Chapter 20 The Test #2
His mouth curved slightly, as if he heard everything I wasn’t saying and could practically see the cartoon version of my vagina fanning itself.
“If that is how you prefer to frame it,” he replied cryptically, and something breathless and stupid flared in my chest.
Okay, so I was not going there because this flirting was nothing but a ruse. That was all it was. It had to be. Bo had made that abundantly clear. Enforcers did not blur lines with mortals. There were laws. Rules. Boundaries.
Which meant, whatever flicker of flirtation had existed between us yesterday had either been my imagination… or something far more dangerous. Just like now.
“Fine,” I said briskly, straightening.
“Then let’s keep it professional,” I stated, sitting a little straighter now, and ignoring the way his gaze sharpened with interest. Ignoring the way his gaze travelled slowly down the length of me, over the fitted navy pencil dress I had selected that morning.
Doing so with almost military precision.
Its clean lines and capped sleeves were conservative enough to be respectable yet cut close enough to remind him I was not fragile. I was a woman on a mission, even in smooth fabric that, in my mind, was structured like armor.
“By all means,” he replied with that smirk out in full force now, as if he was already calling my bluff with just a look.
“Then let’s discuss strategy. The campaign needs to pivot.
The exclusivity angle is strong, but it lacks narrative tension.
We need to create mystique without alienating the demographic that values access.
Your diamonds aren’t just reserved for the elite, they’re designed for those who wish to feel like they belong among them.
Like the unobtainable has been conquered,” I said, slipping into the tone I used in boardrooms when people underestimated me.
But there was also something else buried under the veil of my words…
a hidden meaning. Something even I didn’t fully understand, but as for Oblivion, he seemed to comprehend it all.
His eyes widened just a fraction as he watched me, as if I were far more compelling than the strategy I was outlining, and I knew then that the implication beneath my words had not gone unnoticed.
“Interesting approach,” he replied, his tone measured, as though he were the one concealing something now.
“We rework the launch visuals,” I went on, ignoring the way his attention felt like a physical thing.
“Less overt luxury, more curated secrecy. Invitation-based previews. Controlled leaks. You want anticipation, not intimidation.”
“And you believe I intimidate?” he asked lightly, now turning the conversation back to him and less about business, which he claimed to have hired me for. But his question had me laughing in irony.
“Ha, is that even a serious question?” I asked, and he raised a brow in question.
“Well?” he prompted, making me shake my head a little, before admitting,
“I believe you don’t try not to be intimidating.”
“Yet you never once cowered in my presence,” he was quick to point out, his tone coated in respect, and enough to make me blush at the praise.
“What can I say, my self-preservation clearly isn’t what it should be.”
He laughed once before shaking his head.
“Now who is being evasive?” he countered.
“Perhaps I just figured that if you wanted me dead that night, then you wouldn’t have wasted your time engaging in conversation with me,” I answered honestly, making him nod his head slowly.
“That’s a fair observation,” he replied, amusement flickering in his pale blue eyes, and I had the absurd thought that if I stared at them for too long, I might forget where I ended and he began. They were far too captivating.
The car continued forward in steady silence, the city thinning slightly around us, and I glanced out the window.
That’s when I noticed a row of shops ahead, cafés and small storefronts clustered together.
The people drifting in and out with paper cups in hand. But what I saw more was an opportunity.
“If this is strictly business, then you won’t mind pulling over,” I said evenly, turning back to him as his gaze flicked to me, alert now.
“For what purpose?” he asked, clearly surprised.
“I haven’t had my morning coffee yet or breakfast for that matter, and well… I don’t function particularly well without either,” I said bluntly.
“That sounds like a personal inconvenience indeed,” he teased, visibly relaxing once he realized my rebellion stemmed from nothing more sinister than hunger and caffeine deprivation.
“It is,” I agreed.
“Which I can remedy. There’s a café coming up,” I informed him, nodding to the side of the road as we were currently stopped in traffic.
“You wish to stop?” he asked, frowning this time.
“I thought you said I wasn’t a prisoner?” I stated, testing him now, despite the fact that he hadn’t actually ever said this. Which was why I was only half surprised when he replied,
“You are not.”
Something eased in my chest at that, because I had feared this very thing from the start. Which now had me questioning if this arrangement between us wasn’t about the campaign after all.
Well, a girl could hope.
“Good,” I said lightly, though my pulse had begun to thud in my ears.
“Then, let me out here. I’ll grab a coffee, and you can just text me the address of your office, so I can meet you there,” I said, trying to back him into a corner, and he knew it. Because the faintest narrowing of his eyes told me he understood exactly what I was doing.
Testing him.
Testing the cage, Bo insisted was already closing in around me.
Outside, the café grew closer, pedestrians visible through the glass windows, safe and ordinary and human. A world I wanted to cling to and be a part of once more.
“So, what is it to be? Am I your prisoner or not?” I finished calmly, even as every instinct screamed at me not to push him further. And for the first time since I had known him, something shifted across his face that did not resemble complete control.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but I saw it. A tightening at the edge of his jaw, a flicker of calculation behind his eyes as though he were weighing outcomes I could not see. He did not like this, I realized. Not because of the coffee. Because of what it represented.
