Page 67 of Hunt Me, Daddy

The look he gave me said he didn’t believe the limitation applied, but he didn’t push. That was becoming one of the more irritating things about him. Ivan Morozov had the patience of a predator and the manners of a man who knew exactly how close he could stand before a person noticed the knife in his hand.

He lifted his cup. “I haven’t ordered for you.”

“Why not?”

“Because assuming how a woman takes her coffee after one conversation would be arrogant.”

“And you’re not arrogant?”

“No.”

I almost laughed and it must have shown, because his eyes flickered with amusement behind his glasses.

“Confident,” he said. “Not arrogant.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Arrogance requires an audience.”

“That is either the best answer I’ve heard this week or the most alarming.”

“Both can be true.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

I went to the counter and ordered a black coffee because cream felt too revealing today for reasons I refused to unpack. When I came back, Ivan was exactly where I had left him. Same posture. Same cup. Same contained stillness that made the rest of the café look slightly undisciplined by comparison.

The place was small, warm, and expensive. Morning light came through the front windows in pale strips, catching on steam, glass, and the frames of Ivan’s glasses. The room smelled like espresso, cinnamon, and decadent pastries baking in the oven.

I sat down and he glanced at my cup. I waited for him to say something about my choice of black coffee. He did not. Another point to him. Possibly against him. I had lost track.

He watched me over the rim of his cup, unhurried.

“You’re thinking about what I did to you yesterday in the restroom, aren’t you?”

I held his gaze and refused to drop it, because dropping it would tell him he was right. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Yes,” he said. “You do.”

Bastard.

My gaze dropped to his hands again and I forced myself to swallow back my shame and act normal.

“So,” I said, folding my hands around the cup. “Do you always make professional acquaintances argue before breakfast?”

“Only the interesting ones.”

“I assume you have a low threshold for interesting.”

“I have a very high threshold actually.”

“You’re doing it again,” I said.

“What?”

“Answering like you already know where the conversation is going.”

He leaned back slightly. “Do I?”