Page 85 of Sinfully Yours

Tyler gives me a look. "Did you miss the part where I said we need a plan?"

Ava steps forward, arms still crossed, but there's a sharpness in her gaze now. "Then let's give him one."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

She tilts her head, as if it's obvious. "Vanessa thinks she's in control, right? She thinks she's playing us." A slow smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "So what if we let her?"

Tyler raises a brow. "Keep talking."

Ava leans against the counter, the soft glow from the city skyline illuminating her features. "Vanessa is obsessed with winning. She needs to believe she's breaking me down, getting under my skin. So what if I let her believe it? What if I act like I'm cracking under the pressure?"

I go completely still.

"No," I say immediately.

Ava groans. "Liam?—"

"No." My voice is sharp, leaving no room for argument. "We're not using you as bait."

She rolls her eyes. "You're not using me. I am making a calculated move to get what we need."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it's reckless. Because it's dangerous. Because—" I snap my mouth shut, forcing myself to take a breath. "Because I said so."

She glares at me. "Not a good enough reason."

I grit my teeth, my pulse pounding.

Tyler looks between us, then shrugs. "I hate to say it, but Ava's got a point. If Vanessa thinks she's winning, she might slip up."

I turn to him, scowling. "Not helping."

He smirks. "I'm not here to help you, Carter. I'm here to solve a case."

Ava smirks too, like she knows she just won.

I curse under my breath.

Because deep down, I know she's right.

I just really fucking hate it.

18

AVA

Tyler is an absolute menace in the kitchen.

The second Liam agrees to my plan—albeit reluctantly, judging by the murderous scowl still lingering on his face—Tyler declares that no one is plotting on an empty stomach. Then he promptly hijacks Liam's pristine, probably never-used kitchen and proceeds to cook like a man possessed.

The man moves fast. Ingredients appear out of nowhere. Pots clang. Spices are flung with reckless abandon. Liam's sleek, all-black cookware set, which I suspect is more of a design choice than a practical one, looks downright scandalized by the enthusiastic abuse.

"What even is this?" Liam mutters, watching in thinly veiled horror as Tyler cracks eggs one-handed over a sizzling pan, flipping pancakes with a skill that should be illegal.

"Breakfast," Tyler replies breezily, tossing a handful of fresh herbs into something that already smells too good to be legal. "You know, the most important meal of the day? Or do billionaires subsist solely on black coffee and tax loopholes?"

---