The hallway outside the suite was quiet, lined with silent guards who pretended not to see him button his collar and swipe the last trace of Lucas's scent from his wrist.
By the time he reached the private meeting chamber, Dax was already seated, one arm draped along the curved back of the velvet chair, elegant shoe tapping a slow rhythm against the polished floor. A large folder lay open on the table, half-shadowed by the light filtering through etched glass.
"Fashionably late," Dax said without looking up. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to walk."
Trevor didn't bother with a response. He took the seat across from him.
Dax finally lifted his gaze. "You reek of pheromones."
"This is what you get when you interrupt a couple on their honeymoon."
Dax's lips twitched, like the ghost of a smirk had tried to form and died halfway. "Should I regret giving you a time limit?"
