Page 29 of Ethan & Grace

The fine raindrops that had caught in Ethan’s dark hair glinted in the dim glow of the interior lights. “It’s before midnight, and I’m heading home. What do you think?”

“I think there’s something seriously wrong with you.” The words slipped out before my brain could filter them. I blamed the alcohol. The incident in the cloakroom had sobered me up a little, but I clearly wasn’t thinking straight yet.

Ethan snorted. “Don’t hold back.”

I turned as far towards him as my seat belt allowed. “Oh, come on. Even you have to admit you’re acting pretty weird. You’d usually be totally wasted by now, with a girl hanging on each arm. Instead, you’re sober—and almost tolerable.”

“You still don’t seem to know how compliments work.”

“That was a compliment! A pretty big one, actually,” I said defensively. “It’s just not very easy to say nice things about the devil.”

“Maybe you’d find it easier if you knew me better.”

“I doubt it.”

“You could try,” Ethan suggested.

“I’m not interested. Besides, I clean your flat, so I know you much better than you think,” I said, starting to list points on my fingers. “I know you hate protein shakes, yet you insist on making yourself at least one every day. You always leave some in the cup because you can’t bring yourself to force all of it down. There’s something wrong with your right wrist—you have a brace and pain relief cream lying around. Probably chronic tendonitis. Your favourite artist is Kendrick Lamar, and you like the colour red.”

Ethan looked at me, astonished. I rarely saw him lost for words. “You’re a good observer, Claymore.”

“Thanks. And I’d like to point out how mature and grown-up it is of me to not speculate about what exactly it is you do with your right hand so often to give you tendonitis.”

“Noted. But just because you know what goes on in my flat doesn’t mean you have any idea what goes on in here,” Ethan said, tapping his chest. “There are plenty of things you don’t know about me.”

“Like what?”

He smirked. “Nice try.”

“Come on. I won’t tell anyone,” I wheedled, my curiosity sparked.

He hesitated and looked out of the window. The rain had grown heavier, blurring the world on the other side of the glass. “OK. I’ll tell you something about me that you don’t know, but first you have to answer a question.”

“Deal,” I agreed, my tongue loosened by the alcohol.

“Why did you break into Rakesh’s office?”

I hadn’t expected that. I prayed that the darkness in the limousine was hiding the surprise on my face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I caught you red-handed.” Ethan’s eyes were on me, pinning me down so there was no escape. “Besides, I ran into Rakesh after our little encounter and spoke to him. He said he’s never given you any admin tasks.”

I drew a deep breath and held it in my lungs for a few seconds. “OK, that was a lie,” I admitted with a sigh. “But it’s hardly breaking and entering if the door is open.”

“But it is theft if you take something,” Ethan retorted. I hated how steady and convincing his voice sounded, while I could barely disguise the tremor in mine. “What do you need the Pearl Gala guest list for?”

Damn. I’d hoped he hadn’t recognised the list in the short time he’d had it, but he was clearly more perceptive than I’d given him credit for. I weighed my options, but with Ethan’s piercing gaze drilling into me, it was hard to think straight.

“I went to the gala with Kate, and . . . ,” I stammered, “. . . and there was this really cute guy. I was hoping I could use the guest list to track him down.”

Ethan arched an eyebrow in challenge. “What did he look like?”

“He was blond, slim, dark eyes.”

I had no idea who I was describing, but I made sure my invention was the antithesis of Ethan.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You’re not talking about James Asterdam, are you?”

“Maybe . . .”