"See, you distract me, but I'm distracted without you
I don't know how to focus, baby, teach me how to"

- Tatiana Manaois, "Helplessly"

Chapter Eighteen

The puzzle was almost completely finished by the time it got dark. When Sterling got up to make dinner, I grabbed the book of crossword puzzles and joined him in the kitchen. I settled on a barstool, eyeing Sterling's chopping. He was surprisingly good at it.

"Are you sure you don't need any help?"

"I'm sure. I've seen your cooking."

"You're so dramatic. It was not that bad!"

You burn one grilled cheese you try to make for yourself, and suddenly you're banned from the kitchen. Ridiculous.

In my defense, I didn't use to have a lot of time for cooking with my job. Usually, I'd have takeout from Oliver's restaurant, or something I could throw in the microwave. Homemade meals came from Kennedy, who sent me home with a stockpile of containers every time I had dinner at her house.

"I don't need any help, Avery," Sterling confirmed, pulling out a pan. From here, I couldn't see his whole face, but I could have sworn I saw a twitch in his jaw, so far up it was almost his lips.

He's probably laughing at my poor grilled cheese. At least Rolo enjoyed it.

For a few minutes, nothing could be heard other than chopping as he worked on dinner and I worked on my crossword. I'd completed several with ease so far, but one was giving me difficulty. I wasn't a quitter—but it was starting to frustrate me enough to piss me off.

"Seven letters. Colorless, odorless, and tasteless element. Shares a name with Superman's home planet."

"Have you never read a comic book before?" Sterling asked, amused, glancing back from the stove.

I scowled. "No, and I didn't enjoy science class very much either."

"Let me guess, your favorite class was...history?" He abandoned our meal to lean on the counter with a crooked grin—a curled, twisted grin that sliced as sharp as his knife. "World relations and all that."

"English, actually. So, do you know it?"

I was getting distracted. He was distracting. I forced myself to look back at the puzzle book in my hands. Nevermind, I thought, moving on to the next question. I didn't need the answer.

"Krypton."

"Hm?" I looked up from filling in 'tectonic' as the eight-letter word for Earth's shifting plates.

"Krypton. A seven-letter word for a colorless, odorless, tasteless element that's also the name of Superman's home planet." Sterling leaned over the counter and plucked the pencil from my hands. Our fingers brushed, filling my hands with a burning warmth that radiated up my wrist. I felt like I'd been burned. Turning the book, he filled in the boxes with bold, slanted handwriting.

"Oh." I stared down at his writing in all capitalized letters, a stark contrast to my own tiny loops. I'd never bought into handwriting being the window to the soul, but he wrote like he was trained that way. "Thanks."

I could see when he stiffened. He slowly placed the pencil down and my eyes shifted up; the look on his face told me he was just as surprised by his actions as I was.

"Sorry," he breathed. Before I could speak, he had awkwardly shuffled away, hand rubbing the back of his neck and his gaze pointedly not on mine. I was left facing his shoulders and spine again as he minded the sizzling pan on the stove.

Damn nice view from the back, too.

"Thanks, Sterling. I'm still getting used to not having Google. Oh, the power I had..." I sighed, seizing onto a change of subject and thinking wistfully of the time I had the world at my fingertips. One press of a button and I'd had a collective pool of knowledge available for use. Like they say, you don't know what you have until it's gone.

I don't know how they did it without internet. I wouldn't have survived. I'm hopeless without GPS. I can't stand not knowing what words mean. I feel the urge to rip my hair out when I can't remember the name of something. I hate having to rely on my own damn memory—

"Reed," Sterling said abruptly, keeping his back to me. I had no idea what 'Reed' had to do with Google.

"Reed?"

"My name's Reed. 'Sterling' is what the suspects call me." His head turned to toss a wink over his shoulder, then he turned back, like nothing happened.

Like he didn't just leave me gob smacked and unsure how to respond to that.

I gaped. But I had to respond before I looked like a dumbass. "Okay... Reed."

I tried to force myself to focus back on the crossword puzzle. My mind wasn't on Charlemagne, however—it was on the wink. The wink that was so smooth it was unfair. It was on Reed. Reed's wink.

I was overthinking it. It was a silly, teasing wink. He was being nice after our argument. There was no need to pick it apart or dissect its deeper meaning—because it didn't have one.

Holy crap, why am I overthinking everything? Why I can't just let myself be happy? Enjoy the moment, Avery. You never just enjoy the freaking moment.

"What'd the paper ever do to you?"

I blinked, looking up in confusion at Sterling... Reed as he pushed a plate in front of me.

"What?"

He gestured to my crossword, and I looked down at the tightly gripped pencil in my hand, missing its point. I'd been too busy beating myself up to notice I was pressing too hard.

"Oh. Uh, nothing. I don't usually use pencils, guess I'm too used to pens." I brushed the lead off and put the crossword to the side. Not even puzzles could offer the distraction I needed.

