Page 19 of The Wild Card

“Sir.”

“Walk with me.”

It’s not a request.

I follow him down the hall to his office, that familiar knot of dread tightening in my stomach. He closes the door behind us and gestures for me to sit.

“So,” he says, settling into his chair. “Have you given any more thought to Alaska?”

I was hoping for more time—at least a few weeks to figure out how to handle this. But Daniels has never been patient, and apparently, neither has fate.

“I have,” I say carefully. “And I appreciate the opportunity. But I can’t take the transfer.”

His eyebrows rise. “Can’t?”

“I have ties here.” The words come out smooth and practiced. “By that, I mean I’m in a serious relationship.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Daniels stares at me like I just told him I’m secretly a professional clown. “A relationship.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You. Crew Jensen. Are in a relationship.”

“That’s correct.”

He leans back, studying me with the same intensity he brings to interrogating suspects. “Since when?”

“It’s, uh, fairly recent. But serious.” I think about Emmie’s smile, the warmth in her eyes when she looks at that damn cat, the way she called me eye candy like it was obvious, like everyone could see it. “She’s… she’s great. She makes me eat pasta.”

That last part slips out before I can stop it.

Daniels blinks. “Pasta,” he repeats.

“She’s a cookbook author. She cooks.” I’m rambling now, which is not something I do, but apparently, Emmie Marshall has broken my brain in multiple ways. “She’s warm. Kind. The sort of person who brings cookies to a first meeting because she stress-bakes.”

Daniels is quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile spreads across his face. “Well, I’ll be damned. Jensen finally found someone who can put up with him.”

The relief that floods through me is almost embarrassing. “Yes, sir.”

“I’d like to meet her.”

And there it is.

“Of course,” I hear myself say. “That can be arranged.”

“The charity gala is next weekend. You’re bringing her?”

The charity gala. Three hundred people, formal attire, the entire department plus spouses and significant others. The kind of event I usually avoid at all costs.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He nods, looking genuinely pleased. “And Jensen? Talk to her about Alaska. You never know—an adventure might be exactly what you two need. Fresh start, new city, building a life together.” He spreads his hands. “Think about it.”

I nod, stand, and make it all the way to the door before he calls out again.

“Jensen.”

I turn.