She stared at him.
“No?”
“Correct.” His voice remained steady. Certain. “No.”
He didn’t blink.
Her brows shot up. “You don’t get to negotiate this.”
“I absolutely do.”
“Reid.”
“Eleanor.”
The faintest curve touched his mouth—not mocking. Almost amused.
“You’re building a case against something that hasn’t even gone to trial.”
Her arms folded before she could stop them, a reflexive shield. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
He reached for his glass and took a slow sip, watching her over the rim.
“You’re scared,” he said quietly.
The back of her neck prickled. No. Absolutely not. She would not be that transparent.
“I am being rational.”
“You’re building an exit before there’s even an entrance.”
That landed.
Her fingers tightened faintly on the stem of her glass. That was exactly what she was doing, and she hated that he could see it so clearly.
She looked away, for a second.
He didn’t chase it.
Instead, he stood.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Let’s get a drink and sit by the fire.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel like this is a setup for a closing argument?”
“Because,” he said evenly, offering his hand, “I’m going to tell you all the reasons your plan isn’t going to work.”
“I don’t need a rebuttal.”
“You do.”
His hand remained extended.
