Selfishness is a recipe for divorce. I’m just going to skip all those middle steps and stay single all along. I like my own company. I like my own life.

Or at least I did before that diver came and fucked it all up.

“What?” Raylan says.

“What yourself?”

“You’re frowning,” he tells me.

“I was just . . . I’m sorry about waking you up,” I say, not meeting his eyes.

“Hey.” Raylan sets down his fork and puts his hand over mine. It’s heavy and warm. It reminds me how warm his arms were last night. His hand sends that same gentle calm through my body. “You don’t have to be tough all the time, you know. It’s okay if something like that affected you . . . ”

I pull my hand back, pushing my chair away from the table and standing up.

“I’m fine,” I tell him firmly. “Totally fine.”

Raylan keeps eating his food, obviously determined to finish the whole plate.

Actually, I think he’s eating every last bite just to annoy me. I’m standing there practically tapping my foot, wanting to get going.

“What’s your rush?” he says to me.

“I have a lot of work to do today.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“I’m in the middle of a huge project.”

“Think that’ll secure the partner position?” Raylan asks, forking up his last bite of hash.

I flush. “Yes, actually,” I say.

“Isn’t it kind of a given?” Raylan says. “Since your name’s already on the door?”

“No, it isn’t,” I snap. “But that’s exactly what people think. Which is why I have work harder and stay later than anyone. Because otherwise, no matter how smart I am, no matter how much business I bring in, everyone assumes that I got where I am because my last name is Griffin, and no other reason.”

“Alright, alright,” Raylan says, holding up his hands in surrender. “Lemme wash these dishes and then I’ll take you over to your parents’ house.”

He clears off the kitchen table, then stacks all the dishes in the sink and fills it up with hot, soapy water. Quickly and efficiently he reverses what appeared to be an insurmountable mess in the kitchen. In less than ten minutes, every dish is wash, dried, and put back exactly where he found it, and the countertops and stove have been restored to their former sparkling state. He even folded and re-hung the dishtowel.

“Does that meet with your satisfaction, Sergeant?” he asks me, a gleam of amusement in his bright blue eyes.

Sometimes I get the uncomfortable feeling that Raylan can read every thought in my head.

“Yes,” I say primly. “Back to normal.”

I grab my briefcase, heavy with all the files I brought home for the weekend.

I stole that stack of purchase agreements back off Josh’s desk. Just as I suspected, he hadn’t even touched them yet. He is a lazy shit. If he spent less time spying and schmoozing, and more time working, he might actually have had a shot at the partner position.