Page 69 of Under the Lies

She slips from my hold, crossing her arms. A barrier to keep me at a distance.

I frown.

“Do you think this was from Harlow?” Walking to my desk, her hand scoops up shredded flakes of the letter, letting them fall through her fingers to the floor.

My jaw clenches at the mess, but I force myself to ignore it. “It’s not her handwriting.”

“She could’ve had someone else write it.”

I raise a brow at the conviction in her voice. “Do you want it to be your sister?”

“I’d rather it be her than someone I don’t know.”

Understanding, I nod. It’s easier to prepare when you know your enemy.

But in this case, it’s not Harlow.

I’d bet The Underground on it.

“It could be anyone,” I tell her. “A person at your school, someone I’ve done business with. Or a stranger you glanced at when at the grocery store. It could be anyone,” I repeat. “Except Harlow.”

Something in her face changes. It’s small, but I still see it.

She draws me in like an open book sitting on a table, walking by I can’t help but take a peek, getting drawn in by the language of words written.

Lyrical, powerful, even beautiful. Sayer’s a book I want to explore more of. To have the pages memorized beneath my hands.

Before I can ask what’s working in that dangerous mind of hers, my door opens, and Reeve and Gabe walk in.

“You rang?” Reeve’s eyeing Sayer in a way that if it was anyone else—including Gabe—I’d throw their face into the wall, but Reeve isn’t a threat. Not to me when it comes to Sayer.

“Ms. Brooks here needs an escort to my place. She’ll also need some of her things relocated there for the time being.”

“Noah…” she starts.

I turn to face her, giving her my full attention. “I don’t know why you’re fighting this, Sayer, we both know who’s going to win.”

I like that she fights me.

In fact, I crave it.

It’s refreshing, being challenged. It doesn’t happen often anymore. The times where I can verbally spare with a person is few and far between these days except when Sayer’s around. Always keeping me on my toes, always has—since she was a teenager.

But that doesn’t mean she’s going to win.

“What about my cat?”

I look to the creature in question as it tries to crawl into the bottom shelf of the bar cart I have in the corner of my office.

“Not coming.” My tone is firm. “There’s only one pussy moving in and it’s not covered in hair.”

Her cheeks redden at my reminder of last night. I wonder if her thoughts jumped to when I got down on my knees before her and became very familiar with the sounds she makes as I unraveled her.

Sounds I wouldn’t mind hearing again.

Low chuckles rumble behind her and with a look of panic, she looks at Reeve and Gabe, forgetting they were in the room.

“Reeve can take it,” I tell her, watching his smile curl higher.

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