"Our future?" Honey raised an eyebrow, her pulse quickening despite her exhaustion.

Grayson rose from the sofa, moving to the small bar tucked in the corner of his office. "Water? Or something stronger?"

"Definitely stronger." She watched him pour two fingers of amber liquid into crystal tumblers.

He handed her a glass, fingertips brushing hers. "To surviving the storm."

"So far," she amended, taking a sip. The whiskey burned a warm path down her throat. "What exactly did you mean about our ...