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“Heck yes, our selfies are going to be fire. I hope you like going viral on Insta.” She brushed past him, which was kind of like dodging around the face of a cliff. He didn’t budge, not one bit. “I assume you’ve already chosen a bedroom.”
“Yes, but I can move if need be, Blondie.”
What the…
He must be trying to get under her skin for some reason.
“You can call me Bliss.”
“I figured I’d call you ‘Blondie’ when you’re doing that.” He waved vaguely at her.
“Doing what?”
“Acting like you want people to think you’re an idiot.”
She bristled. “Blonds aren’t idiots. Intelligence is in no way related to hair color.”
“I agree. Don’t know why you’re playing into the stereotype, but that’s your call. I also know that you aren’t on Instagram.”
“You checked out my socials? Is that really necessary for a short-term fake head of security gig?” She realized that she’d lost her fake smile in the middle of this conversation.
“Of course I did. I’m FBI.” His face softened, just a bit, enough to make her wonder what he was like underneath that gruff facade. “I’m grateful to have a place to stay. Everything else was booked up.”
“You don’t need to move. I’m sure both bedrooms are just fine.”
“Very down-to-earth of you. Appreciate it.”
Oh, no doubt, he was definitely trying to get under her skin.
He stepped back and ushered her toward the open door on the other side of the hallway. The hall was wallpapered in a gold fleur-de-lis pattern that seemed to insist that this was the fanciest floor of the whole gosh-darn hotel.
The suite had the same vibe of trying to look fancy while not forgetting its roots—there was an antique mahogany wardrobe, a low-slung Italian leather couch in creamy beige, all overlooked by an oil painting of a loon on Lake Bittersweet. The bird wore a look of astonishment as a fish slipped out of its beak.
She liked the suite. That loon alone gave it more humanness than some five-star hotels. She wondered if someone local had painted it. Lake Bittersweet was home to a few artists who sold their work to tourists and tourist-oriented establishments.
She looked for evidence of Granger’s presence, and saw only a laptop on the coffee table and a pair of loafers sitting by the doorway.
That pleased her too. She liked orderliness, but was constitutionally unable to achieve it herself. She tried, but somehow things seemed to just go rogue around her. Clothing would slide off hangers, magazines would end up with coffee rings on their covers, mail would spend weeks hiding out under couches. Eventually she’d hired a cleaning woman, but she’d felt incredibly guilty about it and apologized nonstop during her first session.
Finally poor Adriana had told her to please be quiet and let her do her job, and if Bliss felt that bad about it, she should just pay her more. Bliss had laughed and given her a big raise on the spot.
Adriana would approve of Granger. Granger, on the other hand, was not going to be happy when he saw how Bliss managed things. Maybe she should beg Adriana to come to Lake Bittersweet and sneak in and tidy up when Granger was out of the room.
The idea was so absurd that Bliss smiled to herself.
She caught a sidelong glance from Granger, and realized it was the first time he’d looked at her as if he was actually noticing her exterior, and appreciating it.
It was a good feeling, having Granger look at her that way. He was so very…impassive. Unflappable.
Experimentally, she added more firepower to her smile. The words of an early photographer came back to her. He was a pervy guy who’d tried to kiss her when she was only fifteen, but still, she’d never forgotten the direction he’d given her during the shoot that had launched her career.
You’re seductive. You’re flirting. You’re drawing me in. You’re making me want to be part of your world. You ARE the world. Seduce me, baby. Seduce me.
“What are you doing?” Granger’s frown chased away the words flitting through her mind.
Her smile dropped. “What do you mean?”
“You were up to something just now, with that smile.”
