‘Genevieve,’ he says. ‘It’s good of you to come.’ He rounds the desk, a hand extended, and I shake. It would be incredibly rude not to, and I managed it last week, after all. Besides, the sky won’t fall because I shake the guy’s hand. My no-touching policy doesn’t need to affect my basic professional demeanour. Anton’s grip is warm and strong, and for some reason, I feel engulfed by it. His deep brown eyes hold mine as we shake, and I have to force myself to hold eye contact. Even fucking eye contact with this guy is a lot.
