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Amanda is everything good and pure and right with the world.

And me? I’m a killer. A hired thug.

She deserves more.

But the truth is I never got over her.

Never.

Fuck.

She’s even more beautiful than I remember.

Which shouldn’t be possible.

The California sun hits her hair, and the copper strands blaze like fire.

Her curves fill out the tailored cream travel suit she’s wearing, and when she moves the faint scent of jasmine drifts past me.

Same scent she used to leave on my sheets.

I drag my focus back to the job.

Because that’s why I’m here.

Not to stare.

Not to remember.

And definitely not to fall apart.

Amanda climbs into the back seat of the SUV without another glance in my direction.

The door shuts with a sharp thud that feels like punctuation.

Yeah.

She still hates me.

Fair.

I slide into the passenger seat and nod to the driver.

“Let’s go.”

The SUV rolls away from the hangar, merging onto the highway that snakes toward the Hollywood Hills.

I check the mirrors automatically. Vehicles. Distance. Blind spots.

Habit.

Behind me, Amanda sits stiff and silent.

After Miss Manfield, Carter’s assistant, invited her to dinner, and she accepted despite my objections, I clarified that wherever she goes I go.

And I can still feel the anger radiating off her.

Used to be I could read every shift in her mood by the sound of her breathing.