Page 6 of Point Blank

He straightened from the counter and held out his hand. With her heels on, she was nearly eye level with him. He couldn’t be more than five foot nine. Keeping her shoulders back, she pressed her hand into his, her grip firm.

“I’ll be in touch Sunday.” He winked, and despite the implications behind the gesture, her heart sang.

She’d gotten the listing.

She opened the door to her Acura SUV, dropped her fifteen-pound handbag on the passenger seat, and shut the door. Having planned to go to the gym after her meeting with Titus, she’d packed her gym clothes. No way she’d be focused enough to work out now. Besides, didn’t most people chill on Friday nights? She’d earned the break and the chocolate bar stashed above her fridge for nights like this.

A chill raised her flesh. She reached into the back seat, snagged the cardigan she kept there, and fit her arms through the heather-gray material. During the hour and a half that she’d been inside Titus’s house, rain had dampened her windshield.

She let out a little squeal and turned over the engine. She shouldn’t let herself get excited, but if Titus didn’t sign with her, she’d be shocked.

Her phone dinged from inside her purse, and she fished it out.

Please, S. Don’t make me beg.

Dani. Serena had already said no, and she wasn’t caving.

Her sister claimed she and Peyton had a goldmine heist and they needed her to help execute it. But Serena was set. She loved her job. Sure, it lacked excitement and she had to work her ass off, but she made good money and was far away from the dangerous cycle she’d been stuck in for so long. Dani and Peyton were her only ties to that life now. She loved her sister dearly, but occasionally, Dani tried to tempt her with the heist of the century. Serena didn’t blame either of them. Both women were so deeply engrained in that world that neither wanted out. Sometimes she’d hear Dani speak longingly about a career in event planning, but just when Serena’s hopes would soar, Dani would reveal a new job she and Peyton were working on.

Serena glided her thumbs over the screen.

You know what my answer is. I’ll call you when I get home.

She dropped her phone in her bag and Milo’s face revisited her mind’s eye again . . . She shook it away, but it kept ricocheting back, pushing away every other image she tried to replace him with. Dammit, why had she scrolled through Facebook while scarfing down her supper in her vehicle before meeting Titus?

Because she couldn’t bring herself to cut all ties to Milo, she followed his sister’s bar’s social media page. God, he’d looked good—well, more like his profile in the background of the picture of his sister, Tasha, had looked good.

He’d changed. His hair was now finger length but still raven black, his body even more ripped. The bulge of his curling bicep against the sleeve of his shirt was dangerously sexy. He’d held a glass to his lips while the photographer snapped a picture of Tasha at the pub she owned in the Gaslamp Quarter: The Fainting Goat.

Serena eased down the winding drive and drove toward the city limits. Night had fallen and stars lay hidden from sight amid the rain clouds.

Milo was back in San Diego, where they’d both grown up. So what? Why did that burn a river of temptation through her? The last time she’d seen him, he’d stomped on her heart . . . after kissing her senseless. Why was she pining over a relationship that had died when she was seventeen? They were done. So done that there weren’t even ashes to resurrect. After the failed gig in Beverly Hills that Sebastian had set up, she and Dani had cut ties with their uncle and lain low while Serena worked on her realtor’s license.

It was only a matter of time before Milo’s path and hers would cross. Because that’s what life did for its sick, torturous amusement. Serena merged onto W University Avenue, and the wipers sped up, making the rain bounce off her windshield at warp speed. This much rain was so rare in San Diego that she sat a little straighter in her seat. All it took was a slight change in weather for people to forget how to drive. She turned down one of the side streets in Hillcrest, and traffic slowed.

He probably hadn’t even looked her up. She’d changed her last name—Serena Smith had a nice ring to it—and her once blonde hair was now a rich brown. With her history of theft, she’d been hesitant to take on such a public career. But no one had been looking for her then, and no one would be looking for her now.

Least of all Milo Baxter.

She glanced at the clock on her dash. Just after 7:00 p.m. A hot shower, leftovers, and her couch would help her forget about him. She used voice dial to call Melanie over Bluetooth. The phone picked up and Melanie chirped out a greeting. The constant tick, tick, tick of long fingernails on a keyboard told Serena that Melanie was still at the office. No surprise there. She pictured her boss—curly red hair piled on her head in a topknot and honey-colored eyes that Serena had never seen unhappy.

“I think I got it.” She let loose a little squeak of excitement. The typing stopped.

“Ah! No way. He signed already?”

She lowered her shoulders and grasped the bottom of the steering wheel. Raindrops spiraled down the windshield in an artistic wave. “Not quite. He said he’d call Sunday, but it sounded good.”

“You rock. My promise still stands. If you land Titus’s contract, the promotion is yours. Before you get too excited, he’s also met with Ryan Des and Angelique Martin—so the pressure is on.”

Serena rubbed the crest of her forehead. Dammit, she should have known he’d consult Ryan and Angelique. If it weren’t for Melanie’s name and track record, Serena never would’ve had a shot at a deal this big. After her partner died in a tragic accident three years ago, Melanie had gone on the hunt to grow her team. When Serena had shown up at her office with a fresh license and zero experience, she’d taken her under her wing.

“Thanks, Mel. I’ll cross my fingers and keep you posted.”

The euphoric wave Serena had been on evaporated, leaving her with a mound of stress. Oh well. She’d given her consult with Titus everything she had. There was no way she could have performed better. The decision was out of her hands.

She halted at a four-way stop, scanned the intersection, and pulled out. The screech of tires filled the air and headlights blared through her side window. A truck closed in on her. Frost prickled her skin and she jammed her foot on the gas. Her SUV shot forward.

But not quickly enough.