“Deirdre.”

Hoyt mustered his courage and interjected, “Didn’t you hear what the lady said? She wants you gone, mister!”

A patina of steel seemed to form in Kyran’s eyes. He typed, “This is between Deirdre and me. Please don’t meddle in our affairs.”

He managed to put up the exterior of courtesy, but the glare he wore betrayed an unyielding, domineering aura hellbent on making sure nobody could look him in the eyes.

It was a lot for Hoyt—a country bumpkin with zero brush with the rich and powerful—to take. Any little confidence he had was imploding fast, yet he was stubbornly nailed to the floor between Deirdre and Kyran.

“A-A-All I know is that M-Miss McKinnon d-d-doesn’t want to t-talk to you.”

“Ten minutes is all I need, so please step aside,” typed Kyran. He was furious. “Move or be moved.”

Deirdre acutely sensed escalation and finally spoke up. “What do you want, Kyran?”

“First, he should step out.”

Deirdre was familiar with the depth of his brutality and knew better than