IMOGEN'S POV
I let go of Elijah's hair with a slow, deliberate movement, just enough for him to see it—more than twelve strands between my fingers, pale against my dark nails. His breath hitched. That was all I needed. I slipped the strands into my pocket without saying a word.
Then I glanced at my wristwatch and sighed. "I have a meeting with your wife," I said casually. "I'm sure you've heard what she accused my boy of doing."
He didn't respond. His lips were pressed too tight, and his jaw had locked up. Whether it was rage, humiliation, or that dangerous cocktail of both, I couldn't tell. But the silence was delicious.
I slid my card across the table toward him. "Do keep in touch," I said with a smile that didn't reach my eyes.
Then I turned and walked out.
Talia was already waiting in the hallway, her clipboard in hand. We moved like we had rehearsed it, calm and collected, like we hadn't just rattled an entire boardroom.
"Remember the hair I gave you?" I said quietly.
