Page 33 of Grizz

“I want you to stop acting like every rule is an attack on your freedom,” I say.“And maybe stop smiling every time you make my day worse.”

He laughs, softer this time.Almost surprised.“You noticed that, huh?”

“I notice everything,” I say.“It’s literally my job to notice.”

He looks at me, eyes glinting the way they did in that bar just before he kissed me.“And what do you notice now?”

Emotion clamps down on my voice.“That you’re enjoying this.”

He grins wider.“Maybe I am.”

“Why?”

He thinks about it for half a second, eyes dropping away before meeting mine again and I can see he’s not amused now.“Because you don’t fake it.Everyone else around me fakes it.They laugh at my jokes, nod when I talk, pretend I’m not an asshole.You don’t.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“Sure it is,” he says.“Means you’re interesting.”

I swallow hard.“I’d rather be effective.”

He leans in, not enough to touch me, but enough that his presence fills the small space between us.His voice drops.“You can be both.”

The air feels heavier for a beat.Too warm suddenly.Definitely too close.My pulse hammers at my throat and I look away first, completely annoyed with myself.“Unbelievable,” I mutter.

He grins.“That’s what they tell me.”

The cab jerks to a stop, brakes squealing as we pull up to the curb.

“That’ll be fifteen dollars, twenty-five cents,” the driver says over his shoulder.

“I’ll pay by card,” I reply quickly, swiping before Grizz can even reach for his wallet—not that he looks like he intends to.

He stretches lazily, cracking his neck.“Generous of you, Turner.”

I shoot him a glare.“I’ll be expensing this.”

We climb out of the cab and I button my coat.The air outside is cold, the late autumn type that makes your eyes water and your patience thin.“Let’s get started before this day becomes any more challenging,” I say, gripping my phone.

“Whatever gets this shit over with,” Grizz mutters, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.“Where the hell is this restaurant?”

I unlock my phone, thumb scrolling over the screen as I pull up the email from Langley’s assistant.“It’s right here—420 Greenwich.”

We both look around.Residential block.Corner deli.A dog groomer.Definitely not a high-end restaurant.

I scroll again, panic climbing up my throat.“It says 420 Greenwich.This should be it.”

“Let me see,” Grizz says, holding out his palm.

“I’ve got it under control.”

He doesn’t move his hand.“You clearly don’t.”

I exhale through my nose and give him the phone.He glances once at the screen, then utters a quiet, satisfied hum.“Yeah, you’re right, 420 Greenwich.But one tiny detail you missed.This is GreenwichAvenue,” he says, pointing up at the street sign.“You were supposed to take us to GreenwichStreet.Two very different places.”

I stare at him, speechless, grabbing my phone back and peering at the address.“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.Easy mistake—for someone who’s not from New York.”