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“We have to take the laptop to a helipad tonight. I have to go with it to unlock it.”
He looks around the kitchen and nods. “Ainsley said I shouldn’t come?”
“Yeah. How do you feel?”
He leans back against the counter across from me and dips his head side to side. “Not great. I don’t think I could hold a gun properly. I can kind of shoot one-handed, but it’s shaky. Haven’t practiced it in a while.”
He opens the fridge and stares into it, using his good hand to shuffle through what’s there.
“I wish I could cook,” he mutters.
I close the laptop with a snap and go back to picking at my cuticles. If he called, he would tell me, right? He said he would, but he didn’t say when.
“I haven’t called,” says Everett.
I might love him to death and want to be respectful, but time is of the essence. “And how many times has Mr. Delancey called?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he just showed up here.”
He finally turns to look at me and we’re both staring daggers at each other. Eventually, I shrug my shoulders in surrender, despite my impatience.
I try to calm myself by putting myself in his shoes. It starts with the truth that there are some parts of his life that I will never understand. I will never know what it’s like to realize your adoptive parents are involved in the world of crime. I can’t even imagine an equivalent for me. Maybe like if I found out my mom’s charity foundation was a front for funneling money to terrorists or something. If I found that out…
Ouch.
I square my shoulders. “I’m going to tell Mr. Delancey something that basically says that we’ve grown so close over all our years of working together that we fell in love and felt it best to marry in secret so as not to distract from the work of Milenna and the Beauty Done Well Initiative.”
Everett shakes his head. “Love? That’s not going to go well when we file the divorce papers.”
My eyes go wide.
“Who said anything about divorce papers?” I ask sharply.
“Well, it’s a marriage of convenience, Laina. Once the convenience ends, so does the marriage.”
“We are not on the same page about that,” I say, my tone and expression as serious as I can make them.
Everett’s phone buzzes with a text notification and he reads it to himself, then blows out a breath. “Mr. Delancey says if you don’t answer him, he’ll come up with a statement himself.”
“No, we’re talking about this. About us, now. I’m not putting this off any longer.”
“What are you saying?” Everett asks, slowly, with curiosity.
I don’t want to just blurt it out to him right here in the kitchen. I want mood lighting and my hand on his face and a searing kiss and a night to ourselves to unpack everything that we’ve been keeping pent up.
Everett denies yet another call while I map the planes of his cheekbones and sharp jaw line, his smooth skin and dark eyebrows, trying to memorize everything about him.
“You’re so handsome,” I say, starting softly, trying to work up the nerve to be brave. “I’ve always thought that about you. That you’re the most handsome man in my life. But I was your boss, so it would have been a little forward to say it.”
His eyes trace over my face. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs. “If you’re allowed to say it, so am I.” He’s smiling, but his right hand is in motion, his fingers counting against his thumb. One, two, three, four. Four, three, two, one.
“What are you worried about?” I ask.
He laughs. “What am I not worried about?”
“You should come sit down.” I wait for him to come over and take a seat on the barstool next to me. Everett’s expression is guarded and fear gets the best of me. What if I ruin it all? What if I’ve misread everything up to this point? I can’t jump in the deep end yet.
“What are you most excited about at your next posting?”