“We have not far to travel,” he said at last, his tone smooth but edged with quiet restraint.
“There will be coffee where you are going. Anything you desire, in fact.”
I swallowed hard at that and pointed out,
“That’s not the point,” My fingers drifted unconsciously to the Band-Aid stuck to my palm, worrying at the edge of it with my thumb.
His gaze dropped briefly, tracking the movement, taking note of it.
“No?” he asked, pushing me this time.
The car slowed as we reached a red light. Through the window, the café came fully into view now, its windows misted with warmth, people moving inside with easy familiarity. Cups cradled between hands, laughter rising in soft bursts each time the door opened. Normal. Busy. Public.
My pulse began to climb.
“If this is strictly professional, then stepping out of the car for coffee shouldn’t be an issue,” I said evenly, keeping my voice measured despite the rush of adrenaline beneath it. My breath held for long heartbeats until his large shoulders dropped a fraction as a sigh escaped him.
“You are permitted to leave the car,” he replied at long last, but something about it felt off enough for me to push,
“But you’re not letting me.”
A faint crease appeared between his brows, not irritation but something closer to conflict.
“Eliza.”
“So, I am a prisoner,” I stated, hearing the sharpness in my own voice and hating how much I meant it.
“I’m not actually working for you. I’m being transported to your prison.” The sigh that came from him felt far more weighted than the last. Then the light turned green, and the car moved forward.
He regarded me steadily, something unreadable passing behind his eyes. For a moment, I wondered if I had pushed too far, if this was where calm civility ended and something far colder took its place.
Instead, he exhaled once through his nose, almost a quiet laugh.
“You are remarkably dramatic.”
I swallowed hard and snapped,
“Am I wrong?”
The café was nearly alongside us now. I could see the car's reflection in the glass as we passed. He held my gaze for a long second more, then reached forward with measured calm and pressed a discreet button along the console. The privacy screen slid down with a soft mechanical hum, revealing the driver’s silhouette beyond.
“Pull over by the café,” he instructed evenly.
“Miss Shadowmere would like to step out.” The formality of it startled me, but not more so than the order he just gave to release me from his grasp.
“Very well, my Lord,” the driver replied with a respectful nod.
The screen rose again, sealing us back into our private cocoon. The car eased smoothly toward the curb, stopping directly outside the café as though this had always been the intended destination.
I had not expected him to agree.
I reached for the handle, then hesitated, glancing back at him.
“I assume you have my number,” I said, brushing my fingers again over the edge of the bandage, suddenly aware of how small that movement must look to him. He smirked before granting me a small nod.
“Text me the address. I’ll meet you there once I’ve had coffee and something to eat,” I told him, and I wondered if he believed me… I wondered if I believed myself.
But then his eyes dipped briefly to my hand again before returning to my face. The corner of his mouth curved, slow and knowing, as if I had just said something far more amusing than I intended.
“Of course,” he replied.
No protest. No correction. No insistence.
Which unsettled me more than refusal would have.
Regardless, I stepped out onto the sidewalk, cool air rushing against my skin and clearing the artificial stillness of the car from my lungs. The door closed behind me with a soft, decisive click.
I turned and stepped into the café, greeted instantly by warmth and sound.
The hiss of steam wands, the scent of roasted beans, and the low murmur of conversation layered over clinking cups had me relaxing.
People brushed past me without recognition or concern, wrapped in their own mornings, having no clue what had just happened.
What I had just escaped.
I joined the queue, my shoulders gradually lowering as the normalcy of it all began to settle over me.
I flexed my bandaged hand absently, pressing at the edge again, grounding myself in something tangible.
I also resisted the urge to immediately look back but eventually, I glanced toward the café window, searching for some sign of movement outside.
Moments later, the car pulled away from the curb, merging seamlessly into traffic until it disappeared beyond the intersection, and relief bloomed slowly through my chest.
Maybe Bo had overestimated him. Maybe I had.
The line moved forward. I checked my phone.
No message yet.
An opportunity.
If I left now, before he sent the address, before the next move was made, then perhaps this whole thing could still shift in my favor.
My heart began to pound, a decision forming fast and reckless.
I stepped out of the queue, turned sharply toward the door, and collided straight into someone… someone solid.
Strong hands caught my arms before I could stumble backward, steadying me with unyielding ease. Heat radiated through the thin fabric of my sleeve, immediate and unmistakable.
“Careful,” came a low voice near my ear, smooth and close enough that the sound brushed against my skin.
My breath caught before I looked up slowly.
Oblivion stood before me, utterly composed, as though he had materialized from the very air itself.
The same immaculate suit, dark and severe against the soft café lighting, drawing every line of his broad frame into sharper relief.
His presence did not belong in a space like this, and yet it dominated it all the same.
His gaze flicked briefly to my hand, thumb adjusting slightly against my arm where he held me, as though he had felt the tension there.
Then his eyes returned to mine.
A slow, knowing smile curved his mouth, patient and entirely unsurprised. As if he had known my intentions all along.
I knew it from the quiet certainty in his voice when he asked,
“Change of heart, little Inanna?”