Page 21 of Grizz

“Not really.”Yes.

“You’re the type of guy who can charm or bulldoze your way through every problem until people stop trying to hold you accountable.”

She’s not wrong about that.It’s a skill I’ve honed.“Worked so far.”

Her expression hardens, but her cheeks flush slightly—vodka or irritation, I can’t tell.“You’re impossible.”

“And you talk too much.”

“Maybe someone should.”

I suppress a smile lest she think I’m a nice guy who can be charmed myself.“Maybe someone shouldn’t.”

She shakes her head, smiling despite herself.“You know, my goal isn’t to polish you up for sponsors or hand you a script.I want to help you stay out of your own way so this team and your career have the best possible chance of success.”

“That your official mission statement?”

“It’s the truth.And you need to understand, while Langley hired me and I work for your best interests, I’m working for you as well.I always take such things very seriously.”

I lean closer, just enough to see her pupils dilate.“You sure you can handle that kind of project?”

“I’ve handled worse.”

I grin.“Name one.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, like she’s catching herself before she says something she can’t take back.“I get that you think everything’s a competition.”

“Only the things that matter.”

“Well, guess what?”she drawls, picking up her glass and raising it as if to toast this conversation.“I like a little competition too.”

“I’d chew you up and spit you out, little girl.”

She laughs and it’s both bold and melodious at the same time.“I actually think I like you, but you are totally insufferable.”

“And yet you’re still here,” I say drolly.

“Maybe I’m a masochist.”

“If you like me in any way, you are definitely a masochist.”

She scoffs.“I tolerate you.Barely.”

I take a slow sip.“That’s progress.”

The bar’s gotten quieter, the late crowd trickling out, music fading from the speakers.

“You know what your biggest problem is, Grizz?It’s not your temper or your mouth or even how you treat the world like it owes you an apology.You think intensity is the same thing as honesty.Like, if you burn hot enough, no one will notice how cold you actually are underneath.”She’s still talking, words spilling faster, her hands gesturing more wildly.Her voice blurs in and out of focus.All I can hear is the rhythm.The cadence.I’m entranced by how her lips move around every word, and fuck if those lips don’t look exceptionally inviting.

“You act like the turmoil makes you special, almost as if it’s some sort of proof you care more than everyone else.But it’s all distractions.You hide in it.You build your whole identity…”

Finally, I interrupt her mid-sentence.“You done?”

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re not gonna shut up,” I say, voice low, “then I’m gonna have to shut you up myself.”

Her eyes flash.“What’s that supposed to mean?You are one cocky—”