Etiquette? What kind of etiquette was there in someone trying to murder me?

My heart lifted, and a matching grin curved my lips. He wanted to see me again. Maybe he really did like me after all. I felt like doing a happy dance, but of course, I was way too cool for that. I'd at least wait until I got back to my hotel room, alone, where no one would see.

Oh, Finn isn’t an assassin,” I cut in. “He’s much, much worse. He’s a banker.

I looked at Bria. “How do you put up with him?” Bria started to open her mouth, but Finn piped up instead. “She puts up with me because I happen to be rich, handsome, charming, a witty conversationalist, and exceptionally talented in bed,” he smirked. “Flexible too.” I groaned. “I did not need to hear those last two.

No matter what happens, I'll always come back to you." "Promise?" I asked in a shaky voice. Logan's eyes burned with icy determination. "Promise.

I'm a figment of your imagination. You're only imagining that I'm sitting here eating with you. Because I'm just so freaking awesome that people daydream about being seen with me.

Just another part of that Spartan killer instinct. I can slay the ladies just as well as I can reapers.