orion squeezes my hand before pulling away, giving me space again. “Now eat your nuggies before they get cold,” he says, his teasing tone back in place, trying to lighten the mood.
I let out a small laugh, grateful for the shift. “Yes, sir,” I reply, picking up a chicken nugget and taking a big bite. It’s a silly moment, but I welcome it—anything to keep the darkness at bay for just a little longer.
Chapter 6
Orion
What’s that old saying? If you can’t handle the heat, get out of the kitchen? Yeah, well, I practically had to run from the kitchen, because if I stayed there one second longer, watching Briar nibble on her mac and cheese and chicken nuggets like they were the best things in the world, I’d lose it. I’d practically jumped her bones right there, and that’s... not exactly professional.
It also breaks every fucking rule in my book.
However, she’s stunning in this way that’s almost too much to take. Not in the conventional sense of the word, but in that adorkable, completely irresistible way. The girl next door. There’s something about the way her eyes light up over the simplest things—like comfort food, or how she talks to her bird like he's a person. It gets to me. More than I want to admit.
I had to get out of there. Fast. The heat wasn’t just in the kitchen, it was building in me, and I needed a break.
After she started eating, that damn bird let out his usual squawk for attention. “I’m hungry!” he screeched. I swear, that bird never stops. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was trying to outcompete me for Briar’s attention. The little bastard’s always on her case, squawking this and that.
Briar didn’t miss a beat, though. She hopped up, grabbing Jeb’s food like it was second nature, as if she hadn’t just settled down to enjoy her meal. The way she multitasks, feeding both herself and Jeb with this casual, natural ease… it’s endearing. Like she’s been doing it her whole life.
Meanwhile, I made my way to my office, grateful for the distance. I need a minute. Hell, I need more than a minute. Just one second alone with my thoughts, away from the pull she has on me.
I close the door behind me and sink into my chair, running a hand through my hair. I can still hear Briar in the other room, chatting softly to Jeb as she eats, and it makes me smile despite myself. The tension in my chest loosens just a little. She doesn’t know what she does to me, how much self-control it takes to keep things professional.
But I need to keep it together. I’m here to protect her, not get caught up in whatever this is between us. I rub the back of my neck, trying to refocus. I came here to do a job, and I can’t afford to get distracted. Not by her smile, not by her infectious laugh, and definitely not by the way she looks at me like I’m her hero.
I take a deep breath, glancing at the paperwork piled on my desk, trying to get my head back in the game. But even as I try to concentrate, my mind keeps drifting back to her—to the way she makes this feel less like a job and more like... something else.
Which is dangerous.
I grab my cell and pull up Dean’s contact info, my finger hovering over his name for a second before I hit call. The phone barely rings once before he picks up, his voice coming through the line with that no-nonsense tone I’ve grown accustomed to.
“Talk to me,” he says.
Straight to the point. Typical Dean.
“Were you able to get all the background info on Jason?” I ask, leaning back in my chair, the tension in my shoulders still lingering from earlier.
“Yes. I was just putting the file together and about to email it over,” Dean replies. Efficient as ever.
“Good,” I murmur, nodding even though he can’t see me. “Thank you.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and I can hear the faint tapping of keys, probably as he finishes up the email. I rub a hand over my face, the weight of this whole situation pressing down on me. I trust Dean—his instincts are solid, and I need a second opinion to validate the gut feeling that’s been gnawing at me since I took this case.