Miles’s fingers flexed against my back as if he was trying to find purchase on my skin. “Isla Davenport, this is Annie.” I lifted my hand and waved. “Hi.” She mumbled something colorful in, what I guessed was, Berber and pawed around her desk for something. I leaned into Miles’s arm. “Is she going to kill you with spreadsheets?” Isla clasped a worn paperback to her chest. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. West.” I laughed, then flicked my gaze to Miles. After that stunt he pulled in the parking garage, I was feeling a little defiant. “Just Annie is fine,” I said with a coy smirk. “As long as you can keep
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