Heat prickled the back of my neck, and I stifled a groan. This man wasnevertouching my returns.
“What are you doing?” I hissed as he backed us up until we were standing under the arch.
“Practicing for the camera.” He smoothed a hand down his charcoal jacket. “Smile like the over-eager agent in your badge photo.”
“At least I don’t look hungover in mine,” I said, forcing a smile as the flash went off.
The camera captured us frozen like that—a forever photo of the time we pretended to be friends, in public, and no one died. Yet.
“This is really weird for me, guys,” Sage said, peering at the screen. Her expression twisted as if she saw one of her meddling ghosts hovering over our shoulders.
Grant reached past me, plucking a hibiscus from the arch. The petals tickled my shoulder as he lifted it, his knuckles grazing my cheek before he tucked it behind my ear. “Matches your dress,” he murmured, stirring the loose strands near my jaw. “And it’ll distract everyone if you get lettuce stuck in your teeth at dinner.”
“You’re diabolical,” I whispered, every nerve in my body sparking with tension.
He chuckled, his wolfish smile more predatory than ever. “Who needs a drink? Spells? What’s your poison?”
“Cyanide,” I muttered, shaking off his deliberate teasing before I added, louder, “Tequila Sunrise. Extracherries.”
“I’ll have a white wine spritzer,” Sage said quickly, unable to resist snapping another photo as if the first one had been a hallucination.
Oh, she had no idea.
“Coming right up, ladies.” Grant winked and wove through the crowd toward the bar.
Sage clutched her chest as if she were miming heart palpitations. “What is happening?” She staggered toward me, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. “First you’re teammates, and now you’re posing for a couple's photo.”
“That wasn’t a couple's photo. It was a hostage situation that will end up on the company portal.”
“Oh, I’m definitely framing a copy. I’d planned to take a group shot, but forget that; you two are this year’s Christmas card. Season’s Greetings from the Tropical Island of Misfit Coworkers.”
“And how is Leo these days?” I asked, sidestepping her threat and finally making it to the cheese display. I grabbed a plate and loaded it with a mountain of dairy and wheat.
“My fiancé is wonderful, probably pining away for me right now by the massive stone hearth at our ski lodge. He says hello and that you still owe him for dismantling the backup generator.” She grabbed a plate of her own, officially abandoning her photo duties. “But don’t change the subject.”
I popped a cheese-and-cracker sandwich into my mouth and chewed with calculated slowness. Sage waited, tapping her heel against the floorboards like a ticking clock.
“Fine. I’ll tell you. They’ll run out of cheese before you give up.” I filled in the gaps from the HR mandate to the waterfall, and ended with the miracle cold case shortlist. “So yes, we’re faking it. The board will think we buried the hatchet. I’ll sneakaway tomorrow to find the waterfall to fix my glitch, and then I’ll get to live out my dream of uniting long lost souls.”
Sage leaned a hip against the display and plucked a grape from the centerpiece. “Your plan is brilliant. I see absolutely no flaws. Nowhere in history have two extremely attractive sparring partners faked a relationship, and it ended in disaster.”
“I know what you’re doing.” I scooped up a handful of sugar-glazed peanuts. “Just because I meddled in your love life, doesn’t mean you should meddle in mine. Grant and I aren’t some agency charity case. And we’redefinitelynot going to fall into each other’s arms the second we get a good look at what’s underneath our animosity. Grant's hot, but he lacks redeemable qualities. Besides, I have a list, remember?”
Sage laughed and immediately covered it with her fist. “Yes, I remember the soulmate list. It’s like you ripped it out of a teen magazine and misted it with Eau de Impossible Expectations.”
I waved away her mockery. “Nothing on my list is impossible.”
“Let’s see…” Sage ticked the items off on her fingers. “Hands that look good holding a mug—weirdly specific—but okay. Jingle bells have to play when you kiss—what, like magically?”
I shrugged. “Fireworks are cliché. I prefer bells. And wearewitches.”
“True,” Sage admitted and kept going. “Must make you laugh so hard you can’t breathe. And…” She tapped her fingers against the cheese table like a drumroll. “Believes love isn't just a grand gesture. It's a million tiny ones given every day. Val, this is the list of a woman destined for thirty cats.”
“Oh! That reminds me.” I sliced off a wedge of brie with a miniature knife. “I added to the list. Must cry at animal adoptioncommercials.”
Sage nodded solemnly. “Every time that song plays, I get misty.”
“See? My plan is safe. Grant would have to have an out-of-body experience to even come close to fulfilling my list.”
