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DO NOT SLEEP WITH ANYONE.

What the…

Who would I be sleeping with?

IM BEING COMPREHENSIVE.

SERIOUSLY. STAY CALM. STAY POLITE. STAY THERE.

Stay there.

I can do that. Maybe.

I sit on the edge of the bed and look at the room.

Outside, Don says something too low to catch. Paul answers, muffled but recognizable.

Got it, boss.

GOOD. I CANNOT BAIL YOU OUT OF MEXICAN JAIL.

I put the phone down.

At the door, I pause with my hand on the knob.

On the other side are Paul and Don and whatever happens next. Calls. Questions. Maybe threats wrapped in manners. Maybe dinner, because rich people probably threaten you over chilled wine and something with capers.

Puerto Vallarta is no longer quiet.

Casa Sirena is no longer almost mine.

But right now, I have to shower. And then I have to break one of Kev’s rules.

Chapter eighteen

Rough Trade

Paul

The bedroom door swings shut behind him, and the house expands around the absence.

Don turns to me slowly.

“Paul,” he says, so low I take a step closer.

“I know.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“I know your face.”

“This face? Because it’s responding to a soaking wet intruder who is equal parts charming and terrifying.”

I close my eyes.

That’s not helpful, because behind my eyelids I immediately see Clint again. Water on his collarbone. The towel low around his waist. His eyes catching mine and holding, too steady, too amused, too angry underneath.

Long time, no see.