Grant: the silent, charismatic statue in the corner.
Cohen lifts two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute—arrogant, infuriating, and… I cannot think the word athletic without something twisting in my chest.
He’s so irritating that I do the only sensible thing.
I drain my glass.
He notices.
Obviously.
That smug half-smile appears—the one that clearly saysI’m already getting under your skin and I haven’t even started talking yet.
Lina looks at me, scandalized.
Then she looks at Cohen—and her jaw drops.
“Wait… that’s Cohen Becker?”
“Yes,” I huff. “And it stays a secret. He’s my pain-in-the-ass client.”
“Hey! Look who’s talking,” he says, shrugging out of his coat.
I ignore him.
Or at least, I try to.
Everyone tries to be polite, but the energy in the room is the same as when a bear walks into a pastry shop.
Cam reaches out to shake his hand. Ivy smiles.
Rae watches with the same fascinated confusion she’d reserve for a cake she doesn’t remember baking.
Grant nods, quietly sizing him up.
And then Cohen opens his mouth.
“Sorry for dropping in like this… Sloane asked me to—”
I smack him with his own coat before he can finish the sentence.
I shoot him a look that saysI will end you, and we have a full telepathic conversation in half a second.
His expression shifts into that infuriatingRelax, Angel, I’ve got thislook.
No, you absolutely do not have anything “got,” you walking hazard in a coat.
He grins.
Winks.
And I feel a vein start throbbing at my temple.
33
Sloane Heart and the Endless Ways She Makes You Lose Your Mind
Cohen
