Jeremy’s eyes remained on mine, watching, and burning holes deep enough to unravel me.

I blinked, and my eyes moved to the next line. It had to be a coincidence. This was purely fiction.

“This line….” I started against my better judgment, looking up at him.

“It’s pure coincidence,” he said at once, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

I blinked. “What?”

“Your husband didn’t do well with keeping a low profile, so naturally, I found out about him.” And then, as an afterthought, he added. “I’m sorry about your loss.”

“Did you run a background check on me, Mr. Hill?”

He didn’t even bother denying it. “I run a background check on anyone I work with. My books are important to me.”

“Mr. Cole said you specifically asked for me. Why?”

He shrugged. “You keep a zero profile on social media. You are good at your job, and you have a pretty face.”

I swallowed sharply at the last bit, hating the warmth it brought to the pit of my stomach. I tried to think of something that would get my attention away from the mess I had suddenly become, but it was proving difficult by the minute.

Not with the way he enveloped the whole room, leaving no space for negotiation.

Jeremy leaned back, and the smile on his face melted into a stoic expression. “What do you need from me?”

“What?”

He tapped the table gently with his index finger. “The book.”

“Oh!” What the hell was wrong with me this morning? Shaking my head, as if trying to dispel the odd path my brain had decided to take, I returned my attention to his manuscript.

“I need the truth from you,” I said, flipping the page closed. “I am not exactly skilled in true crime novels, but from the little I know, it is only good when it is honest. If your narrator lies, I’ll see it. And if I do, it means almost all your readers will.”

He paused and angled his head. His green eyes were still on me. “What if the truth kills the book instead?”

I shrugged. “Then maybe it wasn’t a book worth writing. Tell me about the book before I go into it.”

“A man died last month. A man who thought money could get him absolution from his sins. We check his meetings, his call logs, everything that happened on the night he died.” Jeremy leaned forward, clutching his hands in the middle of the table. “I need you to make sure the readers can’t look away.”

“Who is your character?” I moved to my bag and retrieved a pad of sticky notes, bringing it to the side of his manuscript. It immediately added color to the room. The only color in the room, apart from his eyes.

“You’ll see,” he murmured. His gaze drifted to the window again, as if watching the rain. “But I think you will be able to relate to him perfectly. You just might already know men like him.”

For a split second, I thought of my late husband. Of the nights I stayed up, waiting for him to come home, and was constantly disappointed. Of the cold bed, the heavy ring on my fingers, the smug look in his eyes each time I found another lipstick stain on his shirt, his need to acquire so much wealth, even though he already seemed to have more than enough.

“Ms. McCarthy?”

I looked up, then closed my eyes for a second. “Sorry, I got… I zoned off. I’m sorry. Uhm… when do you want the first chapter back?”

“Friday. 7 pm.”

I didn’t know what kind of man Jeremy was, but he seemed to have everything checked out. He slid a card across to me. There was nothing on it other than an address, a time, and a tiny black dot.

“We can work in my loft. There will be fewer distractions.”

I shook my head even before he finished his sentence. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hill, but I only work office hours. It’s company policy.”

The corner of his lips moved in something that could be described as amusement, but it didn't reach his eyes. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “Editor McCarthy.”

“And email me the files, please,” I said, getting on my feet, suddenly conscious of how they felt like jelly beans underneath me. “I can’t take the hard copies home due to security reasons. Another company policy.”

He shook his head. “It remains the way I want, or the deal is off. I can speak to Cole if you want.”

I narrowed my eyes at how easy my boss’ name slipped off his lips. Did they have some form of personal relationship? Was that what this was about? Test the junior editor with the Greek god and his green eyes to see if she will fall.

I slid the manuscript back to him. “You can talk to Mr. Cole then. My doors are always open when he gives you a response.”

I caught a muscle jerk in his jaw, his eyes darkened slightly, and a shadow crossed his face. But it was all gone too fast that it might as well have been a figment of my imagination. The chair scraped the marble floor as Jeremy got on his feet.

“It was nice meeting you, Ms. McCarthy.” He said it like a dare, with an edge to his tone and something else I couldn’t place my hands on. It rolled off his skin like blades. Enough warning for me to stay away.

“Try not to get caught in the rain again,” he murmured, his gaze raking through my slightly damp blouse. I shivered where his eyes met, and I was certain it had nothing to do with the cold from the rain.

But before my brain could form any coherent thought, he turned around and headed out of the room, his manuscript in his hands.

Minutes after his departure, I kept staring at the spot where he had stood, my heart thudding hard against my chest, as if trying to claw its way out. Strangely, I felt so exhausted, and released a breath I didn’t know I was holding all along.

I moved to the window to catch him leaving, the rain hitting his coat as he walked down the road and disappeared around a bend. I was about to turn back into the office when my eyes fell on it.

A hooded figure standing in front of an antique shop, watching me.