Page 27 of Over Her Dead Body

“You already think I am.”

“You’ve spent the entire night denying it.”

“You’ve spent the entire night refusing to listen.”

“So naturally we should have sex.”

“The thought occurred to me.”

I laugh.

I can’t help it.

Of all the possible endings to this day, apparently we have arrived at the stupidest one.

Bauer is happening without me. Margot has called enough times to qualify as a wellness check. Celeste is probably deciding whether my partnership prospects should be buried beside Reid.

And Reid—or Martin, or whatever name he is currently hiding behind—is standing in front of me offering to role-play my dead husband because apparently reality has decided subtlety is no longer required.

I should leave.

I know this.

Knowing things has not been especially useful today.

“You’re taking advantage of a drunk widow.”

“Yes.”

The honesty catches me off guard.

“And you’re comfortable with that?”

“I’m comfortable with the fact that you know exactly what I’m doing.”

I do.

That might be the worst part.

Or maybe the worst part is that I no longer care enough for it to matter.

I have missed one flight, abandoned another, ignored Margot, followed a dead man across an ocean, and consumed wine in quantities usually reserved for people with fewer immediate responsibilities.

At this point, good judgment would just be showing off.

“Fine,” I say.

His eyebrows lift.

“Fine?”

“If we’re going to make terrible decisions, I’d rather not spend another hour discussing them.”

That gets his attention.

Good.

He comes closer.