I should’ve stayed at work. Skipped lunch. Or at the very least, taken my lunch at the bookstore like I always do. But no, I had to do a stakeout. Like some low-budget spy movie heroine with a bag of chocolate-covered almonds and a best friend who was supposed to talk me down—not double-tap the Like button on my bad idea.
Now I’m hiding in a restaurant bathroom like a deranged woman running from a bad Tinder date. I check the stalls again, making sure they’re empty, then brace both hands on the counter. My reflection is a mess of panic and regret. My hair has half fallen out of its twist, my blouse is wrinkled from trying to wedge myself through the revolving door, and I’m pretty sure I pulled a muscle in my calf.
“This can’t be happening.” Twenty-four hours ago, I was focused. Undercover. Strategically feeding intel to Athena about my boss’s shady business associates. My mission was clear—track leads, stay invisible, gather evidence. Now? Now everything is tilting sideways because Ben Bradley popped back up in my life like the devil in cuff links, threatening every ounce of emotional stability I thought I had left.
Well done, Cybil. Really crushing the adulting thing.
My nerves are fraying. I spin the ring around my thumb, trying to ground myself before I, as Joy so politely pointed out earlier, spiral.Breathe, Cybil.The ring pops off with a softpingand clatters across the tile.
“Seriously?” I hiss, dropping to my hands and knees to scramble after it.
The door creaks behind me.
“You okay?”
My gaze jerks upward to find Ben standing in the women’s bathroom, arms folded across his chest, staring down at me with that aggravating smirk.
I shoot to my feet, ring clutched in my fist. “What are you doing here?” I whisper-scream. “You can’t be in here. It’s harassment. Trespassing. Emotional distress—none of it feloniousyet, but give me time.”
“It’s a misdemeanor at best,” he says, unfolding his arms and slipping his hands into his pockets. “And if we’re talking crimes, I could argueyou’rethe one committing them. Stalking me? If you wanted to grab lunch, you could’ve just called my assistant and set up an appointment.”
“I wasn’t stalking you,” I say immediately, slipping the ring back on my thumb. “I was—on my lunch break.”
He doesn’t even try to hide his grin. “In the revolving door?”
I lift my chin. “Getting steps in.”
“Weak alibi.”
“I don’t need an alibi because Iwasn’tstalking you.”
“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I believe you.”
Then he winks—and I swear,swear, if looks could kill, the DA would already be filing paperwork.
I glare at him. “I forgot how annoying you are.”
I wash my hands, hoping Ben will take the hint and leave. No such luck. I glance at the mirror. He’s still there, leaning casually against the wall like he’s not breaking rules of social decorum by being in here.
“What are you doing?” I ask again, quieter this time.
“I told you,” he says, voice gentle. “I wanted to check on you.”
The sincerity in his voice brushes too close to something I’ve triedhard to bury—the version of us that almost existed, once. I snap the faucet off, needing the sound to stop, needing him to stop being so...him.
“No,” I say, too sharp. I grab a paper towel. “What are you doing,Ben?”
He exhales and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t know you worked for Earl Edmond.”
I blink, caught off guard. “What does that have to do with anything?”
He doesn’t answer fast enough.
“You said your name is Craig Miller,” I say through gritted teeth. “CraigfreakingMiller.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. Smug. Always smug.
“It’s not funny,” I growl. “Do you even know who you’re lying to?”
