Lynn's POV
I take the glass.
Darker than mine, drier, with an edge that reaches the back of the throat and stays there. Better. I don't know why that makes me laugh a little.
Dominic Blackthorne in a dim bar looks like a warning. Black suit, every hair in place, the kind of composed that doesn't come from effort. The low light suits the dangerous quality he carries.
I pull myself together. "What are you doing in LA?"
"Western sent me. For the project. I arrived tonight." His eyes move to my face — that unhurried attention of his, like he's reading something rather than simply looking. "You've hit some obstacles."
"That's generous." I look at my drink. "No matter how hard I work, I can't hold onto anything. I try to establish something and it dissolves. I can't find my footing and I d
