Me: Dogs don’t cry.

Sebastian: Full-on sobs!

Me: He’s fine.

Sebastian: I left him a toy, do you think he thinks I abandoned him?

Me: Yes.

Sebastian: I CAN’T GO TO VEGAS!

Okay, damage control was seriously not working. With a flick of my wrist, I looked at the time. I had a few hours left—I could pack like a champ. I was going to officially fix one problem.

Me: You’re going to Vegas. What’s your size . . . I’ll stop by Saks.

Sebastian: Never ask a woman what size she is!

Me: If you don’t tell me I’ll just buy every size and return the rest.

Sebastian: . . .

Me: Spit it out. Didn’t hear you!

Sebastian: Eight.

Me: And what a beautiful eight . . . I’ll pick out a few suits. And before you freak out, I have amazing fashion sense. Also, Otis is fine, he’s just spoiled and wants to go with. It’s the weekend, not a month. He’ll make friends and probably fall in love with a Chihuahua named Milo, they’ll hump like rabbits and have miniature E.T. aliens and all will be right in the world. Now get your ass packed.

Sebastian: A Chihuahua? Really?

Me: PACK!

Sebastian: DON’T YELL!

Me: Pack, please.

Sebastian: Fine, and I like black.

Me: Great, because you’re getting red!

Sebastian: I said black.

Me: Sorry, losing cell service.

Sebastian: Texting service?

Me: A:DGJDG:HDGJSDLKJGF

Sebastian: REID!

Me: JORDAN!

I shoved my phone back in my pocket though it continued to buzz, I’m sure with expletives and other choice language. I couldn’t remember the last time a girl getting irritated with me actually made my day.

Whistling, I crossed the street and went into Saks.

In the past, spending money on a woman seemed pointless. Why buy them something when it wasn’t going to last? But for some reason, after picking out the suit and a few other items, and sliding my card across the counter, the relationship felt . . . real.

And I liked it.

Maybe too much.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

JORDAN

I had a hard time swallowing the fact that I was traveling to Vegas with relative strangers, one of them a known terrorist—okay, maybe that was an exaggeration on my part. But I don’t care what Max claims about his so-called innocence. There was no way a guy like that had never been zip-tied to an air marshal. No way in hell. And when I asked him if he’d ever been arrested on a plane, his answer was to start singing, “I’ve got friends in low places.”

Pretty sure by the end of the trip one or all of us would wish we’d brought sedatives or at least some masking tape to cover his mouth. Already I’d been tempted to physically harm the guy after an incident where he unzipped my carry-on and started riffling through my crap.

“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm while my nails dug into my palms so I wouldn’t deck him.

Max continued riffling, then paused. “Oh, sorry, I thought it was my bag.”

“Mine’s pink.”

“Right.” He nodded. “And mine’s green, but I’m color-blind.”

“Highly doubt it.” I jerked my bag away from him, but not before his pinkie finger shot into the air with my new red leopard bathing suit hanging from it. “Kitty gonna play?”

I swiped the suit and shoved it back into the suitcase and growled. “Kitty’s gonna play with your dead body if you search through my stuff again.”

“Please, like it was on purpose.” He grinned.

“Everything”—I sighed—“and I do mean everything, is on purpose when it comes to you.”

“Aw.” He winked.

Three days. I could do anything for three days, right?

I couldn’t back out now, though, especially since Ren thought going to Vegas was akin to Reid and me getting married and having a love child.

“Publicity for this kid has been off the charts!” He beamed. “Good job, Jordan, this is your best yet!”

How could I say no to that? Especially since my promotion was all but set in stone if I could keep myself from killing Reid’s next of kin.

As if on cue, Max made a loud joke about how Jason smoked all his pot before he got to the airport so he wouldn’t have to lie about having a medical prescription.

It was that moment that solidified that every airport employee hates their job, possibly their existence, as a TSA employee glared in Jason’s direction, then narrowed her eyes and started talking into her radio.

Jason glared at Max but wasn’t stopped—then again, they wouldn’t stop him for something like that, not unless they actually found illegal drugs on him while going through security.

I cracked my neck and clenched my bag tighter. It wasn’t my first time in Vegas; I loved it there. I should be excited. Instead, eyes on Max, all I could think was that I should have said no.

Maybe I’d look back on this very moment and say, “This is where things went awry.” Yes, awry. And all because of Max Emory and his evil, self-serving plans.

My eyes narrowed in on him as I stepped through security.

And it beeped.

Like twenty times.

I was the last to go through, so the rest of the crew were already waiting on the other side, staring at me.

“Ma’am.” One of the TSA people stepped forward. His eyebrow was one giant line across the top of his forehead, and his eyes were rimmed with red. Out of all the employees to be strip-searching me, I was stuck with Bert, not Ernie, who was currently giving a sticker to a little kid along with a high five. “Please step aside.”