Salome’s POV“So, you’re just going to pretend I’m not standing here?” I asked, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet of Arthur’s living room.Jeremiah didn't look up immediately. He sat on the edge of the sofa, his posture perfect, looking every bit the man who ran half the city. He didn't acknowledge the bite in my tone. Instead, he just nodded toward me once, a gesture so brief it felt like a dismissal.I shifted my weight, suddenly very aware of the thin white shirt I was wearing. I hadn't bothered with a bra before running over here, and under his cold, analytical gaze, I felt exposed. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, trying to hide my discomfort behind a wall of fake professionalism.“Good evening, Mr. President,” I added.I leaned into the title, hoping the formality would irritate him as much as his silence was irritating me. It didn't work. His eyebrows twitched upward, but he went right back to the book in his lap.The heat of genuine anger started to prickle at my
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