Page 66 of Coming in Hot

“I can see the protestations on those lips,” she tells me. “But I didn’t get where I am by having poor instincts. I suspect this phony intel relates to the kerfuffle surrounding that new race location. Blueprintgate might be nothing more than a cover for therealstory. I’d start beating the bushes, were I you.”

I cross my arms, eyes narrowed. “So why don’tyouinvestigate?” A slightly petty and mean impulse spurs me to add, “You used to love that stuff, in your day.”

She smiles slowly, not taking the bait. “Can’t be arsed, love. I already earned my stripes. Also?” She drops her voice wickedly. “I’m not the one dating Klaus Franke.”

When I take my leave of Nefeli and walk out into the main office, Alexander is still sitting on the intern’s desk. I have the urge to blast this genteel fuckboy in the face with a squirt bottle as if he were a misbehaving house cat. That’s a little impractical, so instead I catch him by the sleeve of his tailored sage-green suit and haul him upright.

“A chat in private, please?” I grit out.

“Ooh, someone’s keen for it,” he jokes, giving Gilly a rakish wink. “I’ll catch up with you later, pet.”

I pause to look back and warn the wide-eyed intern. “Don’t letthismoron,” I tell her, jabbing a finger toward Alexander, “be your least rewarding experience at this job.”

As I plow toward Alexander’s office with him in tow, he extracts his crumpled sleeve from my grip. “Do you quite mind? This is Thom Sweeney.”

His office is modest—Nefeli has at least made a nod to not playing favorites—but has a much larger window than mine, with a better view. I shove him through the door like a mall security guard herding a shoplifter, then shut it behind us.

“You’re nothing if not true to form,” I begin, eyes raking over him with disgust.

He relaxes, smoothing a hand down his jacket and shooting his cuffs. “Been eyeing my ‘form,’ Evans? I’m flattered.” His gaze angles to the door. “Flip that lock, and—”

My growl of frustration is practically an animal’s snarl. “Rrrggghhh!Turn that flirting shit off, can you?Like, ever?For one minute?”

He leans on his desk and tilts his head in feigned remorse. “My apologies.”

“The memory stick you gave me in Italy.You stole it from my inbox.I can’t believe I fell for your stupid compliments saying you think I’m a terrific journalist! As much—”

“Natalia,” he cuts in softly.

His usual smug glamour has been replaced with an expression that for once doesn’t seem engineered to showcase his charming smile. It’s almost… vulnerable?

I fold my arms. “What.”

He rakes one hand through his auburn hair, then blows out a breath, upward to adjust the picturesque lock falling over his brow.

“The compliments I gave you when I handed over the USB stick were sincere. And the dig I took at your professional qualifications last year during our date were…not.” He picks up a paperweight made of magnetic spheres and digs into it with a fingertip. “I was embarrassed by your rejection and still wanted to hurt your feelings. It was immature and sullen, and I’m genuinely sorry.”

I’m pretty sure he’s not manufacturing his candor right now, because I catch the faint change to his speech that I notice only when he’s at his most unguarded. The childhood Northern accent tugs at his vowels—I hear it on “sullen.”

I let the silence hang. My aunt says it’s unforgivably rude not to accept an apology, but then again, she’s never met Alexander Laskaris.

“You know you’re awful, right?”

He peeks up at me through dark lashes. “I’m sure you’ll be shocked to learn you’re not the first person to say so.”

I’m not letting him off that easily.

He offers a sad smile that’s mostly confined to his dark gray eyes. “I took the USB stick from your inbox in a fit of pique. I’d just heard that you gotARJ Buzz, and… I’d already told several people the job was mine.”

“Ah.Femalepeople,” I surmise with some amusement.

His lips scrunch into a sulky frown. “You’re enjoying this too much, butyes. And surely you know how much men love to be laughed at by women.”

I give him a pitying, big-sisterly look. “Oh, for God’s sake, Alex. Why do you care what people think of you? You’re too rich and pretty to be this insecure.”

He smirks. “You think I’m pretty?”

“You know you are, idiot,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But seriously… what’s with the disguises, the chameleon thing you do? Trying to carve out the perfect key for every lock. Even the posh accent you wear like armor—you think I haven’t noticed your real one? With all your obvious gifts and privilege, it’s like you think it still isn’t enough.”

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