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“It usually is. How’s your wound?”
“Oh, it’s probably fine,” she says. “It doesn’t feel like it’s bleeding.”
“Did you feel it bleeding last night?”
“I was a little out of it yesterday,” she admits, shooting me a wry smile. “Someone threatened my daughter to get me to take a job at another place.”
It doesn’t matter how many times I say I’m sorry for that, I’m never going to feel better about it.
“I was being an idiot. I’m so sorry. I wish I’d just …”
“It’s fine,” she tells me, cutting me off. “It just made me freak out that every interview I went to, I’d be going into knowing they see me as Frank Palmer’s last surviving victim.”
“Every interview?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Oh, right. Like you don’t … Wait. I guess you really don’t know. Huh. The woman who hired me at Anchor West told me she knew who I was, and that’s how she decided she knew I could handle their crazy workload.”
“That’s what she does,” I tell her. “She looks for information on who she interviews, and she hires the ones who can handle stress. She wouldn’t have invited you in if she wasn’t going to offer you a job. I knew you were in when you got her email.”
“Right, because you had Toshi hack my email.” She shakes her head. “I really don’t like that you guys used all your little tricks on me.”
“It’s second nature,” I confess. “We don’t even think about it anymore.”
“I guess I’ll find out if that’s true at some point.”
She’s still in, and if she wasn’t fated to be with us, I might think she was crazy.
But our mate is as determined as we all are when it comes to the work we do.
She knows it doesn’t look good for Secret’s friend, but it isn’t deterring her.
Most people would have walked away for good when I did what I did at that interview.
She’s not most people. I should have trusted that, instead of testing it.
I won’t make that same mistake again.
She’s one hundred percent, beyond a shadow of a doubt, meant to be mated to my pack.
And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove we’re meant to be hers.
Chapter Sixty
Leanne
I probably could have driven out to Silver Lake in less time than it takes us to get through the gridlocked traffic in the middle of Cressidan City. In theory, Cressidan Grove is much closer, but after this, I can’t imagine anyone choosing to commute from there to here.
Maybe the trains are better. They can’t be any worse.
“Finally,” I breathe out when we take the turning to leave the city and its crazy traffic behind.
“I hate to tell you, but it’s going to be almost that bad on the way back.” E.A. sounds like he’s already dreading the thought of that return journey.
“There’s got to be a less busy time to come back,” I counter, challenging him to think of one.
“It’s the city, and it’s Friday,” he says. “We definitely want to avoid coming back between four and six, because that’ll be even worse, but there won’t really be a down time. Not today, or tonight.”
“Then, how do you feel about a move to the suburbs?” I ask, joking, kind of.
