John had the grace to look like a man who wished he were somewhere else. The other one took a half second longer.
"Gentlemen." Perfectly level. "I don't believe either of you have the Calloway notes ready for this afternoon."
They left. Quickly. The door swung shut behind them.
Adriel hadn't moved. Landen looked at him, really looked, and felt something shift in his chest in a way that was inconvenient and immediate and not entirely explicable.
He was slight, was the thing. Not in height, not in build, but in the way he was holding himself right now, pulled inward, shoulders drawn up just a fraction, trying to make himself smaller. His honey-blond hair curled at the nape of his neck where the collar of his sweater sat. His ears were pink.
"Adriel."
A pause. A beat too long.
Then Adriel turned.
Landen had seen him flustered before, but this was different. This was a face that had been very recently and very carefully put back together, the seams still visible if you knew where tolook. The brightness at the edges of his eyes. The color in his cheeks that had nothing to do with warmth. His expression was composed, and the effort of it was written in the slight tension of his jaw, the careful set of his mouth.
He was, Landen thought, with a clarity that arrived without invitation, extraordinarily pretty. Even now. Especially now, with the pink high in his cheeks and his eyes too bright and his hands still wrapped around the mug like it was the most solid thing in the room.
"Sorry." Already moving, already angling toward the door. "I'll get out of your way."
"You're not in my way." Landen kept his voice even. "Take your time."
Adriel looked at him.
Just for a moment. Something in his expression shifting, the composure flickering at its edges before he got it back under control. Then he nodded, dropped his gaze, and slipped past Landen through the door.
The coffee machine hummed. The kettle sat cooling on its base. Outside in the corridor, footsteps faded, and the floor went on without them, the ordinary sounds of an ordinary day carrying on regardless.
Landen thought about the pink of his ears. The too-bright eyes. The way he'd looked at Landen for that one uncertain moment.
The anger was still there. Quiet and cold, sitting directly behind his sternum.
Which was strange. Disproportionate, if he was being honest. He didn't know Adriel; four weeks, perhaps. A handful ofconversations. A new hire who was good at his job, flushed easily, and apologized too much. A stranger, essentially.
And yet the anger wasn't moving.
And yet he was still standing in the break room thinking about the curve of Adriel's shoulders in that too-big sweater, and feeling something that was considerably more than the mild professional concern of a man for someone in his employ.
He picked up his folder. Walked out.
The two o'clock was in forty minutes. Seventeen things required his attention before that.
He thought about Adriel's face all the way to his office.
∞∞∞
The Knot was a second skin.
The anteroom's hush. The approving nod from Charles. The weight of the ledger under his signature. All of it as familiar and grounding as his own heartbeat. Tonight he'd requested one of the private rooms. He needed the focus.
He needed, specifically, to stop thinking about a break room, a cream sweater, pink cheeks, and too-bright eyes.
The submissive waited for him inside.
Landen knew him well. They'd played half a dozen times over the past year. Beautiful in a conventional way; lean, sculpted, with a natural grace and a responsive body that sang underattention. He knelt by the low leather bench, head bowed, a picture of willing surrender.
Landen approached, shoes silent on the padded floor. He cupped his chin, tilting his face up. Dark, eager eyes met his. He ran his thumb over his lower lip.