She lifts her chin, nodding, as if she believes that line of bullshit.

I lean closer to her, raise a hand, and finger a curl of her hair. Her breath catches. “Angel, I recognized you because you’re wearing polka dots, because you said you make your clothes and something about polka dots seems uniquely you and uniquely DIY. I recognized you because your hair is the same gorgeous shade, because I had my lips on your face, on your earlobe, on these pink lips.” A shudder moves through her as I go on. “I knew your voice because it was the same husky, sexy voice that the woman used last night when she begged me to fuck her against a wall. To fuck her hard.” A tremble is her answer. “I knew it was you because you match my mystery girl, and you smell as delicious as she did.” I move back, letting my words linger. “But perhaps I didn’t make a memorable enough impression.”

“You did,” she whispers, her voice wobbly. She doesn’t meet my eyes. She runs a hand over her skirt and crosses her legs. Taking a deep breath, she raises her face. “I swear you did.”

I like her response. Hell, I needed her response. But once it’s voiced, a kernel of doubt wiggles insidiously through me, burrowing into my chest.

What if she’s setting me up?

I throw her question back at her. “But how can I be sure you didn’t know who I was?”

She rolls her eyes. “Please. I already said I thought you were a VC.”

But what if she’s lying? What if she knew who I was and seduced me to soften me up for the piece, like Annie came back to me to try to pry open my accounts? “How do I know?”

She arches a brow and straightens her shoulders. “How do you know? I guess you don’t. You’ll have to take my word for it. All I knew was you were a guy I liked spending time with. I had no idea what you did for a living. I didn’t care. I liked dancing with you. I like talking to you. And I really liked kissing you. I liked that the best.”

Dammit, she’s making my heart roll over, and there’s no time and space for that.

“I liked it too,” I say, but I can’t let myself be fooled. I can’t be Annie-fished again. I need to zero in on boundaries. “But obviously we’re not going to do it again.”

“Obviously.” She agrees almost too quickly. “I don’t sleep with sources, or people I interview.”

She takes a drink from her yellow teacup then sets it down. Her drink has a sprig of mint in it. Mojito. Yeah, she obviously likes torturing the bartender, since those drinks are hard as hell to make. I tended bar briefly after college while working on my first start-up, and anyone who ordered that drink might as well have used me as a voodoo doll. It’s best that I learn now she’s an evil bartender-torturer.