Chapter Six

SARAH

My eyes lock onto the elevator—ding—and out steps Grey, looking like he just walked off the cover of GQ.

He's all put together, and that chocolate-brown suit? Tailored to perfection, rich, warm, and matching the deep tone of his eyes

Those eyes... honestly... Get me butterflies in my belly every time, and it's annoying how much they affect me.

My throat tightens. I swallow hard. He’s trouble. Hot, devastatingly put-together trouble

He strides over, tossing a small bunch of keys my way without breaking pace. I fumble a little, catching them midair as they clatter into my palm.

Brisk, bold, and barely deigning to acknowledge I exist?

Yep. Classic Grey.

A tiny smirk tugs at my lips—just one side, barely there—but I let it live.

Because okay, fine. He’s annoyingly hot. I’m allowed one traitorous facial expression.

He brushes past, muttering under his breath, “That girl… tsk. She’s not getting away with this, not when I'm standing right in front of the precinct.”

The way he says it— pretty sure he’s already drafted her obituary in his head.

And the scent trailing behind him—warm, something woodsy, expensive. It wraps around me, sneaks into my lungs, dares me to take another whiff.

Oh, dear God.

That cologne.

That walk.

That voice.

I pout, lips jutting out in silent protest. Why does Grey get to me like this?

One glance and I’m off-kilter. I shake it off—get it together, Sam—and speed-walk to catch up, swinging the front door open just in time.

He steps out into the soft morning light. I hurry to the car, my hand already on the passenger door, yanking it open before he even glances my way.

He gets in.

I hurry to the driver’s side and settle in, taking a quiet breath before I slide the key into the ignition.

“Still haven’t seen those messages, Sam. I shouldn’t have to remind you of the destination every time—or tell Milan where we’re headed.”

And stupidly, my heart flutters. I bite my lip.

“My job is to decide where we go. Yours? Just drive.”

Words are just words... unless they're like that

I grip the wheel a little tighter. Noted, Mr. Grey. Noted.

But Seriously, how have I not found my fucking phone yet?

“Why, Sam? I send you messages, every time, without fail. They show sent, but never delivered.”

He pauses. His voice stays calm, but there’s an edge underneath. “You tell me: why am I talking to the void?”

Gulp. “I… uhm....” My fingers fumble with the keys—jiggling them in the ignition like that’ll fix everything.... “I think I lost it, sir. It’s been gone since two nights ago.”

The words hang there, weak and bare.

No explanation.

No backup plan.

Just the truth, embarrassing as it is. And the quiet dread that I’m already on thin ice

Grey scoffs, shaking his head. “And you didn’t even get a replacement? That’s reckless. I don’t see how you’re gonna handle this job if you can’t handle basics like a phone.”

The words sting, not because he’s yelling, but because he’s not. He’s disappointed. And somehow, that’s worse.

My cheeks burn. I twist the key again, finally getting the engine to turn over with a shaky rumble....

That voice... that unfairly sexy cologne, the way he just takes up space... All of it.

Yeah… I’m at the point where I just want to slip into a bathroom... lock the door... a few gentle strokes down there.... Those are the kinds of things Grey Sullivan makes me want to do.

*** PRECINCT ***

Grey stands by the front desk, together with a middle-aged officer, broad-shouldered, maybe ex-SARS or tactical.

The officer is sturdy, sure, but still a head shorter than Grey. They talk for a minute, easy, low voices. Seems they’ve done this dance before.

I hang back, head down, fingers brushing my hat brim—just enough to check the beard in my peripheral.

Still on. Still fake. Still holding the disguise together.

The officer’s eyes flick to me. He mutters something to Grey, who turns and looks at me too.

I snap my eyes away.

The nerve of you, Sarah, showing up here like you belong.

“Alright. Bring her out now. Let me see her.” Grey’s voice cuts through the quiet.

My heart stutters. I try to breathe... I can't. Like my lungs forgot how.

The officer nods and heads off. Shortly after, footsteps echo, and my eyes snap to the source.

Sleek black police boots stand beside a pair of bold, red platform heels, ridiculously high, and way too familiar.

My gaze travels up... smooth, toned legs, a red dress hugging every curve like it was made for her, until I reach her face.

Ruby Ryan.