She set the slide down slowly. “You could’ve shared this during the debriefing.”
“I could have,” Roland admitted with a smile. “But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to see you in a dress.”
Her eyes shot him a look sharp enough to peel skin. “This isn’t a date, Mr. Soldier.”
He leaned on the bar, grinning. “You’re wearing a dress.”
“I make dresses. That doesn’t mean I’m here to indulge your ego.”
He chuckled. “Of course. It’s not a date. Just two soldiers, in a private bar, drinking cocktails, discussing enemy movement while one of them looks like a literal fever dream.”
“Roland—”
“I know. Focus.” He raised both hands as if surrendering. “Just had to get that out of my system.”
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “You’re five minutes early and you drank my Manhattan. At this rate, I migh
