The bottle of Jack Daniels had been noticeably drained by the time Dylan made his way through the door to their home, but strangely, Chandice barely felt the effects of a buzz coming on. She heard Dylan snort as he leaned over her to plant a kiss on her forehead.
“How’s the screenplay coming?”
“Just a few more pages,” she replied, not taking her eyes from the screen.
“How much have you had to drink today?” It was a fair question, and one that was asked without judgment. Dylan knew the history of her family and that she had a high tolerance, but even the amount she’d taken in should have had Chandice on her lips.
“I’ve been pacing myself and eating too,” she said, still not taking her eyes from the screen.
“Is there anything for dinner?”
“There should be a few microwave dinners in there. Sorry babe.”
“No worries,” he said, making his way to the kitchen as he removed his jacket and, as she chided him for constantly, draped it across the back of their couch. “Do you have any other jobs coming up after this one?”
“Yep,” she said, still not turning, “Just one at the moment, but I’m still ironing out the details.”
She heard the freezer door open as Dylan said, “Well, like you always say, the devils in the details.”
Dylan didn’t see the red-eyed gaze she turned towards him in that instant, or the devilish smile that crossed her lips.
Damn right it was.