“I don’t give a shit. I’m going with the pure intention of being able to say yes, I was there to support him when he asks about the game. I don’t like lying, but I’m also not going to let you interrogate me anymore. The first ten minutes were out of respect because Juan is a nice guy. The next ten minutes were for my entertainment, but these last five minutes, the arrow went real quick to not enjoying this anymore.”

“Reese never asks me to take care of someone for him. Ever.”

“Then maybe you should trust him? I don’t know what to tell you.”

Her eyes were almost slits. She tipped her chin up. “You hurt him, and I will sic a private investigator on you. I’ll ask him to expose your weakness, and whatever that is, I’ll exploit it. I don’t care. Reese is a damned good guy.”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

She cocked her head. “Because he’s rich, and famous, and hot?”

“I don’t care if he’s rich. The famous thing actually freaks me out, and yeah, the last part is nice. I’ll give you one of those.”

“Are you an actress?”

I snorted.

A small growl escaped her closed mouth.

I amended, “Sorry, but no. I was recently fired from two jobs, and I’m a mess right now, but despite all of that, Reese still invited me out here.”

“Are you a mode—”

I almost snorted again.

She amended this time. “You don’t have the height for that.” Suspicion still hung heavy. “One last question and I’ll ease up.”

“Okay?”

“Will you let me go through your purse?”

A purse. Ooooooh fuck.

I paled. “I knew I forgot something.”

“What?”

But it was no problem. I had transferred all my stuff to my carry-on. A purse wasn’t needed. Relief weakened my knees after a small heart attack.

“I would, if I’d remembered it. I took everything out and put it in my carry-on for easier access. I hate carrying two bags, so I was going to stuff my purse in my carry-on too. But it’s at my apartment right now.”

Her eyebrows went up into her forehead. “You don’t have a purse?”

“No.”

“And you only brought a carry-on with you?”

A slow nod from me.

She relaxed suddenly, her arms falling to her sides and her shoulders rolling backward. “Girl, you could’ve said that and saved us a whole lot of time.”

“Why?”

“Because no chick who only brings a carry-on to see fucking Reese Forster is out to use him. No high-maintenance chick would forget a purse.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder, pivoting and going into the kitchen. She reached for a bottle of tequila and poured two shots for us. “Here.” She pushed one to me. “We could’ve been drinking this whole time.”