The knock at the door startled me. I'd been pacing my office for the past hour, replaying Lucas's heated words at the café and Nixus's uninvited meddling in my mind. I knew the knock was him. No one else had the audacity to show up unannounced when I was clearly in no mood for company.
With a sigh, I swung the door open. There he was—Nixus Westwood, in all his tailored, self-assured glory. Except tonight, his confidence seemed frayed, and his usual smirk was absent.
"What do you want?" I asked, not bothering to mask my irritation.
He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. Typical. "We need to talk."
"No, you need to talk," I shot back, shutting the door harder than necessary. "I don't have the patience for another one of your games, Nixus."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might snap back, but he didn't. Instead, he ran a hand through his dark hair, a rare gesture of frustration.
