"I don't want to get comfortable." That's crazy. My brows pinch as I ask, "Why not?" He steps closer to me. Now, I can smell him—cigars and whiskey, earthy and sweet. "It's what I'm used to." I laugh once. "Discomfort?" "We operate best under a level of duress." "If that's the case, then I've been operating at my best my entire life," I say with a cynical laugh.
