Page 52 of Lethal Attraction

“Oh, come on!” Taryn declares across the table, tossing a hand in my direction. “That’s such a generic excuse!”

Emma pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply. “Babe, stop interrogating Reed’s girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

The word hits me directly in the sternum.

Reed freezes beside me too, subtle but noticeable. His beer pauses halfway to his mouth before he slowly lowers it. A silent conversation passes between us.

Are we together?

Yes.

Oh my god.

Am I Reed’s girlfriend?

I swallow past the thickness in my throat, my pulse pounding a mile a minute as I get lost in his dark eyes. He offers me a small, fond smirk, brushing his thumb over my shoulder as if to give some reassurance in this moment. It relaxes me far more than it should, as my shoulders sink and that sense of impending doom evaporates.

I’m safe.

I’m with Reed.

“You know…” Emma says over the rim of her glass, gaining my attention, “now that I’m looking at you closely, you do kind of have the vibe.”

“What vibe?” I ask.

“The vibe,” Emma says delicately, “of someone who knows how to dispose of a body.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Reed mutters.

I nod solemnly. “Thank you.”

“You thanked her,” Reed says.

“I’m trying to be polite.”

Taryn slaps the table triumphantly. “HA!”

A server walks by carrying a tray overloaded with drinks. She’s distracted by a table requesting another round when the weight of her drinks teeters and a glass falls. Before anyone can react, my hand shoots out automatically, catching it before it shatters on the floor.

The entire table stares at me in open-mouthed shock.

The server blinks her wide eyes in disbelief. “Holy shit. That was fast.”

I gently place the glass back onto the tray. “Good reflexes.”

Reed is staring at me like he’s just discovered religion, and it makes me squirm in my seat. He knows I’m hiding things. I know he knows. But instead of pushing, he just watches me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle he already likes too much to finish.

It’s so fucking thrilling.

Taryn leans across the table slowly. “That was incredibly assassin-y of you.”

“Oh my God,” Emma groans.

“I played softball,” I lie smoothly.

“You said you were a personal assistant.”