"You did," she muttered. He tilted his head slightly. "Exactly. So yes, Rep—I get a little reckless. I push. But I listen."
And that, she realized, was the difference.
He pushed until she said no.
Then he stopped.
Isabelle's lips pressed into a thin line.
'This could still be a tactic,' she thought. The idea didn't come with venom, but it clung in the back of her mind like a film she couldn't scrape clean. She'd read about it. Heard about it. Those who pushed just enough to test boundaries—pulling back when warned, earning trust, then pushing again. A rhythm. A manipulation dressed as patience.
Playboys did that.
The good ones didn't just corner you. They paced you.
And Damien…
She couldn't say for sure he wasn't capable of that.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, gauging his posture, his tone, the calm certainty in his expression. He was relaxed. Unfazed. But not indifferent. That was the part that unsettled her.
He wasn't rushing.
