I sit opposite Locke wearing one of his oversized shirts and a soft pair of dark leggings, my legs tucked beneath me and my hair twisted into a messy knot that stopped pretending to be presentable hours ago.
“Show me again,” I say, resting my chin in my hand.
Locke rotates his laptop screen toward me, his long fingers resting on the edge of the chassis. “This specific corporate entity right here.”
I squint at the screen, reading the official filing name. “Hawthorne Logistics LLC. Hmmm. You know, I remember it.”
“You remember practically everything,” Locke notes.
“That’s the only reason you keep me around, I know.”
“Well, that, and your famously agreeable disposition.” He pauses. “And your amazingly hot ass.”
I grin at him, then return my focus to the screen. Hawthorne Logistics. The
