Chapter 7 - Across the Mahogany Desk
"Come closer," Julian said, his voice dropping into a low, steady register that brooked no argument. He gestured toward the single empty leather armchair positioned directly opposite his desk.
I walked across the Persian rug, my boots making no sound, and stopped beside the chair without sitting down. The desk between us was covered in architectural blueprints, leather-bound ledgers, and a crystal tumbler half-filled with amber liquid that he hadn't touched. The warmth radiating from a small electric hearth in the corner did nothing to thaw the chill settling deep inside my chest.
"I'd rather stand," I said, keeping my tone flat and controlled.
Julian leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He rested his forearms on the armrests, bringing the dark ink patterns into sharp focus under the lamplight. "You've been in this house for three months," he began, his voice measured and analytical. "You know how to set a formal table without making a sound, you anticipate every course before it's requested, and yet you walk through these halls like a ghost trying not to cast a shadow."
"I do my job," I replied, my fingers curling into a tight fist inside my pockets.
"You do more than that," Julian countered, his gaze dropping briefly to my left hand, still trapped inside its black wool prison. "People who merely work here don't flinch when a tureen rattles. They don't wear gloves in ninety-degree heat while carrying hot soup. You're hiding a vulnerability, and in this house, vulnerabilities become liabilities very quickly."
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"It's a skin condition," I lied once more, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. It was the excuse I had rehearsed a thousand times, the shield I used whenever anyone looked too closely.
Julian let out a short, humorless breath. He stood up slowly, towering over the desk, and took a deliberate step toward me. The scent of cedar and dark coffee washed over me again, much closer this time. "Don't insult my intelligence," he said softly, stopping just a foot away. "I've seen what fear looks like, and I've seen what scars look like. Take the glove off."
