“You seem to be especially mischievous today, Mr. Masters?” I smirk.
He smiles as he continues to shave. “Perhaps it’s the company I’m keeping.”
I smile as I walk out of the room. “You’d better concentrate or you’ll cut your pretty face.”
“It’s handsome, not pretty,” he calls after me, and I smile to myself as I walk down the stairs.
He’s certainly right about that one.
I’m fuming. A big, bubbling cauldron of anger is about to blow over within me.
This serves me right. I knew something like this was about to happen, and now I can’t even tell Emerson what’s really going on.
“Why are we here again?” Emerson asks.
I narrow my eyes as I look at the restaurant across the road from us. “We’re
spying,” I mutter quietly.
Hank looks over as he licks his ice cream. “On who?”
It’s 9:30 p.m
