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It was almost eighteen months of work. If she was going to find a new job, this could show her organization and initiative. And if—when—Gio came at her, she’d have it.

Whenever my coworker tries to bully me, I figure out a way to cover my ass. Hire me.

Riley dropped it into a new email before she could think better of it.

Hey K,

Hope everything is OK. Look how nice the tables are. It even has conditional formatting. No one appreciates a colour-coded spreadsheet as much as you. Xoxo

R

Riley waited for the email to send, and then she deleted the file. Kristi replied from her work email a few minutes later.

Beaut, babe. I’ll look later. <3

Riley let out a sigh, and her shoulders slumped. It was better than nothing. If Gio went after her again, she could always ask Kristi to email it back. But she’d probably delete it.

Riley would just tell Nico what Gio was doing, and they could figure it out. It might not even happen again.

It’d be fine.

She packed up and left the office, pulling out her phone on the busy street. She dodged between office workers and commuters on her way to the bus. A photo of Cookie from Saint made her smile as she scrolled farther down.

Her stomach twisted when the unknown number came up. The wind buffeted her jacket, threatening to take it. She wrestled it shut and found a place in line at the bus stop.

Unknown number: Your to pretty to be such a bitch.

This is ridiculous.

She pursed her lips, fingers flying over her phone.

Riley: And you’re a coward. Learn to spell.

Chapter 13

Saint

“What do you mean she just took off? She snuck out of her own house? Thought that was your usual routine.”

Wheeler sat his ass on the workbench, swinging his feet. Ten years of Special Forces hadn’t managed to beat his stupid grin off his face. And not for lack of trying.

“Don’t look at me like that, boss, I’m happy for you.”

Saint returned to what he was doing—staring at the alternator on Ryan’s bike like he hadn’t been thinking about soft grey eyes and a quiet laugh. Cookie snored nearby on his bed in the shop, occasionally cracking an eye to glare at Wheeler if he moved around too much. Usually Cookie was okay as long as Wheeler didn’t come in the loft. The dog hated him more than he usually hated men, but Saint had never figured out why.

It was probably because he was a pain in the ass.

“She must be pretty special, considering the last time you liked someone enough to stay for breakfast was more than a decade—”

“Are you here for a reason, or just ’cause you like to hear yourself talk?” Saint asked. He was busy and didn’t need to be distracted. More distracted.

Wheeler slid off the bench, landing on the concrete floor more softly than someone of his size should have been able to. He hooked his thumbs in his belt, and the silver buckle flashed. Austin ProRodeo 2015. “I’m grabbing some extra gear.”

Wheeler walked to the back of the shop, weaving between bikes and the scissor jack until he disappeared behind the concrete wall they’d put up to partition the weapons locker. Triple-reinforced steel kept more than their fair share of guns and gadgets out of harm’s way.

Saint started to unscrew the alternator casing and stopped when Wheeler reappeared with a duffle far bigger than needed for a private security gig. Saint stood, folding his arms as Wheeler’s smirk grew.

“No.”