The top two buttons of her shirt are open. I pause on her collarbone and flick my gaze over the top of the camera to hers. Her chest rises in a deep breath before she glances away.

“We need to do your interview still,” she says.

As if a mention of work matters at all. Not when I’m still buzzed with her right in front of me.

I slowly roll my head side to side on the tiles in a headshake, and I tsk her. “I’m the one with the camera, which means we need to do your interview.”

“Foster,” she warns.

“Remi.”

“You’re not even recording.”

I pan farther down, over her arm covering her middle. I pause where the plaid ends and skin begins on her outer thigh. The little red light blinks on that indicates I’m rolling, and her pouty mouth pops open. I hit stop and raise a brow in challenge. It earns me another glare, but then she sinks against the porcelain, adding her knees to the parts of her touching me.

“So, who are you hiding from?” I ask.

She hesitates, brows slanting. “What do you mean?”

I half-smile at the three seconds it took her to turn a question on me. “You ran in here to hide, right?”

“Wasn’t that the game? Hide and Keep?” Her head tilts on another question before she finally uses a period. “I know they’re messing with me about the sex part. I’ve been around long enough to know they like their women enthusiastic. But I wouldn’t put it past Felix to keep me on the backhoe while he drives it directly into a police station or something.”

Of course they were fucking with her—they would never cross those lines whether I said anything or not. She’s not wrong about the last part, though. If he finds keys, the night will end with Felix driving the equipment. He’ll go from back shot to backhoe.

“So, you’re hiding from Felix?”

“All of them,” she says like it’s obvious.

“But not me?” I watch her through the screen as she stares through it to me. “You said all of them and not all of you.”

A flush creeps up her cheeks, barely visible with the camera but there. She messes with the laces on her boot. “What about you? You never told me who you’re hiding from.”

“All of them,” I say.

She glances up at the repeat of her phrasing. A silent but not me? floats between us until I sigh and redirect like a champ.

“You’re terrible at giving interviews. I’ll hook you up with my publicist.”