I almost laugh.
“Sure,” I say, grinning at him and hoping I’m not blushing. “Tomorrow.”
“I’ll come pick you up.” His smile is slow and warm and dangerous as hell. “It’s a date.”
CHAPTER 8
VANGUARD
I wakeup thinking about her.
This isn’t unusual. I’ve been thinking about Mia Baxter since she walked up to me at that London gala and called me a weapon to my face. Been dreaming about her too. Hence why I’ve been waking up with a raging hard-on.
Whatisunusual is that I’m looking forward to seeing her again, even with her incessant, prying questions. Looking forward to anything beyond the next rescue, the next press appearance, the next carefully managed moment of my carefully managed life.
It’s just a fucking milkshake, I remind myself as I pull on civilian clothes—dark jeans, a grey Henley. A costume of sorts that lets me forget my job for a moment and lets me pretend to be a regular guy. Except for that watch on my wrist, the lifeline to the city, the leash of responsibility.
Just a milkshake, just an interview,I go on.Just doing my job.
Except I’m the one who suggested it. No handlers. No conference room.
Just us.
Yeah…might have just made a huge fucking mistake. That’s what I get for thinking with my dick.
I can’t back out now, though. Danny’s waiting with the Meridian when I get to the rooftop, leaning against the driver’s side door with his usual easy grin. “Looking sharp, boss. Veryregular guy.”
“That’s the goal.”
“Nailed it. You almost seem like a normal, albeit unfairly buff and handsome, New Yorker.” He slides into the driver’s seat as I take the back. “So. Brooklyn. Sal’s Diner? The place with the sticky menus and mobsters doing deals under the table?”
“The place with the best milkshakes in the city.”
“Sure, that too.” Danny pulls the Meridian up and away from the building with a low hum, Manhattan spreading out beneath us in the morning light. “You know, when you said you wanted to do a follow-up interview somewhere casual, I figured you meant the Global Dynamix cafeteria. Maybe the break room with the fancy espresso machine.”
“Too many ears.”
“And a diner in Brooklyn has fewer?”
“Different ears.” I watch the city scroll past below us—the park, the river, the endless grid of streets and buildings. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but there’s something different about this girl. I can’t explain it.”
“Can’t explain it, huh? She hot?”
“She’s…well, she’s pretty attractive, I would say.”
He laughs. “I looked her up. She’s smoking hot and you know it. Those eyes? They take up like half her face. Imagine her batting them at you? And her lips?” He bites his fist.
“Danny, chill,” I tell him. “Concentrate on driving.”
“It’s self-driving, remember? Anyway. Seems she’s already getting under your skin, huh?”
I don’t say anything and look out the window.
Then, he doesn’t say anything, which is unusual enough to make me glance at the rearview mirror. He’s got that look on his face, the one that means he’s about to tell me something I probably don’t want to hear.
“Just be careful, yeah?” he says. “She’s a journalist. Her whole job is getting people to open up so she can put it online for strangers to read. I need to look out for ya.”
“You don’t need to look out for me.” I give him a steady look. “And I know what she is.”
