Page 19 of Don't Trust Him

Seriously, he is so fucking off limits I want to smack myself.

“Whatever,” I say with a sigh.

It isn’t just our strategy we’re arguing about.

We’ve been staying in separate rooms despite how odd it looks to the front desk people, everywhere we’ve stayed. We apparently seem like a fighting couple to them, which makes me wonder how many American couples plan to go on vacation and then end up getting separate rooms? What the fuck is that?

One of our arguments that Grayson and I had was that he wanted me to use his last name when I checked in. Yes, to our separate rooms. But fuck, he’s worried someone’s going to find my name? I’ve never been discrete and if I need to be, doesn’t that seem like it would raise red flags? I use a different name, calling it my maiden name, and he looks all wounded.

Like, seriously?

So here we are. Literally standing in the fucking parking lot next door to the self storage facility. Arguing about what to do.

Grayson and I have the guy we need the information from, yet, still, we're running backwards in oatmeal trying to get anything done.

I smooth my hands over my dress and attempt to not ball my fists in total frustration at having to deal with someone else instead of just getting the job done the way I would.

"We should interrogate him after we watch him," Grayson says. "Get what we can out of watching him and then we talk to him." The tone in his voice is pure. Its one that brooks no dissent. He’s that kind of person.

Takes one to know one. I feel the same but I don't want to take his tack here and blow the whole op.

"If we're watching him then he'll probably know and he won't tell us shit," I say, rolling my eyes. This is pretty fucking obvious, right?

"If we're good at watching him," Grayson steps closer to me and looks at me like I've forgotten how to tie my shoes or something. Not that you tie Louboutins, mind you. "Then he won't know that we're watching him." He's emphasizing the fucking words out like a dumb child.

"How often do you not know you're being watched?" I throw my hands up in the air, turning around and then putting them on my hips, facing him again. "And do you get away with it by killing anyone who might tell, because racking up a needless body count isn't exactly covert, either."

Are we losing the three-legged race at the fair or something? Because what we aren't doing is working well together. At. All.

Grayson, to his credit, looks like he's actually considering my words.

"Are you better at watching or questioning?" I ask him. If he's cooling down, well, so can I.

A wicked smile spreads over that too perfect, cocky, smug face of his. "I don't have to ask which you're better at, the way you look. I'd tell you all my secrets," Grayson says with a laugh.

"Oh, would you?" Something about the way he laughs makes me purr internally.

I hate when books say there's like a pregnant pause. Like, what the hell is it pregnant with? But this pause is totally loaded with some kind of little swimmers. The more he looks at me like that, not saying anything, the less I want to fight about this and the more I want...well, I don't know what I want.

I have to fight back the urge to laugh at this situation, the intensity is just so much. Grayson and I are practically two seconds away from slap-slap-kiss. Like slap, how dare you? Slap, how dare you? And then, bam, we're kissing...

Except we're so not kissing right now. We have to get some progress going on this coke squared miracle formula or neither one of our bosses will have it and then this is all for nothing.

So maybe, yes, we are going to need to start working together. Like, actually working together instead

of butting heads constantly.

I look at him, pressing my lower lip into my teeth. “Yeah, let’s try not fighting like an old married couple for like two fucking minutes and see where that gets us,” I offer.

He gives me a weird look like he’s totally oblivious to this whole dynamic. Though, granted, he kind of is. Grayson Teague never had a family. Never had parents. He doesn’t even have friends. He’s a single-minded weapon and that’s what makes him so good at what he does.

Of course, it is also what fucks me up entirely. I can’t deny that I’m attracted to him. That’s why I’m fighting with him so much. I wouldn’t be so combative if he didn’t have such an effect on me. I’m guessing he’s a little more mature too, no matter how emotionally stunted.

Just...fuck.

Like right now. Totally inappropriate of me to look at his ass when he looks away. But it’s a good ass. And I realize that there’s something about when I’m with him...my life seems better. Go with me on this, but I never have a normal “look at his butt” moment with anyone. And I love what I do. I wear the best clothes. Stay in the best hotels.

But fuck I just wish I had a boyfriend.

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