There's a moment of wild terror, a denial half-built in the back of her mind, before he finishes his sentence. Mercenary. She almost likes that interpretation, the illusion that there's nothing more between them. He should be offended, but he isn't. She knew he wouldn't be.

"I could pencil it in," is her lofty reply, the look in her eyes more than a little wicked as she leans into him, arms slipping comfortably up around his shoulders, hooking an ankle around his like a tango dancer.