Page 13 of Cold Mercy

I let out a long, exasperated sigh. Perfect.

“Fine. I’ll go. I’ll secure the date so we don't lose him.”

I grab my bag and look around the room, my eyes landing on the only other person with nothing to do. He is leaning against the wall, looking entirely too amused by the chaos.

“Come on, pretty boy. We have work to do.”

He lifts a brow. “Pretty boy?”

“You heard me.”

We head toward the door, and as soon as we step outside, I stop.

“Fuck.”

He glances at me. The corner of his mouth lifts, controlled and knowing, like he enjoys standing exactly where he is not welcome.

“Let me guess. Forgotten something, princess?”

That word. “Don’t call me that.” I give him a look that should’ve set him on fire. “And yes, I need the wedding gift back for today. Forgot that tiny detail.”

He tilts his head, studying me.

“Stop acting like one, and I’ll stop calling you one.”

I narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You walk like the world owes you something,” he says, his voice low and amused. “Head high, back straight. Like you expect people to step aside without being told.”

I let out a short, incredulous laugh.

“That’s funny coming from you,” I say, looking him up and down. “Considering you strut around acting like the alpha male in every single room you enter.”

He leans in closer, his smirk sharpening into something arrogant and entirely too pleased with himself.

“Maybe that’s because I am the alpha male wherever I go.”

I stare at him for a second, stunned by the sheer audacity.

“Wow. Did you actually just say that out loud? That is physically painful to listen to, Reed,” I say, already turning back to the house.

He catches my wrist lightly, not with aggression, but with just enough pressure to stop me.

“Relax,” he says. “I won’t drag you off the sidewalk. We will take my car. We’re going to the same place, anyway.”

“Fine,” I say. “But touch me again, and I’ll break your hand.”

He laughs under his breath. “Sure you will.”

I snatch the keys from his hand before he can react. His fingers brush my palm, warm and rough, and a jolt of static zips up my arm.

“I’m driving.”

His smile drops, replaced by genuine offense. “No chance. Nobody drives this car but me.”

“Oh, really?” I unlock the door and slide into the driver's seat without waiting for permission. “Well, that changes today.”

He stands there for a second, looking at the empty space in his hand, then lets out a groan of pure male agony and gets into the passenger seat.