Brant smashed his fist into the table. It cracked, right down the middle. He cursed. “Look what you made me do.” He pushed a button or two on his phone and held the device to his ear. “Allison…” It was Brant’s personal assistant. “Please order another boardroom table.” There was a chuckle on the other end. And Allison said something back. York was too deep in his own thoughts to pay much attention. “Yes”—Brant growled—“another one.” “This will be the second one you’ve ruined this month,” Brant’s assistant said. “Get me a stronger table then.” He ended the call. His king sucked in a deep breath. “What the fuck am I going to do with you?” He rose to his feet and moved to the other end of the room, running a hand through his hair. “There is a reason why you head up the elite team, York.” He paused for a few beats. “Yeah sure, you’re fucking strong. One of the most capable warriors in battle, but you are more than just those things.” He turned to face York, his eyes were blazing.
