The aftermath was not a retreat, but a negotiation.
The three of them sat in Alaric’s office an hour later. Mira was dressed, though her blouse was slightly wrinkled and her lipstick was smudged. She sat in the oversized leather chair, her legs crossed, watching the two men. Alaric was back at his desk, though he had discarded his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Soren was lounging on the sofa, swirling a glass of scotch.
The air was still electric, the memory of the conference room lingering like a scent.
"That was... an unplanned deviation from the professional environment," Alaric said, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
"Oh, please," Soren laughed. "You were the one who pinned her to the glass, Alaric. Don't play the moral compass now."
Mira leaned forward, her eyes narrowin
