His voice was quiet, stripped of the warm, easy-going tone he used in front of my friends.

I let my hand drop to my side, folding the papers behind my back.

“Just looking for some old tax forms,” I said.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

He took a slow step into the room, his eyes scanning my face, then my hands.

“You look pale,” he said.

“I have a headache,” I lied, stepping toward the window to create some distance between us.

“Let me see what you found,” he said, reaching out his hand.

“It’s nothing,” I said, slipping the folder into my canvas tote bag on the floor.

He watched my movement, his jaw tightening slightly.

“We don’t keep secrets from each other, remember?” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

“I’m not keeping secrets, Rylan,” I said.

I grabbed my keys off the desk.

“I need to get some fresh air,” I said.

He stepped into my path, his tall frame blocking the doorway completely.

The smell of his cologne, usually comforting, now made me feel sick to my stomach.