Eira's first instinct was to beg off. "Alpha Killian, I appreciate it, but I can grab an Uber."
"Your last cab blew right past you."
Fair.
"Get in." The door glided open. Not a request.
"Thanks." She ducked inside—and caught it the second she settled: alcohol riding under the mint. Clean, top-shelf, but there.
He'd gone drink for drink with the whole table tonight without blinking. The man could hold his liquor; she'd give him that.
The driver glanced back. "Miss Crawford, where to?"
She almost gave her own apartment—the one across town, bought with her first research paycheck, her life still in boxes, no sheets on the bed. An address she wasn't handing anyone until the divorce cleared.
She course-corrected mid-breath. "Actually, scratch that. Just drop me at the
