Damien let out a quiet scoff, clearly amused. “Stop being dramatic.”
His calmness alone suggested none of this was remotely abnormal. Wearing another man’s face seemed to require no adjustment at all as he walked to his desk, took his seat, opened his laptop, and carried on as though this were an ordinary morning.
Ashcroft stared at him in disbelief before following and dropping into the chair across from the desk.
“And you’re overly nonchalant,” he muttered.
Minutes passed.
No response.
Ashcroft sat there watching Hudson—no, Damien—typing away at the keyboard, brows faintly furrowed, looking genuinely focused, as if he had already moved on and Ashcroft’s discomfort wasn’t worth acknowledging.
That somehow made it worse.
Ashcroft slapped both hands against his lap in frustration.
