“Pretty much.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You got a little sister, or something?”
“Mabie—my little sister—would kill me if I let an opportunity like this go by. She’s been a fan of yours for years.” He has the grace to look slightly abashed, as if his love for his sister is barely enough to overcome the cringe of approaching me cold for an autograph. “You’re smart.”
“Smarter than I look?” I can’t keep the edge from my voice. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
His almost-smile widens into something genuine. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No?”
“No.” He leans against the wall, keeping a respectful distance. “I’ve never found much correlation between how smart and how pretty a girl is.”
The comment catches me off guard. He doesn’t say it like a line. It’s not a come-on. Just a statement of fact delivered withthe casual confidence of someone who isn’t trying to butter me up.
I am very much not used to appreciation without expectation.
I take a long drag of my cigarette to hide my sudden inexplicable consternation, letting the smoke curl between us like a shield.
“Those things will kill you,” he says.
“Yes, I know. That’s why I quit.”
“This one must just be for practice, then.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “You sound like my assistant. He’d eat this before he let me smoke it.”
Judah studies me for a moment, then pulls out his own pack of cigarettes—Marlboro Reds, because of course—and lights one with practiced ease. The flame briefly illuminates the sharp angles of his face, the shadow of stubble along his jaw.
“Sounds like an interesting guy. Tell me about him.” He says it casually, leaning back against the brick wall.
“About Mason?”
“Mm.”
“Mason is…” I search for words that can possibly encompass what Mason means to me. “He’s the most competent person I’ve ever met. Organized. Efficient. The kind of guy who has backup plans for his backup plans.”
Judah nods, smoke curling from his lips. “Sounds like the perfect personality for an assistant.”
“He’s also so kind,” I continue, surprising myself with the need to make sure Judah understands this. “Not in the showy way that people are when they want credit for it. In the quiet way. The way that matters. Like he is always thinking about me and what I need. He takes care of me. Better than I deserve, probably.”
“Not sure that last part is true.” Judah watches me closely over the glowing tip of his cigarette. “Sounds like he’s more than just an assistant.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The defensive edge creeps back into my voice.
“Just an observation.” He shrugs, the movement rolling through those broad shoulders. “Most people don’t talk about their employees the way you talk about him.”
I laugh, but it comes out hollow. “Yeah, well. Codependency is one of my kinks. My accountant would kill me if he knew how much money I’d offer Mason to never leave.”
“Someone that devoted is sticking around for more than the money.” Judah’s voice drops lower, those blue eyes steady on mine. “I can see why.”
Heat floods my face, and for once it has nothing to do with embarrassment or anger. This man—this stranger with ocean eyes and work-roughened hands—is flirting with me. And not in the calculated way of industry alphas who see me as a stepping stone or a trophy, but in the straightforward way of someone who simply sees something he likes.
I go to take another drag of my cigarette only to realize it’s gone out. I stare at it stupidly, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands.
“Here.” Judah steps closer, just close enough to reach his lit cigarette toward mine.
The movement brings his arm into the light from the bar’s window, and that’s when I see it—a claiming bite on the inside of his forearm. Faded with time but unmistakable, the scar tissue raised and silver in the dim light.
