Page 46 of Ruthless Arrangement

I lift my coffee cup in greeting.

“There you are!” She slides into the booth across from me, shrugging off her jacket to reveal a vintage concert tee. “Sorry I’m late. Harrison wanted last-minute changes on the article.”

“No worries.” I force brightness into my voice. “How’s the setup going?”

“Exhausting but exciting.” She pauses, studying my face with narrowed eyes. “You look like hell warmed over.”

I laugh, though it sounds forced even to my ears. “Thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear.”

“I’m serious, Lea.” She leans forward, voice dropping. “When did you last sleep? Or is Nico Varela keeping you too busy?”

There’s a teasing lilt to her words, but I catch the genuine concern beneath. I fiddle with my napkin, tearing small methodical strips from the edge.

“I’ve had things on my mind.”

“Things?” She arches an eyebrow. “Very specific, journalist.”

I shrug, avoiding her gaze. “Work. The story.”

“So articulate today.” She signals the barista, then turns back to me. “Look, I know this assignment is a big deal, but you seem different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know.” She accepts her cappuccino from the server with a quick smile. “Tense. Distracted. Like you’re waiting for something bad to happen.”

Because I am,I think but don’t say.

Instead, I take another sip of my too-bitter coffee and change the subject. “How’s Jason at work? Still doing that old school flirting-by-getting-you-coffee thing?”

“Nice deflection,” Sienna says her eyes narrowing. “And yes, I may or may not have said yes to go out with him.” She taps her nails against the ceramic mug. “But we’re not talking about my boring love life. We’re talking about whatever has you checking the door every thirty seconds.”

I blink, startled. “I’m not?—”

“You just did it again.” She sets down her cup with a decisive clink. “You’re talking like him, you know.”

“Like who?”

“Varela.” She leans back, crossing her arms. “The way you shrug off questions, how you’re watching the exits. Hell, that’s new.”

My stomach drops. I open my mouth to deny it, but the words die on my tongue because, yes, fuck, she’s right. I am scanning for threats, measuring the distance to the door, cataloging faces.When did I start doing that?

“I’m just being cautious,” I admit.

“Cautious? Lea, have you ever been cautious a day in your life? I heard you once climbed onto the journalism building roof during a lightning storm because, and I quote, ‘The shot will be worth it.’”

How did she know that? Then I realized she’s a Chicago Journal investigator, like me. We know shit. I smile despite myself. “That was an awesome photo.”

“It was insane.” She reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “What’s really going on? And don’t tell me it’s just work. I know you better than that.”

For one wild moment, I consider telling her everything, about the warehouses and the broken fingers, about Moretti’s veiled threats and the way Nico looks at me when he thinks I don’t notice. About how I sometimes catch myself wondering what it would be like to surrender to the electric current that hums between us whenever we’re alone.

But I can’t drag Sienna any deeper into this mess. I’ve already put her in danger once, when Moretti’s men cornered us in that alley.

“It’s complicated,” I say.

“Meaning you’re sleeping with him,” she concludes with the bluntness that’s both her best and most infuriating quality.

“I am not sleeping with Nico!” I hiss, leaning forward.

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