Page 78 of The Devil of Downtown

“If I can still walk tomorrow, it’ll be a miracle,” she says. “That woman woke up today and chose violence.”

I pull my hoodie over my head, smiling.

“Since we actually escaped before she decided we neededone more for character,” Jennie adds, “you want to grab a coffee?”

I shake my head. “Can’t today. Since we finished early, I promised Elsie I’d pick her up from the school bus instead of the after-school club. She practically sprinted out of the apartment this morning when I told her.”

“Aww, that’s sweet,” she says as we fall into step. “Speaking of plans... you still on for this weekend?”

“Of course. I don’t think Brody would forgive me if I bailed.”

“Don’t you dare worry about that.” She stops, eyebrows lifting. “Was he thinking ofyouwhen he up and left?”

“Nope.”

“Exactly. So you do what you wanna do.” She hooks her arm through mine as we start down the steps, leaning her head against my shoulder. “And it’ll be fun. You don’t have other plans for Saturday, right?”

“No. I want to be there. We haven’t had a night out in ages.”

“Well...” She gives me a wicked little wink. “I’m not sure that’s entirely true. We’ve had plenty of nights out—you’ve just been busy... consumed by Sir Fuck-a-lot—and honestly? Fair.”

“I havenot,” I lie, even as my brain immediately flips through the incriminating evidence like a greatest-hits reel.

The last two weekends have all been Dane’s, disguised under the flimsiest excuses. Not work. Nothing official. Just casual requests that sounded reasonable enough—the kind you agree to without thinking twice.

Come to this dinner.

Be my date for that thing.

Help me look less terrifying to people who write very large cheques.

Two client dinners that were meant to be harmless, public affairs with polite conversation, good wine, and sensible departures, both of them ending the same way. His hand firm at my back, steering me out with quiet inevitability, and then the car. Doors slamming. The second we were alone, we weretearing each other’s clothes off like we hadn’t just spent hours pretending to be civilized.

Then there was the charity gala.

Black tie. Champagne. Too many eyes. I had promised myself I would behave, actually behave, and yet somehow I ended up pinned back against a rack of fur coats in the cloakroom, their soft weight brushing my arms as Dane held my wrists above my head, my body trapped between him and the wall, my dress riding higher than it had any right to. I was just starting to wonder how badly this could end when a woman’s voice cut through the space, announcing far too loudly that she was certain she had left her opera gloves in here.

Dane went utterly still, and I froze with him, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat.

We stayed exactly where we were; me pressed into the coats, wrists trapped overhead, his body shielding the view as she moved closer, muttering louder by the second, irritation rising with every rack she searched. A fedora slipped from its hook and nearly ruined us; Dane caught it at the last possible moment with one hand, never releasing my wrists with the other, his mouth brushing my ear, murmuring all the filthy things he planned to do to me later.

When the woman finally stormed out, gloves still missing, the door slamming shut, we both lost it.

Not loud laughter, but contained and breathless, the kind that shakes you. Dane leaned his forehead against mine, still holding me there, our faces close, my wrists still trapped above my head for a second longer than necessary. The laughter faded, but neither of us moved. His eyes held mine, and something in my chest shifted in a way that had nothing to do with nearly being caught.

And it hasn’t only been Saturdays. It’s been late lunches that turn into him pinning me against some expensive surface andlooking at me like I’m something he can’t quite bring himself to give up.

He keeps pushing. I keep letting him.

Which is exactly why I need this night. A little space. A little perspective. A reminder that my life exists outside of Dane Black’s hands on my hips and that dangerous, wicked smile—before I tumble in so deep I forget which way is up.

My phone buzzes.

Dane.

Because apparently he’s tuned in to every crack in my willpower.

Jennie glances over my shoulder and smirks. “Speak of the devil.”