Page 17 of The Scout

I grinned. “That’s not a denial.”

She let out a sharp breath, exasperated, but she kept walking. I liked the way she carried herself when she was irritated—chin up, shoulders tight, her pace just a little too quick, like she thought she could outrun me.

She couldn’t.

I let the silence stretch for a few beats, then, “Why a hotel?”

Her brows pulled together. “What?”

“The job,” I said, glancing over at her. “You went to school for hospitality. I get that. But a hotel? Doesn’t seem like the best place for a young woman to work.”

She snorted. “What does that mean?”

I kept my expression neutral. “Late hours. Drunk guests. A front desk with no real security. You work at one of the biggest hotels in Charleston, which means alot of people coming in and out. You ever think about what kind of people you deal with on a daily basis?”

Her grip tightened on the coffee cup. “Wow, thanks for the insight. Here I was thinking I worked at Disneyland.”

I hid my smirk behind another sip of coffee. “I’m serious, Isabel.”

“So am I,” she shot back. “You act like I’m in constant danger just because I have a job. You realize people work in hotels every day without spontaneously getting kidnapped, right?”

I didn’t respond right away. Just let the weight of my silence sit between us.

She exhaled, shaking her head. “God, you’re paranoid.”

I shrugged. “I get paid to be paranoid.”

She turned to me then, eyes sharp, like she was searching for something beneath the surface. “And what about when you’re not getting paid? Still paranoid?”

I let the corner of my mouth tug upward. “Call it a habit.”

She rolled her eyes, but I caught the way her fingers flexed slightly against the cup. Like she was considering my words. Like, for the first time, she might actually be listening.

“I like my job,” she said finally, her voice quieter now.

I nodded. “I’m sure you do.”

Her gaze snapped back to mine. “No snide comment?”

I smirked. “Did you want one?”

She let out an annoyed noise, quickening her pace. “Unbelievable.”

I followed easily, keeping step without effort. “You ever think about doing something else?”

She let out a short laugh. “Oh, sure. Let me just quit my perfectly stable job because some guy decided it’s too dangerous for me.”

“Not some guy,” I said, voice low. “Me.”

That threw her. I saw it in the way her breath caught, in the way she quickly looked away, focusing on the sidewalk instead of me. She wasn’t used to men talking to her like that—flat, certain, like a decision had already been made whether she liked it or not.

She recovered fast, though.

“God,” she muttered under her breath. “You are the worst.”

I grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

She didn’t have a response to that.

---