Joanne took in a deep breath, summoning all the patience heaven could spare for dealing with an infuriating woman.
Heather stood before her, a rictus grin plastered across her face like she'd crowned herself Queen of the Universe after winning a war only she knew existed. Her expression screamed smug delusion, the kind that made Joanne's teeth itch.
And then—oh no, she didn't—Heather had the audacity to place her manipulative, perfectly manicured claws on Joanne's shoulder, trying to steer her somewhere like a handler moving cattle.
Joanne's entire body recoiled. The contact felt like a snake sliding over her skin.
Nope. Absolutely not.
Her adrenaline was already buzzing after the run-in with Robert Winchester, and now this circus act was testing her nerves like she was begging for a slap. Joanne yanked herself away, nearly slapping Heather's hand in the process.
"I'd appreciate it if you respected my space," Joanne said, voice firm.
