Since the best lies are founded on truths, I reply, “I have. I had a stint as a dishwasher. It let me watch the line cooks from the sidelines.”
She bobs her head like she’s buying my story.
I tie a knot in the produce bag and slot it beside the fish, then start for the fruit stand when I clock a girl standing on the other side of the display table—one with a serrated smile, a blonde braid, and gloved fingers curved together to form a heart.
I jerk my hand to the small of Electra’s back and press to steer her away from the leering Hunter. My pace is so clipped that Electra’s eyebrows wing up.
“Forgot the barley, and there was only one bag left when I passed by the aisle earlier,” I mumble.
She scrutinizes my profile, before throwing a look over her shoulder.
My lungs shrink to the point of pain, and my knuckles close so hard around the basket handles that the metal will permanently dent in my flesh. I ready an explanation—that I spotted the girl from the club, the one with the boundary problem, and didn’t want her to recognize me.
But when I look over at Electra, she’s not staring at a fixed point. Her eyes are roving…scanning.
Lara is gone.
I roll my neck, but it remains stiff. Did Trenton send her to check on me, or did she volunteer? Either way, it’s a fucking shit move. Completely reckless.
In a small town, running into the same people is normal. But not here. Not in a city this size. It’s like they want me to fail.
I try to shake off the dread my theory pours into my gut, but it only hardens with each passing hour, settling there like a block of cement. I’m still dwelling on it as I flick on the broiler. Usually cooking brings me peace, but not tonight.
Tonight, I feel so wound up I’m as likely to cause a kitchen fire as I am to pound out of Electra’s tower and head to the deli for a fucking explanation.
Arms lock around my waist. A cheek presses into the space between my shoulder blades. “I’m sorry I suggested taking you shopping. I didn’t realize you’d take offense.”
Electra’s unguarded apology undoes more than my irritation. It undoesme.
I hate that she thinks this is on her. That she’s likely been turning it over in her head, convincing herself she did something wrong.
I feel like the asshole of all time.
I twist around, the tension melting out of me faster and harder than if I’d hunted down Trenton and Lara.
I cradle Electra’s jaw, smudging her skin with the spice mixture I sprinkled over the sea bass. “It’s got nothing to do with your offer of getting me a suit. It’s a work thing.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.” I back her up onto the island. “I don’t feel like talking right now, but I do feel like getting out of my head. Can you help me with that?”
Her lips curve into a tentative smile even as her stare remains guarded.
I want to torch away that guardedness. I tell myself it’s for a selfish cause—to preserve my cover. But deep in my gut, I know that’s bullshit.
Truth is, the closer I get to Electra and learn about her, the more this mission feels doomed.
I need to pull away and reinforce the walls I’d so carefully constructed. Kick Reeve out and welcome Cillian back in.
Cillian can fall for Electra.
Reeve sure as hell cannot.
When she starts to sink to her knees, I hoist her back up. “No, babe. That’s not what I need.”
“I thought?—”
I help her out of her leggings and thong, then sit her down on the island. “Thisis what I need.
