“Never seen a state worker drive a Beamer,” he mutters, lip curling. “Try that lie again, darlin’.”
I pat my chest, looking for my lanyard, and wince when I realize I forgot to put it on.
“Don’t call me that, it’s condescending.” I slip my badge from my bag and hang it between us, brow cocked. “Here.”
“What the hell is that?” he rumbles.
“I can read it to you if the liquor’s blurring your vision.”
His shoulders square. “Look, ma’am. I don’t know what the hell your problem is, or why you’re at my doorstep right now hissing at me like some kind of pissed-off, feral cat—”
My jaw drops.
“—but you can take your high horse and ride it straight into a tornado.”
Don’t say it, Georgia. Don’t say it.
“Do you mean ride off into asunset?” I blurt.
“I said what I said.”
My mouth falls open. “That’s insane.”
“It’s metaphorical.”
“It’s a cry for help, is what it is.”
We stare at each other, both breathing hard, both radiating heat that has nothing to do with the argument.
“You done?” he asks after a beat, voice lower now.
“Not even close,” I whisper-hiss, much like the feral cat he claimed me to be.
He exhales sharply. “And you’re here because…?”
Well, I’m officially over this exhausting conversation. I drape my badge around my neck and tug my hair free.
“You are, in fact, Kade Archer, correct?” I can hear the pissed-off reply forming on his tongue, but I don’t have the time—or the energy—to deal with it, so I cut him off like he did me. “All I need is a nod. Yes, or no?”
His jaw ticks, and a vein pops up, pulsing across the side of his annoyingly thick neck, but he jerks a nod.
Thank fuck.
“Great.” I shoot him a beaming smile and gesture to the pigsty behind him. “Then, please, by all means. Invite me into your lovely home so we can get on with it.”
He jerks away from the door, steps forward, and crosses his arms, as if to physically bar me entrance from his house. I glare up at him.
Even in my heels, the man’s tall. Really tall.
And frustratinglybroad.
“Not happening.”
“Mr. Archer, this is a court-ordered assessment. I’m not playing games or simply standing here for you to glare at. If you’re denying me entrance—”
He cuts me off with a scoff.
“Are you always this serious?” His stormy eyes sweep over me. “And why are you dressed like you run a funeral home? Who died?”
