But I'd much rather face a dozen assassins like LaFleur any night than deal with something as tricky, convoluted, and fragile as my feelings.

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 eat haughty, arrogant, manipulative, self-important bitches like you for breakfast, sugar. And then I go back for seconds.

Let him look," he whispered and kissed me again.

The band geek has liquor?