Reed settled onto the barstool next to me, his own plate before him. "You do crossword puzzles in pen? You must be pretty sure of yourself."

The opposite. I am apparently so unsure of myself I overthink everything, and you know that.

"I don't usually have difficulty with them."

The food smelled delicious as I prepared to dig in. I couldn't believe the man next to me could cook, and it was even more unfair we hadn't met in another situation; another time, another life, another version of myself.

"Unless it's about superheroes?" Reed cocked an eyebrow.

"Not all of us read comic books," I said. "Actually, I'm surprised you do."

"Did. I read them as a kid," Reed shrugged. "Pretty sure a lot of ten-year-old boys read comic books. I wouldn't have the time, now."

"Well, I guess that hadn't fit into what I knew about Reed Sterling."

"And what do you know about Reed Sterling?"

I was silent for a moment as I chewed in contemplation. What did I know about Reed Sterling?

Well, I knew we could go from suspecting each other to acting like friends in the blink of an eye. I knew we were on the run together, and in moments when that knowledge choked me, I knew he helped me breathe, thankful to forget for even the smallest sliver of a second. I knew I overthought everything, yet still never knew what he was thinking—and I knew that drove me nuts. I knew he was attractive, and I also knew I was drawn to him in a way I wasn't used to.

I knew we made no sense; nothing about us so far had made sense. We would argue and point fingers, then do a puzzle together. He was nice to me one day, then guarded the next. I knew he made no sense.

"Not much," I admitted, meeting his eyes. "I don't know much about Reed Sterling."

Could he see it? The challenge in my gaze? I hoped so.

Apparently, he could, because he pushed his plate away and turned to me with a serious expression. "What do you want to know?"

I couldn't help the scoffing laugh that fell from my lips to my plate. "Really? Just like that?"

Reed didn't even blink. He was stone and patience and the embodiment of infuriating calmness. "Just like what?" he prompted.

"Are you kidding me? We had an entire argument over getting to know each other earlier, and then all of a sudden, you're telling me you used to read comic books as a kid and willing to answer my questions." I pointed out. Suspicion was hissing in my ear, coiled around my neck. "What changed?"

Reed cleared his throat uncomfortably. I felt like I was witnessing another show of his strength; he looked like he wanted nothing more than to escape my pinning stare, but I watched in astonishment as he never dropped my gaze. Instead, he took a deep breath. He was grimacing when he said, "Beck may have provided some... er, clarity on that situation."

I felt my forehead scrunch deep enough to make my mother wince. "And that clarity was...?"

"It's unfair of me to expect you to trust me when I haven't earned it," he admitted. "You should know who you're giving your trust to. You have to trust me to keep you safe, but trust also goes both ways."

"Yes, it does," I agreed. "I'll trust you to take the lead on keeping us safe, but you'll have to trust that I'm not an idiot." I shook my head, thinking back to his unfounded accusations. "I won't put myself in danger, or do something stupid."

"Deal." A glimmer of a smile ghosted his lips before he was serious again.

"In the spirit of compromise, I'll ask you a question, then you can ask me one. Sound fair?" I asked. Reed nodded in agreement.

"Great. First question. How long have you been with Greystone?"

There was no hesitation. "Four years. Why are you leaving Mr. Cruz's team to work with Ambassador Baros?"

"Mr. Cruz won't be in politics anymore. It's time to move on. My goal has always been to be a diplomat, and that was the next step. How old are you?"

"Twenty-six." Reed tilted his head, waiting for a reaction.

"I'm assuming you already know my age," I said. "My file and background check would've had all of that information."

He nodded.

"You're twenty-four, born on December seventeenth. You have three siblings, and of your family lives in Colorado. You went to school on the East coast and graduated at twenty. You were the youngest on Mr. Cruz's team but started much lower than you are now." Reed recited my background like he was reading off a page.

I shoved down a shiver; I shouldn't have been surprised, I was investigated as a suspect. My background was most likely pried apart like walnuts before eager squirrels.

"Is there a question in there? It's your turn."

"Tell me, how does a twenty-four-year-old end up where you are now? You were working closely with a state attorney general after only four years in the field. What made you different? It wasn't nepotism."

I chewed on my lip. It was true, it was unheard of that I had gotten where I was so young. Most people at my age were still political interns or at the lower rungs of the ladder. It was part of the reason I knew I'd be able to find another job if it didn't work out with Baros, even if it wasn't what I wanted.

But how I got here is not a happy memory I like to share.

"A case." I answered simply, hoping that would be enough to sate Reed's curiosity.

"A case?" He asked doubtfully, sensing there was more to the story. He was too perceptive for his own good.

"Yes, a case. It's my turn." I brushed it off with my chin high. He eyed me carefully but seeing that I wasn't going to give up more than that, gave in with a slight nod.

"Why weren't you there when I was working with the rest of your team? Quentin told me more of the team was starting the day after I left, but I would think the second-in-command of the company would be there from the beginning."

