"I'm serious. When's the last time you slept?"
My throat tightens. "Last night was rough."
"Go." He jerks his head toward the back office. "Sofa. Now. Take a break."
"Reeves, I can—"
"That wasn't a suggestion."
The office sofa smells like old leather and beer. I curl up on it, pull my knees to my chest. My eyes burn. My head throbs. Sleep should come easily after being awake for more than twenty-four hours straight, but my brain won't shut off. It replays everything on a loop. The slap. The blood. Daniel's cold eyes.
The tears start before I can stop them.
"Hey, what's—" Reeves stops in the doorway. His expression shifts from surprise to alarm. "Liza?"
I shake my head, pressing my palms against my eyes. Can't speak. Can't breathe right.
He closes the door and sits on the edge of the sofa. "What happened?"
Everything spills out. The robbery. The meetings. Julian. The kiss. Daniel's surveillance. The confrontation. My voice breaks when I describe the slap, the way my head cracked against the counter.
Reeves goes still. Completely, utterly still. Then he explodes off the sofa, face twisted with rage. "I'm going to fucking kill him."
"Reeves—"
"That piece of shit put his hands on you?" He paces like a caged animal. "I'm going to rip his goddamn head off."
"Stop." I grab his arm. "Please. Just... calm down."
He takes a breath, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles jump. "Please tell me you're not staying with that asshole."
"No." The word comes out firm, steady. "I can't. I know I can't."
"Good." He runs a hand through his hair. "You can stay with me.”
Heat floods my face.
This is weird. Reeves is my boss. He’s Jenna's ex. I can't stay with her because she lives in Portland now. I can't stay with Colleen because she lives in Daniels' building. And I certainly can't go to my mom's, who lives in Canada. I don't have anyone else.
"We've got the spare room."
"Reeves, I can't—"
"You can." His voice softens. "You need help. Let me help."
"Okay."
He sits next to me and wraps his large arm around my shoulders. "You'll be fine."
"I…" I really don't want to bother this guy, but he's the perfect person for it— huge, intimidating. "I need help getting my stuff back. I don't trust—"
"Don't say another word. I'll help you get your stuff. Me and Greg. When?"
My stomach twists. "God… I don't know. I really don't want to do this."
"You know you have to." His eyes turn soft. "We'll be there for you."
Reeves drives like he's heading to war, jaw set, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Greg sits in the back of the pickup cab, quiet, massive arms crossed. I'm in the passenger seat, stomach churning.
