Trevor rose from his chair in one smooth motion, arranging the fall of his black pants with the patience of a saint, as though the mere act of standing required presentation. He unrolled his sleeves with deliberate precision, each fold smoothed down like he was preparing to look decent again, though the gleam in his eyes made it clear decency had nothing to do with his plans.
Lucas tracked the movement, head tilting just slightly, the faintest hum escaping him as if weighing whether the performance was worth rewarding.
Trevor stepped around the desk at a pace that could only be called indulgent, closing the space between them one careful stride at a time. "You know," he said, voice dipping low, "I could have left with you. Sat at the table like a well-trained husband. But I didn't."
Lucas arched a brow, his calm unshaken. "And here I thought you were working."
