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It’s a time-tested truth that the best-looking men are always the absolute worst.
Also, Shane had threatened to string me up by my ankles from the ceiling of the pressroom and let the interns beat me like a piñata if I didn’t get the scoop on Dax, so I was doubly motivated. I knew he’d make good on his word, too, considering just last month he’d locked me in the archive room overnight for missing a deadline.
Not that I was falling for him, mind you. I barely knew the guy. I was just . . . mildly obsessed with figuring him out.
“What you’re asking for, smart-ass, is a spanking.”
“You’re nothing but a pip-squeak with a big mouth and a bad attitude, like a Chihuahua.”
Are you going to let go of me now, or do I need to introduce my knee to your testicles?”
considering I once accidentally joined a cult because they had really good tacos.”
unalive
“I won’t be intimidated by a faceless, undead weirdo! You and your boneyard stank can go suck an egg!”
“Okay, let’s go desecrate a grave.”
Had I been here in a past life? Had I walked these steps, touched these walls, smelled that strange, otherworldly incense? Had I once . . . loved him?
Or maybe I had indigestion, which would make much more sense.
