Page 88 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I answer quickly.

“Very well,” the admiral says, holding the door open for me and Drake.

I clutch Biscuit a little tighter, realizing that both of these men are waiting to walk me out with them. I swallow, my throat feeling tight, and press a quick kiss to the top of Biscuit’s soft head.

“Actually, I need to meet with my editor. Alone.”

Soleil hesitates for only a fraction of a second before nodding. “Of course. We’ll talk privately. Admiral Brady, Mr. Mikhailo, thank you for your time.”

Drakon and the admiral exchange a glance, but they don’t argue. Drakon simply inclines his head, stepping aside as Admiral Brady gives me one last scrutinizing look before following him out the door.

The second the door clicks shut behind them, Soleil turns to me. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, my mind still spinning. “You don’t find them… I don’t know…creepy?”

She blinks, momentarily confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, they show up here out of the blue as I’m digging into this strange case with Thatcher. They don’t really talk about what they want…other than asking me to bring them to Thatcher. It’s all a little…odd, wouldn’t you say?” Alotodd.

Soleil chews her bottom lip in thought. “It’s awfully convenient for them. I have some friends in the military. I’ll make some calls, okay?”

I nod. “In the meantime, I need to get out of here.”

Soleil nods. “Go. And be careful. If you see anything suspicious, you call me, you hear?”

“I will,” I promise, tightening my grip on Biscuit as I head for the back exit of the office. My heart is a hammer against my ribs as I step into the alleyway, scanning my surroundings before breaking into a brisk walk, leaving my car parked at the newspaper.

I take the long way home, my paranoia mounting with every step. I weave through crowds, duck into a busy café for a few minutes, then change directions twice before slipping into a department store. I buy a cheap hoodie, throw it on, and pull the hood up, hoping it will make me blend in better.

But the feeling that I’m being followed doesn’t go away.

Finally, I catch a glimpse of them in the reflection of a store window—Drakon and Admiral Brady, not even being subtle about it. They’re tailing me, keeping a steady distance, but never letting me out of their sight.

Panic claws at my chest. I can’t go home. I can’t lead them straight to my apartment. And I definitely can’t lead them to Thatcher.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I push through a side door, emerging onto a quieter street. I move faster, ducking between parked cars, slipping through alleyways, ignoring the stitch forming in my side.

Then I see it—an open maintenance door leading into a construction site.

I don’t think. I just act.

I dart inside, weaving through scaffolding and stacks ofdrywall, the smell of sawdust thick in the air. Footsteps echo behind me.

They followed me in.

I hold Biscuit close, whispering, “Shh, baby,” as I duck behind a stack of wooden pallets. My breaths come fast and shallow as I press myself against the cold concrete wall.

The footsteps slow.

Drakon’s voice, smooth and controlled, carries through the cavernous space. “Come now, Ms. Larsen. Surely you don’t think you can outrun us forever?”

A door creaks open somewhere behind them. An opportunity.

I don’t hesitate. I bolt, sprinting through the dimly lit site and bursting out the back exit. I don’t stop running, not until I hit the main road, until the sound of pursuit is gone, until my legs nearly give out beneath me.

I force myself to keep walking, blending into the moving bodies of the street, my breath hitching as I glance back.

No sign of them.

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