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Objectively, with his tousled blond hair, swimming-pool gaze, and the sort of bluntly defined bone structure reminiscent of vintage Roman coins, there’s no denying he’s easy on the eyes.

Though for me, his natural good looks and charm have lost their allure, making it hard to believe there was a time, not so long ago, when I was swept up in all that—when I foolishly convinced myself he was a better option than Braxton.

I also thought he was perfectly suited to this strange, hidden corner of Gray Wolf, this simple, tucked-away world where most of the support staff reside.

But now that I know what lies beneath his shallow, golden-boy facade, seeing him here, standing among the thatched roofs and brightly painted shutters of this quaint, storybook village, is like stumbling upon the big bad wolf within a real-life fairy tale.

“Hello, Shiv,” he says, blue eyes narrowed, steadily taking me in.

I fume under my breath, still questioning my decision to go through with this.

“After you.” He holds the door open with a hint of a challenge in his gaze. “Oh, and, by the way,” he whispers, as I step past him. “Nice try.”

He’s baiting me. Killian practically lives for mind games like this. And though I know I’m better off ignoring his remark, given this is likely the last time we’ll ever speak, I can’t help but bite.

“What, Killian?” My voice leaps way past annoyance, landing squarely in the realm of full exasperation. “Nice try—what? Just say it already. Because honestly, I have zero patience for riddles and games.”

“Understood,” he says. Then, as we make our way to a secluded table, he can’t resist adding, “I was just making an observation on your attempt to downplay your beauty by dressing so plainly. Shame it didn’t work.”

I fix him with the most unimpressed look I can muster. “Are we done here? Have you said everything you need to—gotten that all out of your system?”

He lifts his broad shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “Sure hope so,” he says. “Then again, with me, you never know.”

“What do you want, Killian?” I say, eager to cut through the nonsense. “Let’s hear it already.”

As he signals for Maisie, the waitress, he turns back to me, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Not until we’ve ordered at least. Something to eat, and something to wash it down with. The usual for you?”

The usual. There is no usual. I’ve been here one time, and—

I stop the thought in its tracks. He’s getting to me, and I cannot afford that.

“Whatever,” I say, folding my arms. If he thinks he can read body language, this should give him something to ponder.

“Hey, Killian.” Maisie leans a hip against his side of the table, the corseted top of her bar wench uniform dipping so low her prominent cleavage is at risk of spilling out.

The memory of my previous pangs of jealousy as I watched their flirtatious exchange now seems so distant, like it happened to somebody else in another time and place.

Now, as I watch her twirl her hair around her finger and flash her eyes, I find myself feeling sorry for her. She has no idea that Killian is far from the hero they’ve all mistaken him for. He acts solely in his own self-interest and nothing more.

Barely acknowledging me, she offers a halfhearted, “Natasha.”

I give a terse nod in return, eager to move past all this and get the meeting over and done with.

“All right…” Killian begins, adopting a tone of false consideration, “Shiv here…oh, well, apologies. I guess that’s Natasha to you, since Shiv is more like a private joke between the two of us.”

“No, it’s not,” I cut in. “Not private, and definitely not a joke.”

Killian’s grin widens. “As you wish,” he concedes. Then, turning to Maisie, “Natasha is dying for a slice of your shepherd’s pie. And I’ll have the same.”

The only thing I’m dying for is to get the hell out of here, yet I offer a weak smile in response. No need to drag Maisie into all that.

“And to drink?” Maisie asks, her attention never straying from Killian.

“I’ll have a pint,” he decides, then glances my way. “Two?”

I shake my head. Not a chance. I need to remain as sober as possible with this guy. “Just water,” I say, which, for whatever reason, makes them both laugh.

As Maisie walks away, I center my focus on Killian. “You asked for this meet-up, so get to it already. What do you want?”