I’ll have you close, Heart. Whatever it takes, because leaving you exposed out there after I have shown interest, isn’t that more dangerous. Lips will natter and word will get back of what I did in that interview room. So this is safer… Yes. It’s for your own good.

The resolution should have chilled him. Instead, it felt like a terrifying relief.

He sought the cold, dead light of the city, its skyline a script he was too empty to read.

The glass gave him back the face.

His reflection lay across the night, transparent and unbearable. It was flawless symmetry. The hard line of the jaw, the unforgiving arch of the brow—a ghost wearing his skin. The world saw a masterpiece. He felt only the smooth, suffocating walls of a cage.

Saint walked over to look at the city skyline, now that he had become so resolute on his plan, and there was nothing left to do but wait. His body no longer wanted to sit behind the desk.

Waiting. He had always hated waiting. So much could go wrong while one waited for things. So much could, and had.

The cityline was lit up like Christmas, beautiful warm lights in a variation of colors as far as the eye could see, and yet his eyes skipped past it all to his own reflection in the large tinted glass.

A fine, cold sweat pricked his lip, a silent, sickening failure of control. Inside, a brief, sharp spasm of disgust fluttered and died. It was the face of a beautiful monster.

His hand lifted, and his fingers pressed to the cuff of his shirt out of habit, silk whispering over the hidden curve of his wrist. Just bone and skin. Those dark, oppressive eyes glared at him. He looked away.

The cold dread in him stilled to that low, comfortable rumble that stayed with him in his subconscious. He turned away from the glass, letting the city reclaim its dominion. The terrible comfort of this room was his own design. No space for letting him forget, letting him lull into complacency.

He put the paper in his side drawer, opening it placing it in gently then closing it with a disheartening dissonance as Heart’s eyes disappeared behind the wood of the desk as the drawer closed on him.

I won’t let what happened happen again. I’ll protect you. I have to. I already put you in danger. Still, he knew his lesson. It was carved into his bones: Attachments are liabilities. And liabilities are cut down.

To bring Heart into this world was insanity. It was painting a target on the back of the only vibrant thing he’d seen in years.

You will get him killed. Just like the last one.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the compulsion was a physical force, a hook in his soul reeling him in. It was wrong, this desperation. It felt alien, as if something outside of him was puppeteering his will. He knew he was walking into a trap, both corporate and personal, and yet he couldn’t stop his feet from carrying him forward to his doom.

The rules were a constraint, and he was a master of bending them. He couldn’t create a give him any of the hiring position, but he could create a new shadow for himself. One that wouldn’t attract the immediate attention of the vultures on the board.

He sat back down at his desk and clicked the button on the phone intercom. “Kit.” He called. Sliding back into his persona, letting him hold onto the brutal necessity of control so that his mind wouldn’t slip back into falling for those pools of Honey that wanted to be his undoing.

Kit walked in, holding a stack of candidate folders and, a steaming coffee with his favorite coffee company’s logo on it.

He must have just gone out and gotten another one. He smirked.

“You are smirking, Sir, that is never a good thing.”

“Relax Kit, we’re just adding a third hire.”

Kit froze, his efficient hands stilling on the folders. He sipped his coffee slowly, then as if he had already adjusted to the unexpected news, his voice softened inquisitively. “Sir? There are only two openings.” He wasn’t totally new to Saint’s antics so the quiet inquiry was like his way of saying. I have questions. Without actively questioning Saint’s authority at the office.

“Not anymore,” Saint said, his voice dangerously calm. He reached across the desk and plucked the coffee from Kit’s hand, taking an immediate, deep sip. “I’ve just realized I need a personal assistant. An errand boy. And I’ve found the perfect candidate.”

Kit blinked, his hands now empty of the coffee. “I was drinking that, Sir. It’s my third one., you stole this week, can I just order you, your own coffee?”

“I like your coffee’s”

“I am aware.” He sighed. “Did I fail you in some way that I need to be replaced?”

Saint ignored him, savoring the familiar dark roast. “Oh, Kitten, you’re my right hand, you are not getting replaced, this new hire. He’s going to be very special. Less of a right hand and more of a right…”

“A heart.” He chuckled at his own joke.

Kit’s expression shifted to a low, weary glare. “If you had a heart it would be slightly to your left. Not your right. Special how?”

Saint chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I’m wounded. It’s cause I stole your coffee right? You are mad about the coffee?”

“Yes, it’s the coffee not the mountain of paperwork a sudden third hire will incur. Is the new hire absolutely necessary?”

“Yes. Let’s just say he has something you don’t. In ways you wouldn’t understand.”

Kit sighed heavily, his fingers drumming against the desk. “You’re not replacing me, but if I’m not meeting expectations, I can do better, you just need to say so.”

Saint burst out laughing. “Oh, Kit. You’ll always be irreplaceable. But let’s just say this new hire might be handling different kinds of errands. And speaking of which, don’t bother with the standard welcome packet for one fifty-two. I’ll prepare something more… personal.”

Kit narrowed his eyes, accepting the command. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely,” Saint admitted, taking another slow sip. “Oh, just so you know, there will be plenty to torture both of you with. With the impending contracts and mergers of TLR and Eagle Eye Construction.”

Kit nodded, collecting the papers. “Oh, goody. I am so excited,” he said flatly.

“Anytime. I am happy I can indulge your odd little masochism to die worked to death, Kitten.”

Kit glared. “I am not that twisted, I'm not you, and don’t call me Kitten when we are at the office. It’s embarrassing. People will get the wrong idea.”

Saint pouted, finishing the last of the coffee. “But it’s no fun not flaunting your connections when you’re as powerful as we are.”

“You mean as powerful as you are.” Kit gave him a look of final reprieve.

“Awe, come on, what’s mine is yours, we are family after all.” Saint snickered.

Kit didn’t break focus. “You’re missing your meeting to poke fun at my feelings again, Sir. Please, I am asking you kindly to go to your meeting.”

Saint laughed. “Alright, I am going this time.”

He rose from his chair. That still faint ache, gnawing at him, refusing to leave, but the exchange with Kit, the stolen coffee, settling back into the normal had settled his nerves.

He walked toward the door, turning back once to toss a final, wicked grin at his assistant. “Always so reliable, Kit.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “Sir, forty minutes.” He reminded. Saint laughed and strode toward the chaos he had just set in motion.