Page 62 of Playing Dirty
Sawyer looked at me then, his expression softening just enough to make me wonder what he’d seen in his life to earn that kind of steel. “It means you stay in a safe place. Let us handle the rest.”
Rhett’s gaze didn’t leave Sawyer’s. “We start digging. Everything—phone records, social media, financials—if he’s got skeletons in his closet, we drag ’em out into daylight.”
Sawyer nodded once, already pulling a small external drive from his jacket pocket. “I’ll run it through the network. Couple of my buddies still contract for law enforcement—retired SEALs, like me. They’ll keep it quiet.”
The casual way he said it made my skin prickle. These weren’t two men brainstorming in a kitchen. This was strategy. This was war.
I tried for levity, but it came out brittle. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
Sawyer’s mouth curved in a humorless grin. “You’d be surprised what we’ve done before. The folks in Lovelace don’t just respect us because we won the Powerball, you know.”
I nodded, but I really wasn’t sure what he meant. It made me wonder if I was supposed to.
Rhett pushed away from the counter, coming to stand between me and the laptop like a shield. “You don’t have to be part of this, Callie. Just… stay clear, alright?”
Stay clear. As if it were that easy when my name was already on Matt’s lips and halfway through the gossip mill by now. “If he’s telling people he fired me, this is already public,” I said quietly. “It’s only a matter of time before it’s all over town.”
Rhett’s jaw flexed. “Then we make sure we control the story before he does.”
Sawyer gave a satisfied nod and started typing, his focus absolute. The click of keys filled the kitchen like the ticking of a clock running out.
I stood there, the air feeling thicker with every passing second, and realized that whatever line there’d been between Rhett’s world and mine—it was gone now.
Rhett caught my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “We’re gonna end this, darlin’. On our terms.”
And just like that, I knew Matt had no idea what kind of storm he’d stirred up.
Chapter Nineteen
Trust Me
Callie
Mornings with Rhett had a way of sneaking under my skin—warm steam curling in the bathroom, his hands mapping every curve like he already knew the landscape by heart. By the time we finally made it to the kitchen, I felt loose-limbed and smugly content, the kind of mood that could almost trick me into believing life was simple.
Almost.
“C’mon,” he said after breakfast, leaning in the doorway with that glint in his eyes that meant he’d been sitting on something. “Got somethin’ to show you.”
I followed him out to the garage, still barefoot, coffee in hand. Rhett’s garage wasn’t just a place to park cars—it was a shrine. Chrome gleamed under the overhead lights. Oil and leather scented the air. Every vehicle lined up like soldiers, polished within an inch of its life. And right in the middle sat his pride and joy—a ’49 Ford pickup that looked like it had rolledstraight out of a magazine spread for “They Don’t Make ’Em Like They Used To.”
He circled the truck, dragging a fingertip along the curve of the fender like it was a woman he was trying to sweet-talk. “Thinking it’s time she got a new dress for the show,” he said. “Color’s just off—close, but not the exact shade that it was in ’49. There’s only one shop that can nail it.”
I arched a brow. “And where’s that?”
“Vegas.” He said it like he was already picturing the neon glow. “Place called Sin City Body Shop. Best in the business. And,” he added casually, “figured you might want the job. Make sure they don’t take any shortcuts. Use that eye you’ve got from all those years in the pits.”
There was a way he said it—like he was offering me a trip and a job all wrapped into one—that made it sound perfectly reasonable. And yet… something in my chest tightened.
“Vegas, huh?” I tried to keep my tone light. “Sending me away just when we’re getting good at this?”
He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sending you somewhere you can have a little fun. And we both know you’d spot a problem if they tried to cut corners before they even picked up a wrench.”
I studied him over my coffee. It was a good opportunity—hell, it was exactly the kind of thing I’d jump at under normal circumstances. But my gut whispered that this wasn’t just about paint colors and car shows.
“Uh-huh,” I said finally, letting my lips twitch like I might buy it. “Alright, sexy. I’ll go. But if this truck wins because of my ‘eye,’ I’m taking all the credit.”
His grin came easier this time. “Deal.”
