“You’re drunk,” Holland blurted. He grinned with an unfairly perfect smile. “It’s good to see you, too. I’m glad that mercenary didn’t kill you. And yes, I’m just swell. I didn’t almost die. Thank you so much for asking.” His hazy eyes sharpened, some of the intoxication slipping away and revealing a hint of something like anger. Then he was spinning her around in the middle of the dance floor as he drawled, “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I believe you actually owe me, for all that taking-a-bullet-for-you business.” Adam waved down a server before Holland could object. She started to say,
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