Page 9 of Dolls & Daggers
“Why are they coming over here?” Bunny’s voice tugs me back, and I blink.
Wrenley and Hunter are indeed making their way toward us, empty beer glasses in hand despite the full pitcher at their table. I feel Bunny tense beside me. Her body language shifts—rigid, twitchy, like Hunter has caught her in a snare.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was afraid of the detective.
But I do know better, and if there’s anything Bunny’s afraid of where Hunter is concerned, it’s only her feelings for him.
“Well, if it isn’t Detective Dick? I see you picked up a stray. Better keep an eye on this one.” My voice jingles with feigned merriment. “He thinks he’s a thief.”
“Oh, so it’s not just me then?” Wrenley laughs, signaling Alex for another beer before flashing Hunter a smirk. “She’s this cheerful with everyone.”
He’s shed his suit jacket, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up, revealing toned forearms.
Hunter laughs, ignoring Bunny entirely as he locks his amber gaze on me. “You know, Dove. If you’re not careful, one of these days, some guy is going to mistake your antagonism for foreplay.”
Heat flashes in Wrenley’s eyes as they slide back to mine. The type of fire you can’t figure out if it’s meant to consume you or burn you to ash. I hold my smile, cocking my head, silently daring him to add to Hunter’s comment.
“MaybeIshould go to HR,” he muses with a full grin before turning to Bunny. “I take it you were the one on the phone earlier? The one I’m betting with? Hi, I’m Wrenley.”
He sticks out his hand, arm crossing in front of Hunter, who steps back, irritation flashing across his handsome features as he looks between his friend and mine.
Bunny shakes Wrenley’s hand meekly to make herself appear weaker—just like I did when I met him this morning—then gifts him with a dazzling smile. “Bunny. And I’d be careful betting against Dove. I’ll survive because I’m her best friend.” Her gaze drops, eyes settling between his legs. Her grin turns feline. “You, however, are going to be eaten alive.”
My brows flatten at the innuendo, and I shoot her a deadpan look.
Hunter smirks, taking a sip of the new beer Alexsets in front of him before giving Bunny and me our tacos. “Eh, I think Wren can hold his own. Dove isn’t so scary once you get to know her. Right, doll?” He winks at me, and I’m almost positive he’s trying to get under Bunny’s skin.
Wrenley glares at him for the affectionate term, his lips curling in distaste for a hot second before his features shift back to pretty-boy charm. He turns that devastating grin on me. “I fully intend to prove that Dove and I can work well together. I’m not trying to take her job. I’ll be happy to work under her.”
My eyes narrow. Liar. If that were true, he wouldn’t have spent all day schmoozing. He would have been busy trying to endear himself tome.
Bunny chokes on her taco. Bits of beef and cabbage go flying across the bar top as she exclaims, “Oh, I’m sure that’ll happen. Under, over, side by side. She likes to be in control so?—”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Wrenley cuts her off sharply.
She shrugs. “Then you’re not on my side of the bet.”
Wrenley looks at her quizzically while my lips curve up in a grin that denotes my victory for today’s verbal spar. “Wanna tell him what you bet me?”
“I don’t really care. I told you I’m not a betting man. It was a joke, Dove,” he sneers.
“Well, that’s good. Because I bet her you two’d be fucking by the end of the night.” Bunny’s abrasive delivery causes Wrenley to cough into his drink, foam and golden liquid spewing from between his lips to join the remnants of her taco on the smooth, glossy walnut.
“Not happening,” he manages between sputters as Hunter pounds his back, not even looking mildly concerned.
I extend my hand out, palm up, curling my fingers a few times as Bunny reaches into her purse, grumbling about how much she hates to lose.
“So then, Songbird, I’ll ask again—who’s the fool?”
Hunter grips the bag tighter,his feet sliding back a few inches from the force of my hit. A smarmy smirk twists his lips as he raises his brows in amusement.
“What’s got you in a tizzy? Lover’s quarrel again?”
“We.”Punch.“Aren’t.”Punch.“Lovers.”Punch, punch.
Even though he hit the proverbial nail on the head. My first official week of work has been hell.
From my suggestions getting shot down in every meeting to my articles being siphoned into a folder on Dove’s desktop, I’ve been reduced to churning out mediocre reports about shit I couldn’t care less about while Dove’s work still takes center stage.
