Page 90 of Theirs to Hunt
Suits.
Earpieces.
Blank expressions.
Of course he didn’t just send a car.
I glance down at the fob still in my hand.
Looks like I’ll be getting chauffeured to my neighbor’s doctor’s appointment like the protagonist of an over-acted Lifetime movie.
My phone vibrates again.
You didn’t need to ask what kind of car.
You already know I picked the one that'll make men hate you and women envy you.
I already have a ride that does that.
You might say I have two of them. ????
I snark back, just to see if I can get a rise.
Another buzz.
A second message.
If you try to ditch the car, the tracker will ping my phone.
Don’t testme, little fawn.
You won’t win.
But I’ll enjoy the chase.
I stare at the screen, torn between rolling my eyes and melting into the chair.
It’s the third act of an enemies-to-lovers arc.
Tracker? Is that before or after the ankle monitor?
You'll know it when you feel it vibrate.
My thighs clench.
Damn him.
Chapter seventy-four
Brooks, Monday 03:28 p.m.
The elevator doors slide open with a smooth hiss, and there she is.
Reagan steps out between the two guards.
She's not sure if she's being escorted or taken into custody.
Her expression flickers when she sees me, relief, curiosity, and that spark that's always there when she looks at me.
