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“Full of calls and texts from Cocksucker, I’m sure.” Riggs fastened his mouth into a taunting scowl.
My God, who cared about BJ right now?
“Have you rescheduled your appointment yet?” I grabbed his empty beer bottle and his ashtray, then carried them to the kitchenette.
“Soon.” He crept behind me like a hungry predator.
“Pack a bag.” His words hit my back, almost bringing me to my knees.
I disposed of the ashtray’s contents into the bin and swiveled on my heel to face him. My spine pressed against the counter. Riggs was crowding me, in my face.
“Excuse me?” I arched an eyebrow.
“Pack. A. Bag,” he enunciated slowly, like it was my hearing that was problematic.
“Are you kicking me out of my own flat?” I let out a sardonic laugh.
“No. We’re going on vacation.”
“Vacation? Where?”
“London.”
“London?”
“Are you just going to keep repeating everything I say in a higher pitch?” he asked, looking irritated and put-off.
“Until you make sense, yes. Riggs, what do you ... okay, first of all, personal space, please.” I waved a hand between us, shooing him away. I couldn’t concentrate when his body was so close to mine.
He took a step back, still staring me down with the rage of the entire Roman army.
“Second—what do you mean, we’re going to London? When? For how long? And perhaps most importantly, with what mone—”
“Stop worrying about money,” he hissed out, trapping me by slamming his hands on each side of me over the counter, leaning in close. “Just pack a bag and let’s go.”
My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. “You mean, you booked us tickets fortonight?”
“No better time than the fucking present, kid.”
“I can’t leave the country, remember?” I asked frantically. “My visa is pending.”
“Your form I-131 just got approved.” He raised his hand, in which my passport was tucked, a brand-new visa inside it. “The USCIS expedited it because you have an emergency at home.”
“I have an emergency at home?” I shrieked.
“No,” Riggs said. “Kieran and I manufactured one, though. I knew you missed your parents, and Zimmerman was more than happy to help out and receive the extra ca—” He stopped unexpectedly, but I was too dazed to follow this thread of the conversation.
My head spun. He needed to talk to Charlie tomorrow. This couldn’t wait.
“But we’ve already filed our visa petition,” I said, scrambling. “We don’t need to pretend anymore.”
“Contrary to what you may think, I don’t live, breathe, and exist for your visa.”
“Jesus, Riggs.” I ducked my head under his muscular arm, making a beeline for the loo. “Now’s not a good time. I ... I ... I have a job interview tomorrow.”
You need to talk to Charlie. I don’t know how much time he has left.
“You won’t get it.” He followed me. “You are unemployable until you get a work visa. There, I hit you with a truth bomb. Now stop trying.”
