Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Maverick
I stepped into Maverick Spencer’s office, already feeling the weight of his mood before I even fully crossed the threshold.
The air was thick, the kind of charged silence that settled after an argument that hadn’t quite ended.
His presence alone was enough to make the room feel smaller—dark, brooding, controlled.
I knew the moment I met his gaze that he was irritated, but instead of feeling the urge to apologize like a normal person, I felt something else entirely.
I wanted to push him.
His eyes cut straight through me, cold and sharp, but I had seen shadows of something else beneath them before—something darker, something more dangerous.
"You’re late," he said, his voice flat but laced with undercurrent displeasure.
I could have simply apologized. I should have simply apologized. But where was the fun in that?
Instead, I leaned against his desk, setting my coffee down with a slow, deliberate movement.
I let my body relax, crossing one ankle over the other, my arms lazily folded.
"Didn’t want to interrupt while you were busy," I said smoothly.
I let my lips curve just slightly, enough to make it ambiguous whether I was teasing or outright provoking. "You know, making a woman cry."
His jaw ticked, his fingers curling just a fraction tighter around the document he had been holding. His reaction was subtle, but I caught it. I always caught it.
"Careful, Ms. Wheeler," he said, voice dangerously low.
I tilted my head, letting my smirk widen just enough to border on defiance.
"Why?" I let my gaze drift slowly over him, from the stiff set of his shoulders to the way his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing forearms that looked unfairly good for a man who spent most of his time sitting behind a desk. "Did I touch a nerve?"
His eyes darkened. Not with anger. Not exactly.
I could tell he was measuring me, deciding if I was worth the effort of engaging or if I should simply be dismissed. But something in his gaze flickered—a hesitation, a calculation.
I decided to push further. "At first," I continued, tapping my fingers against his desk, "I thought maybe you were… occupied."
His brow lifted, an almost imperceptible arch, but it was there. "Occupied," he repeated.
I exhaled slowly, dragging out the moment just long enough to make it something more than just conversation. "In a much more interesting way."
Something shifted.
The air between us tensed, the room suddenly smaller, the distance I had been comfortably controlling now feeling like a thread pulled too tight, ready to snap.
Maverick stood up slowly, unhurried, but intentionally His movements were precise, every step toward me calculated. I should have moved back—should have done anything but stay rooted in place as he closed the space between us.
But I didn’t.
I refused to.
His presence was overwhelming, too much in all the ways that made my pulse betray me, but I held his gaze as he came closer, stopping just short of touching me. I could feel the warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne mixed with something unmistakably him—sharp, clean, controlled.
His eyes dragged over my face, not lazily, not in appreciation, but in assessment. I felt an unfamiliar shiver creep up my spine, an electric pulse that made my fingers twitch at my sides.
I parted my lips slightly, about to say something—anything—to cut the tension before it swallowed me whole, but he got there first.
"Next time," he murmured, his voice low, deliberate, a promise or a threat, I wasn’t sure, "don’t be late."
His breath brushed my skin, close enough that if I had leaned forward just an inch, we would have touched. My throat went dry, my heart pounding a fraction harder than it had any right to.
I wasn’t the kind of woman who got easily rattled. I could handle a few inches of lost space, a little tension, and a well-placed challenge.
But this?
This felt different.
I swallowed, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of stepping back first. Instead, I let my smirk return—a little weaker than before, but still there. "Is this your way of saying you missed me, boss?"
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head just slightly before stepping back, like he was resisting the urge to do something worse, something reckless.
Without another word, he turned and walked past me, his shoulder grazing mine just enough to make my breath hitch.
The office door shut behind him, leaving me standing there, fingers lightly grazing the edge of his desk, still feeling the ghost of his proximity against my skin.
I exhaled, staring at the space he had just occupied.
Maybe—just maybe—I was playing a dangerous game.