“I like to check my sources.”
“Prudent,” I said, not bothering to hide my lack of amusement.“But unnecessary.”
“Let me see it,” she said suddenly.
I frowned. “See what?”
“The file you have on me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you have pictures? Did Max send you out with a camera to catch me buying cheap wine at the corner store?”
I repeated myself. “I’m not a PI.”
She leaned back slightly, giving me a look that said she didn’t buy a damn word I was saying. “No, you’re not a PI. You’re just a lawyer with time on his hands and nothing better to do than ‘work’ at Christmas parties.”
“If you’re implying I don’t want to be here, you’re right. But sometimes, work requires us to be in places we don’t particularly enjoy.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Poor you. Must be tough, standing around sipping expensive whiskey and passing judgment.”
“It could be worse.”
“How so?”
“I could be spending Christmas making reckless decisions someone else will have to clean up later.”
She paused for a second. It was subtle, but I caught it. Something close to embarrassment flashed behind her eyes before she blinked it away. She was good at hiding her emotions. Almost good enough to fool me. But I’d gotten too good at noticing the things people tried to bury when they were drunk.
“I don’t need you or anyone else cleaning up my messes,” she finally said, her voice colder than before.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“No—you implied it.” She folded her arms tighter, as if the stance alone could hide her from the truth we both knew. “Just because Max thinks I’m a disaster waiting to happen doesn’t mean you have to buy into his bullshit too.”
I tilted my head, watching her closely. “You’re standing at a Christmas party arguing with a stranger about being followed. Maybe Max isn’t as far off the mark as you’d like to believe.”
Her jaw tightened. “And what does that make you? Some noble lawyer swooping in to protect Max from me?”
“No,” I said quietly. “I’m not protecting Max.”
She hesitated as if she wasn’t expecting that. Her eyes searched mine for something—maybe a lie, maybe some hidden agenda. She didn’t find it, because it wasn’t there. Truth was, I wasn’t protecting Max or Remy or anyone else.
If anything, I was protecting myself. Keeping tabs on the loose ends, watching the threads, making sure they didn’t unravel in a way I couldn’t fix.
She pressed her lips together. “Either way, you don’t know me well enough to judge me.”
“I know enough,” I replied evenly.
“What do you know? My favorite color? Or do stalkers usually learn birthdays first?”
“I know you have a habit for causing trouble.”
“Gringo terco,” she murmured under her breath.
“What?”
“Is your Spanish as terrible as your manners?”
“Probably worse,” I admitted.
“Well, at least you’re self-aware. That’s one redeeming quality.”
