Chapter Fifty
The hotel bar smelled like bourbon, polished wood, and regret. Perfect. Owen slid onto the leather booth seat, jacket tossed carelessly over the backrest, funeral tie still loose around his throat like a noose he hadn’t bothered to cut. Jessica perched across from him — flushed cheeks, big green eyes, dress just shy of too short. Trying so damn hard to look innocent. Failing beautifully. Owen sipped his whiskey, slow, savoring the burn. “You clean up nice,” Jessica teased, nudging his foot under the table. Owen smirked lazily. “You should see me at a funeral.” She blinked — startled — then laughed, tipping forward like a flower caught in a storm. Drinks came. Appetizers, too — overpriced sliders and something with aioli he didn’t give half a f**k about. Jessica talked. He half-
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