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“Laundry day?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I point at the machine on the left. “That one is available.”

Once he’s done emptying his basket of clothes, he takes a seat on one of the chairs and gives me a questioning look. “Why are you standing there like that?”

I let out a sigh and grab the other chair, pulling it out from under the table. As I sit down, I take a chance and ask, “What do you know about Owen?”

I notice how Miles’ body visibly stiffens and his eyebrows narrow. “Don’t go there, Annie.”

“Go where?”

“You know I don’t like getting into everyone’s personal lives, but I’d recommend you don’t get involved with Owen.”

That’s not good enough for me. “Why?”

Miles shakes his head, his tone tensing. “I can’t talk about Owen.”

Miles is a retired FBI agent. Him being this secretive only makes me more curious, and it intensifies the mystery surrounding the man who has me all hot and bothered.

Owen once told me he worked as a private contractor. They work with the FBI, right? Did a mission go wrong, and Owen lost his team? Maybe he was captured and tortured?

I try to remember if I saw any scars on his chest when he was shirtless.

Damn, I was too busy staring at his abs and how low those jeans hung on his hips to notice anything else.

“Stop, Annie,” Miles grumbles.

My head snaps to him, and I give him a surprised look. “Stop what?”

“I know how your mind works.” His expression turns more stern than usual. “You’re trying to piece everything you’ve learned together so you can figure out what’s going on.” He reaches for me and squeezes my arm. “Just let it go.”

Miles and Harlan never hid it from me that Harlan did time for armed robbery. The fact that Miles refuses to talk about Owen tells me he might be someone important.

“Is he—”

Miles climbs to his feet and snaps, “God dammit, Annie. Enough! If you don’t stop pushing, I’ll have no choice but to fire Owen.”

“Don’t yell at her,” Harlan suddenly says, startling the crap out of me.

“I’m not yelling!” Miles sucks in deep breaths, then looks at me. “Sorry, Annie. I’m begging you, just let it go.”

“Let what go?” Harlan asks as he comes in with two shirts in his hands.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Miles mutters, stalking out of the laundry room while continuing to grumble.

Harlan gives me a confused look. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” I blurt out, glancing at the shirts he’s holding. “Both machines are occupied, but the right one should be done in ten minutes or so.”

“I came down here to ask you which shirt I should wear for my date with Vanessa.” He wags his eyebrows, a huge grin on his face.

Smiling happily, I say, “It sounds like things are going well between the two of you.”

“Unbelievably good. I don’t want to blow it.” He holds up the two shirts. “Which one?”

“Hmm . . .” I glance between the blue one and the black and gray one. “Black and gray. It gives badass vibes.”

“Yeah?” Harlan looks at the shirt, then, happy with my choice, he heads to the doorway. “See you later.”