Page 59 of Never Fall for an Angel

He doesn’t move, save for the one minuscule tick in his jaw.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs under his breath, sitting back in his chair. He grabs his whiskey, downing the glass, and pours a second.

“It’s just that . . . If you do, could you not tell my mother?”

“Mila,” he mutters gruffly.

“No, this is important.”

“No, the fuck it’s not. I’m not going to kill you.”

Tears well in my eyes, but they don’t fall . . . for once.

That’s not the answer I thought I was going to receive.

“So, what are you going to do to me, then?”

He stares at me long and hard, like he’s contemplating throwing me off the cliff out behind the cottage. Maybe it would be for the best. Let me float to Timbuktu, where I can live out my days with all the other degenerate runaways.

“Why all the questions?”

“Why all the evasive non-answers?”

“Because regardless of what you think about it, you’re stuck here.”

“Yeah, making friends with the dust bunnies and the giant spiders,” I grumble, rolling my eyes.

“Keep rolling your eyes at me,” he warns, his voice gruff. “See what happens.”

“Fine,” I say, stabbing a potato a little too hard because I’m picturing his head instead. “We’ll move on. What is your job?”

“I’m not answering any more of your useless questions.”

I swear to God.

“Then, I’ll starve myself until you do.”

Just to get my point across, I shove my plate back from me.

He wants to be stubborn? He will soon find out I wrote the fuckingbookon stubbornness.

“Mila, eat the fucking food.”

I just stare at him.

“You’re acting like a child.”

Cue more staring.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. I’m happy to know I’m getting under his skin. Serves the asshole right. “Fine. I worked for the FBI.”

“FBI? So, you were undercover like Logan?” Last year, my new brother-in-law went undercover to bring my stepfather down. He also fell in love with my sister in the process, but in my opinion, he never stood a chance. I saw the way he looked at her. Like she was the only woman to ever walk the surface of this planet.

He was doomed from the start.

“I was,” Christian says, his tone clipped.

“Why did it end?”

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