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Of course, I’m not offended that you’d accuse me of murder. I’m offended you’d think I’d be bad at it.
It wasn’t until the elevator doors were sliding open that Maggie realized she was about to come face-to-face with her three least favorite things in the world: Christmas. A party. And Ethan Freaking Wyatt.
“Sometimes I lie in bed at night, thinking of ways to kill you and make it look like an accident.” His whole face changed. Pity turned to arrogance as his gaze dipped to her lips. And lingered. “So what you’re saying is, you think about me in bed.”
“There’s no way, no universe, no reality in which you aren’t the brightest star in the whole damn sky, and . . .” His cheeks flushed. His hand shook, and he looked away like, suddenly, he was the one who was embarrassed. “That’s all I wanted to say.”
He could probably close his eyes and name fifty things in that room at that moment, but it felt different somehow, in the silence and the stillness, after the last few days. He felt different. Like maybe, all this time, he’d been paying attention to her.
“You know, if mankind has one universal superpower, it’s gaslighting women into thinking they’re the problem.”
