The city was a constellation of lights beneath us, blinking and breathing through the night fog. I’d lost count of how many hours I’d been holed up in Kyl’s office or rather my new office, technically drafting what was supposed to be the first few chapters of his ghostwritten memoir. But nothing about this project felt ghostly. If anything, it felt too real.
I stared at the open document glowing from my MacBook, fingertips hovering just above the keys. My wine sat untouched next to me, condensation sliding slowly down the glass like sweat along a spine. Every word I’d typed felt like a confession I wasn’t ready to make. My own, or his. It was starting to blur.
Kyl’s voice broke the silence altering my thought, low and husky, like velvet sliding over steel. “You’re still working?”
I jump