It'd struck me as odd when Reed was introduced to me that I hadn't met him before. I'd spent three days working with Greystone's teams, but only met Reed that Friday at the party. Quentin had told me there were more team members joining Thursday, a day after I left, but I had originally figured it was just a few stragglers. A team leader being one of them hadn't crossed my mind.

"I was finishing up a job. It took longer than expected," Reed said carefully. His words were as solemnly and dutifully picked as my own.

"What kind of job was it?"

I wasn't sure he was allowed to share it even if he wanted to. I knew the weight of secrecy and the warning of truth. It was part of the job, for both of us.

"Skipping my question, are we?" He dodged it skillfully. I couldn't help but begrudgingly applaud him for it.

"Fine. Ask your question."

"How long have you known Kennedy?"

"Forever. Our parents know each other. Back to my question: what kind of job was it?" I was impatient. I'd decided secrecy didn't matter to me anymore—I wanted to know as much as I could about what he did. I knew Greystone had a vast range of clientele and was the best in the country, but I wanted more. I wanted to know what to expect, to know exactly how twisted my path of life had become. I just didn't know if he would tell me.

Reed hesitated. But then he relented, much to my surprise.

"I suppose it would be a good idea to give you an idea of what Greystone can do. Might put you at ease a little bit." He sighed, thinking.

I waited.

"It was a stalking case. Standard celebrity obsession turned dognapping."

"Wait! Are you talking about Lena Loretti?" I gasped. There was only one high profile celebrity news story the week of the retirement party and only one story at all that fit that criteria.

"I didn't take you as a fan of reality tv," Reed said, surprised.

"When Kennedy and I have a little bit too much wine we turn on her show. It's hilarious after some rosé. And that stalking case was all over the news," I admitted. Kennedy had kept me updated with news clips and links, but I had forgotten all about it after the party.

"It took longer than we expected to wrap it up." Reed shrugged, standing and grabbing both of our empty plates.

"That just happened a week or two ago. You went straight from that case to this? There was only what, a day or two in between?" I asked, trying to do the mental math.

A stalker had kidnapped Lena's dogs from her dog walker in an upscale neighborhood. Reporters had gotten a hold of the situation before the police could report it to Lena, and she'd been blindsided on live television during an interview. I'd never felt so bad for anyone as I'd felt for her that day.

She'd looked terrified when she'd ended the interview; paparazzi photos had popped up shortly after of her racing out of the building. The photos showed her devastated and distraught, put on display for the world to see. Two days later it'd been announced her dogs had been safely returned and the stalker had been caught.

"After we got the dogs back and caught the guy, I traveled to this job."

"That's not much of a vacation in between. When was Greystone called in to her case?"

"That night. Police weren't helping, and the blackmail was getting increasingly personal and violent. She called us in for security." Reed looked irritated at the mention of police.

"So, you were called in on Sunday, managed to catch a stalker by Tuesday, then began a new job on Thursday? When do you get a chance to relax?"

"When we relax, cases don't get solved and people don't get protected. I would have started on Wednesday, but the police slowed me down," he said, scowling. "Red tape lets people walk free."

"Did he walk free?"

"No. He almost did, but we weren't going to let that happen. That's why I didn't start until Thursday." Reed's arms flexed as he pushed his weight on the counter. I was surprised by the clot of shadows that snagged his brow and tightened his jaw. His next words were sullen, low. "Maybe if I did, I would've been able to prevent this from happening."

"You couldn't have done anything different in a day," I admonished.

"We don't know that. That extra day could have meant more safety protocols." Reed was getting angry, his stance tightening. "That party could have been protected better, more efficiently."

"Maybe. But I'm happy you were able to catch the stalker and keep his ass in jail. Look, I refuse to think you should've been with us instead. Who knows what would they have done if you hadn't found them?" I frowned, my voice raising as I looked at Rolo. He was not-so innocently laying on the floor waiting for food to drop. "What kind of heartless bastard goes after dogs?"

If someone came after Rolo, there wouldn't be bureaucratic red tape to deal with—there would be yellow tape around a murder scene. I wouldn't hesitate.

"I know," Reed agreed, his eyes also on my furry beggar.

We looked up at the same time. This time, when he smiled, I smiled back. He'd let me in—even just a little bit—and suddenly, I was hungry for more.

Maybe I was hungry for more of him.

Author's Note: I hope you guys aren't getting TOO comfortable...

Also, I am so close to 1000 reads! Unbelievable and astounding and wow, I can't believe it might actually happen! 1000 reads was the ultimate goal at the beginning of this book.

Also, when I wrote this I completely forgot about semi-recent celebrity dognappings. And the song attached is "I Can Hear the Bells" from Hairspray.

"And all because he touched me
He looked at me and stared
Yes, he bumped me
My heart was unprepared
When he tapped me, and knocked me off my feet
One little touch, now my life's complete!"

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- H