Page 103 of Lady and the Hitman

“Okay, that’s a lot to unpack. What do you mean? Why not?”

I shrugged, eyes flicking to my coffee. “He said he wanted to wait until we were back in Charleston. That he wanted it to be here.”

Mina’s face went still. “Wait—heturnedyoudown?”

My lips pressed into a line.

“That is not standard operating procedure,” she muttered, half to herself. “Jesus, Zara. That’s not even romantic escort behavior. That’s …”

“Personal?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s personal.”

We sat there in silence for a beat, the buzz of the coworking space humming around us like static.

“His house is on John’s Island,” I said finally, voice low. “Near my parents. That’s where it happened. That’s where we …”

“Okay, now I’m going to faint.”

“Mina.”

She fanned herself. “He took you to his house? You’ve seen where he lives?”

I gave a small nod.

She let out a breath like it hurt. “Zara, do you know how many rules that breaks?”

“No,” I admitted. “And honestly, I don’t care.”

“Are you in love with him?”

The question hit me like a rock to the ribs.

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t have to.

Mina studied me, eyes narrowed, lips pursed around her straw like she was trying to suck the truth out of me by force. “Back up,” she said. “When I asked if you’d had sex, you said ‘not fully.’ What the hell does that mean?”

I exhaled slowly. “It means … it depends on your definition.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Zara.”

I leaned closer, lowering my voice even though no one else was paying attention—yet. “It means I was on a beach in Miami. Under a cabana. With the ocean all around me. And he dropped to his knees like it was the only thing that mattered.”

Mina’s mouth fell open. “He—he went down on you? On the beach?”

I nodded.

“You’re telling me the man you matched with through an anonymous one-night-stand service,” she whispered, “ate you out in public?”

My cheeks burned, but I didn’t look away. “On South Beach. I was naked, still salty from the ocean, and he didn’t give a single fuck who might see.”

Mina clapped a hand over her mouth like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh, scream, or launch into applause. “That’s not a fling. That’s—hell, that’s biblical.”

I leaned in, voice low. “It wasn’t even the beach that got me.”

She blinked. “It wasn’t?”