POV: Silas
Silas disliked Owen Price for having teeth.
The accountant had used them to smile at Evelyn four times before lunch.
None of the smiles were improper. That made the problem worse. Silas could not threaten a man for being professionally pleasant, especially after spending weeks proving that powerful men did not own Evelyn's attention.
His wolf had not attended those discussions in good faith.
“You are stalking the stairs,” Ronan said.
“I am inspecting the lift.”
“From the same angle for twenty minutes.”
“It may fail from repetition.”
“Like your dignity?”
Silas turned.
Ronan raised both hands. “I support emotional growth. From a safe distance.”
Above the repair floor, Evelyn and Owen bent over separate screens. She wore her hair twisted up with a pencil. Every few minutes it loosened, and she pushed it back without noticing.
Silas noticed.
He noticed Owen noticed.
The wrench in Silas's hand bent.
“That is company property,” Ronan said.
“Charge me.”
“Mate-related wear requires two signatures now.”
Evelyn appeared at the railing.
“Silas. My office.”
The mechanics went silent.
Ronan whispered, “Your reign was magnificent.”
Silas climbed the stairs.
Owen collected his laptop. “I'll verify the Rusk subsidiaries downstairs.”
“You can stay,” Silas said.
Evelyn looked at him.
“He should go,” Silas corrected.
Owen left quickly enough to demonstrate sound survival instincts.
Evelyn closed the glass door.
“Do you want to tell me what's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You broke a wrench.”
“Poor manufacturing.”
“You dropped two others yesterday.”
“Ronan dropped one.”
“Because you pointed at him.”
Silas looked through the glass. Every mechanic suddenly found the same engine fascinating.
“Owen is competent,” he said.
“Yes.”
“He respects your work.”
“Yes.”
“He has very white teeth.”
Evelyn stared at him.
Then she laughed.
Not a polite laugh. She leaned against the desk and covered her mouth while Silas's dignity died in public behind glass walls.
“This is not amusing.”
“You are jealous of an accountant.”
“Forensic accountant.”
“That distinction matters?”
“He receives government referrals.”
“And therefore seduces women through spreadsheets?”
“You like spreadsheets.”
Her laughter softened.
“Come here.”
Silas did not move.
“That sounded dangerously like an order.”
“Then remain over there and suffer.”
He crossed the room.
Evelyn took the bent wrench from his hand and set it on the desk.
“I need to know something,” she said. “Are you angry at me for working with him?”
“No.”
“Would you ask Maeve to replace him?”
“No.”
“Would you punish him through the club's business?”
“No.”
“Do you want to throw him out a window?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
He frowned. “All right?”
“A feeling is not the same as an action. You told me that wanting does not create ownership. Apparently jealousy doesn't either.”
Silas placed both palms on the desk, caging nothing but paperwork.
“My wolf does not understand why another man needs to sit close enough to smell you.”
“My job is not arranged around your wolf's comfort.”
“I know.”
“Say the rest.”
He hated that she could see it.
“I like watching you work,” he admitted. “You become sharper. Louder. You argue without looking at the door. And when he understood your transaction map before I did, I wanted what he had.”
“My attention?”
“Access to that part of you.”
Her expression changed.
“Grant hated that part.”
“Grant feared anything he could not make smaller.”
“And you?”
“I want to learn enough to stand beside it.”
Evelyn touched his jaw.
“Then ask questions instead of murdering tools.”
“What is a digital certificate?”
“That was fast.”
“I prepared.”
She explained how the certificate tied approval to Gideon Rusk's credentials without proving what he believed he was buying. Silas listened. When he interrupted, she corrected him. When she used a term he did not understand, he asked.
She drew the ownership chain on the whiteboard.
“Red Cedar is owned by Winter Health Holdings. Winter Health is controlled by three trusts. Two are ordinary investment vehicles. The third has no human beneficiary listed because wolf trusts are recorded through council jurisdiction.”
“Rusk's trust,” Silas said.
“Probably. Not proven.”
“You enjoy saying that to me.”
“I enjoy preventing you from declaring war based on a spreadsheet.”
“Wars have started over less.”
“That is not reassuring.”
Silas took the marker from her and attempted to copy the chain. His first arrow connected the clinic to the wrong trust.