Chapter 181
Chapter 181:
Brogan held her gaze for a long moment. He knew she wasn’t bluffing. She would burn the bridge before she surrendered an inch of control.
He let out a heavy breath and raised both hands.
“Fine. You win,” he muttered. “But with one condition p>
“What?” June asked, her tone wary.
“You don’t move from that chair,” Brogan said. “Abbie and I handle all the physical lab work. You analyze the data p>
𝘜𝗉𝖽𝘢𝘵е𝗌 е𝘃e𝘳𝘺 w𝖾𝘦𝗄 on g𝘢𝘭𝗇𝗈𝘷е𝗅𝘀.со𝗆
Before she could answer, he grabbed a rolling chair, pulled it alongside hers, and sat down. Their knees were nearly touching. He reached across and typed a command into her keyboard, transferring the tablet’s data stream onto the large wall monitor in front of them.
A clean, strong scent of cedarwood cologne moved into June’s space. She frowned slightly and leaned back.
But Brogan immediately pointed at the screen. “Look at the inhibitor concentration at the third peak. Is that an anomaly p>
The moment he said it, June’s scientific mind took over entirely. She leaned forward again, the proximity forgotten.
She began walking through the chemical reaction. Brogan leaned in to follow her reasoning. From any distance, their heads were nearly pressed together — absorbed in a private world of data and inference, entirely unaware of how they looked.
Abbie watched from her desk, eyes wide. The protective energy radiating off Brogan was impossible to miss. He wasn’t looking only at the screen. His gaze kept drifting to the way June’s expression shifted when she concentrated — attentive, captivated, and making no effort to hide it. He knew she was divorcing Cole, and he was making his position clear.
Outside the glass wall of the laboratory, a junior legal associate from the Compton Group stood waiting for a signature. He saw the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, heads nearly touching. Knowing his employer’s volatility when it came to his wife, the associate quietly drew out his phone, took a clear photo of the scene, and hit send.
The heavy, soundproof door of the exclusive Manhattan underground club swung shut, sealing out the noise of the city.
Inside, the lighting was dim and moody, and a low jazz bassline pulsed through the floorboards. Julian Thorne sat at the mahogany bar, staring at two glasses of single malt Macallan whiskey in front of him. His stomach was coiled in knots.
The door opened. Cole walked in.
He looked exhausted — the kind that settled into the bones after a brutal four-hour board meeting. He pulled his silk tie off and dropped it onto the empty stool beside Julian, then sat down, grabbed one of the glasses, and drank half of it in a single burning swallow.
“Why did you drag me here?” Cole asked, his voice rough. “Alycia is waiting at the restaurant p>
Julian swallowed the distaste that rose at the name and turned his glass slowly on its coaster. He needed to test Cole. He needed to know whether Crawford’s obsession was going to ignite a war.
He let out a long, theatrical sigh. “I have a serious problem, Cole. A woman problem p>