Page 102 of Hunt Me, Daddy

“Productive trip?” he asked.

I shut the door behind me. The lock engaged automatically, which suddenly felt less like security and more like punctuation.

“What trip?” I asked.

Ivan removed his glasses and set them on the desk. My pulse slammed up into my throat at once.

“Kit.”

Just my name. He didn’t yell or raise his voice or anything like that. He just used that low, absolute tone that made my body remember every stupid thing it had thought in the shower, against his desk, under his hand at my jaw. I lifted my chin, feigning defiance that suddenly felt very risky in that moment.

“I went to my apartment.”

“I know you did.”

“I needed a drive,” I said, my mouth going dry.

“You could have told me.”

“You were on a call.”

“You could have waited.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“No,” he said. “You wanted to see if you could leave.”

“You don’t own me,” I said.

“No.”

“You don’t get to punish me for going to my own apartment.”

“I do not get to punish you for going to your apartment.”

I blinked. That was not the answer I expected. Then he stood up.

I held my ground.

“I get to punish you,” he continued, voice quiet, “for lying to me about it while Orlov men are actively looking for you.”

My pulse beat too fast.

“Ivan—”

“No.”

His gaze moved over my face, not missing a single thing. The anger. The defiance. The pulse hammering beneath my skin. The fact that I could have turned toward the door and didn’t.

“You made a choice,” he said. “Now you will deal with the consequences.”

Every part of my mind objected.

Every part of my body listened.

“This is insane,” I said.

“No.”