Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 22

"The big hero?"

"Yeah. He likes to think he's wearing a cape or whatever after one fight with a mobster."

"I meant it as a compliment. You can't deny what he did was pretty brave."

"You compared me to a guy who took down a criminal enterprise."

"I still think it's a compliment." She shrugs and fastens her seat belt, taking a sip of that awful concoction masquerading as coffee.

"He's also a fun-hating health nut who melts on contact with sugar," I tell her. "He only learned to tolerate a pinch of the stuff for his wife's sake. She's a baker."

Salem bursts out laughing.

I hate how that sound sinks through me until I can feel it in my bones— and not in a bad way.

"Oh, wow. How'd that happen?"

"Long-ass story. Let's just say it was a fake relationship that turned real."

"Fake? You mean like the setup you see in rom-com movies?" She blinks at me.

"I don't watch rom-com, but probably. It was the dumbest move Dex ever made, yet somehow it paid off for him. Lucky idiot." Her face drops after I say ‘lucky' as I put the car in drive. "For the record, I don't share his mission to purge the Earth of sugar. I just don't like too much cream. If I want coffee, I want its soul."

"You mean you like it bitter?" Like you? The implication in her voice is clear.

"I like to taste coffee. I'm sure you're aware that's not why we're here, though."

I take a deep breath. Business, business.

She knows the real reason.

Now, let's see if we can get through one whole day together without someone being arrested for murder.

Our first stop is a small, but cozy rental home near the edge of the city.

Salem's face lights up and she gasps joyfully when we step inside.

It's far from the first time this place has triggered that reaction.

Nobody expects the tropical-looking interior, bright and airy with plenty of natural light, reclaimed wooden walls, and vibrant greens and pinks bursting on the walls behind impressive plants.

"Holy crap. It's like a trip to the Florida Keys without leaving Missouri," she whispers. "You worked on this design?"

"My older brother, Archer, he pushed for this look," I say, showing her around. She fingers the wicker furniture. "A taste of paradise, he calls it. He always loved my mother's old place down there, back when she had it. She used to spend a lot of time hopping around Florida and the Caribbean when she was young."

"How generous," I bite off. "You called the other place stunning."

"I did." She clears her throat. "I mean, look—Archer's house uses a lot of color. That stands out in a Midwestern city that loves its historic brick buildings and pretty basic neutrals for anything more modern."

"It's garish. Too whimsical for many," I snarl. "I think you mean stylish."

"This is stylish." Brutal pause.

Her eyes flare with challenge.

"This is expensive, Mr. Rory," she says firmly. "And it could really use some blinds. The sun must get blinding in the morning, and what about privacy?"

I look at the view, the fenced-in yard and old trees behind the house, and the fact that nobody could see into this room.

"Blinds would ruin the aesthetic. Clearly," I tell her.

"But just imagine walking around this place naked." She gestures at the almost wall-length window. "Imagine being on show like that if any neighbors looked through the fence."

Shit.

I blink away the thought of seeing her naked like I have sand in my eyes.