DEADLY DECEPTION

CHAPTER 22

(Avery's POV)

Five days. It had been five long, frustrating days since the incident in Rick's study. And in all that time, I had managed to avoid him. No awkward run-ins, no lingering looks, no heated tension crackling in the air. Just silence. Which, honestly, I was thankful for.

I didn't know how I'd handle seeing him after the way he had acted. He was constantly on my mind, and I hated it. Every time I thought about how he had pulled me into him like he needed me—only to toss me aside and tell me to leave in that cold, dismissive way—I felt my blood boiling.

How dare he?

He was the one who grabbed me, the one who almost kissed me. I didn't ask for that. I didn't ask him to look at me like he was starving. And then to act like it was my fault? To tell me to get out like I was some sort of... I don't know, a pizza delivery guy who showed up at the wrong address and kept ringing the doorbell anyway?

Well, okay, maybe I had kind of asked for it. I mean, let's be real—who could resist him? That jawline, those eyes... the way he moved like he owned every damn room he walked into. It was infuriating. And sure, I may have stood a little too close, may have let myself get a little lost in the moment. But it was Rick. Anyone with a pulse would get a little weak-kneed around him.

"Ugh," I muttered under my breath, pacing back and forth in my room.

I tossed a glare at the closed door as if that would somehow make him feel it.

"You ARE an asshole, Rick."

I felt a surge of anger rising in my chest again. He had no right to pull me in like that only to push me away. And now here I am, five days later, still fuming.

I couldn't even look at him. I had done a great job avoiding him, not that it was hard—he was barely around. He was always working, always hiding behind Maria's case—which, honestly, I didn't complain about—or some mission or whatever else he used to escape. He is a workaholic, so there is no reason to think I'd bump into him today.

It is the weekend, sure, but Rick's idea of a weekend probably involved staring at files in his study or disappearing to his office. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and sighed, brushing a hand through my hair.

You'll be fine, I told myself. Just stay out of his way like you had been doing. He probably hadn't even realized I was avoiding him. Though part of me wondered if he noticed.

I finally dragged myself out of my room and headed to the kitchen, hoping to find some sort of distraction or solace in a cup of coffee. What I found, however, was far from peaceful.

Bryce and Fred were in the midst of an all-out pancake battle. George, the poor guy, was trying to cook, but his attempts at flipping pancakes were continually interrupted by the two of them.

"Move! I saw it first!" Bryce shouted, shoving Fred aside.

"No way, I was here before you!" Fred retorted, grabbing at the spatula in George's hand.

George, with a look of amused resignation, finally pulled the pancake from the pan and placed it on a plate. That was all the invitation Bryce and Fred needed. They lunged at each other, both grabbing for the pancake with the kind of determination usually reserved for more serious matters.

In a flurry of elbows and shirts tugging, Bryce managed to get his hands on the pancake first. He lifted it triumphantly into the air, a victorious smirk spreading across his face. But Fred was quick on his heels, jumping at Bryce with surprising agility.

With a swift move, Fred yanked the pancake out of Bryce's grasp, tearing it in half. He stuffed one half into his mouth with a satisfied grin and stuck his tongue out at Bryce, who was left glaring and scoffing.