He opened the door and nodded for her to enter.
Taking a deep breath, she went in.
And froze.
Three stood in the corner, an older man sat behind the desk, and he occupied the chair at the front.
What the hell was he doing there?
She stayed still, keeping her face as neutral as she could, and faced Three.
The older woman indicated the only empty chair in the room, in front of the desk and beside his. Heart pounding, she gingerly sat in it.
“This is Mr. H,” Three spoke in the way of introduction, indicating the older man behind the desk looking at her with a scowl on his face, his beady eyes making her distinctly uncomfortable. “You know why he’s here.”
Lyla nodded.
“Speak up, girl!” Mr. H’s voice boomed, making her jolt with the sudden loudness. Heart racing, she willed herself to calm down, hating that he would hear her voice again when she’d told him he wouldn't. The fact that Three hadn’t introduced him even though he was there made her wonder if she even knew who he was. Did Mr. H know? Did anyone?
“I… I don’t know what to say,” she told the older man quietly, deliberately ignoring the dark presence on the side.
“For a start, tell me how last night happened,” the older, creepy man instructed.
Ignoring the way his eyes were burning on her, but aware of what he'd asked her to say, she addressed Mr. H. “It was the Shadow Man.”
Three gasped.
It was fascinating, seeing the way the older man’s scowl faded, replaced with something very akin to fear. She knew the Shadow Man was a rumor in the underworld, but to witness just the impact the sound of his name could have on someone powerful like Mr. H made something warm twist in her belly.
For the first time in her life, she understood what the barest glimpse of power felt like. And she wondered if it gave him a rush, to be there and witness it in person, to see how people reacted to his name, oblivious to the fact that he was right there.
Maybe that was why he had come. To find some twisted satisfaction in their terror.
Mr. H leaned forward. “How the fuck do you know that?”
What could she say to that? Thinking quickly on her feet, she answered with as much earnestness as she could muster. “There was a call on the phone after the buyer was shot. The man on the other side introduced himself as the Shadow Man.”
Mr. H frowned. “That’s very strange. Not a part of his M.O.”
She didn't comment on that.
As he contemplated in silence, she felt a gloved hand touch hers, the man at her side slipping something into her hand. Paper, from the feel of it. Fisting her hand, she surreptitiously stuffed it in her jeans pocket to look at later, confused as to what was going on.
Mr. H stared at her in a discomforting way for a long time before steeping his fingers, resting his elbows on the desk. “You present quite the conundrum, girl. You get some of our highest bids and lose us some of our best clients.”
Lyla stayed silent, not sure if and how to address this. She focused on the man speaking, aware of the man silent at her side, and felt an odd feeling of safety envelop her. Odd, because it wasn’t an emotion she was familiar with. She might not know anything about him, but she knew he wouldn’t let her be killed for his own reasons. His presence there ensured she stay alive.
A sudden slight gleam entered Mr. H’s dark eyes. “Alright, that’s all. You can go now.”
Lyla didn’t know what the change meant, but she doubted it was anything good. Taking that as dismissal, she stood up and walked out of the office, the guard waiting to escort her back to her room.
Thankfully, the room was empty, both Reina and Millie somewhere away. Sitting on her unmade bed, she took the crumpled piece of paper out from her pocket, looking at the note he had passed her, a masculine string scrawl of a sentence that made her breath catch.
'Your voice makes my atoms sing.’
She didn’t understand the rush she felt at those words. It was… beautiful. Almost poetic, and she wouldn’t have called him poetic in her wildest dreams. But was he just saying it to soften her or did he mean it? She didn't know but she knew she shouldn’t feel that rush, especially not when it was coming from him. But sitting alone in her room, she couldn’t deny it affected her. He affected her, no matter how much she tried to resist. Over the years, she had gone from hopefully opening herself up to his impact on her, to accepting it, to denying it, to resisting it, to hating it, and repeat. A cycle rooted in the fact that she wanted him completely but didn't know if he returned the feeling beyond keeping her safe.