The brass deadbolt on our Ninth Avenue door was already turned flat against the wood, and Douglas kept his palm pressed over the cylinder.
The wet Seattle leaves outside stuck to the pavement downstairs, and the radiator gave its dry, ticking hum.
I reached for my beige trench coat on the coat tree.
“Douglas, I need to get to the office,” I said.
He did not move his hand from the lock. He stood with his shoulders square, blocking the narrow hallway.
“The launch meeting is scheduled for nine this morning,” I said, keeping my voice level.
I twisted the silver ring on my right index finger, turning the cold metal around twice.
Douglas adjusted his blue shirt collar, his fingers pulling the fabric away from his throat.
“You do not need to leave this apartment today, Savannah,” he said.
His pitch rose slightly at the end of the sentence, a sharp hook that sounded more like an accusation than a suggestion.
“Please step aside,” I said.
He leaned his weight back against the solid oak door, his face pale under the hallway light.
“Let Marcus handle the physical presentation,” he said, his voice tightening. “That is what you pay an assistant for.”
“Marcus is twenty-nine years old and has never run a major system launch alone,” I said.
Douglas did not drop his hand. He stared at my forehead, avoiding my eyes.
