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I got up, fished out my wallet, and threw a wad of cash onto the counter. “I’ll see you fuckers around.”
“Aren’t you crashing with us today?” Christian looked confused. He sounded like the mother I never had. “Arya said she’ll make your favorite refried rice, but this time you have to remember to take your laundry from the washing machine. You’re stinking up the whole place.”
Suddenly, I realized Duffy wasn’t completely off when she said having a place of my own wasn’t the worst idea. Throughout the years, I thought renting a place in New York—or worse,buyingone—was useless with all the traveling I did. I didn’t want to be tempted by comfort and banality. I lived a shark’s life. Always on the move. But there was a flip side to being on the go. I was at my friends’ mercy. Always ping-ponging between them, abiding by their house rules. It almost felt like an extension of my years at the Andrew Dexter Academy.
“Nah.” I shoved my fists into my jacket’s pockets. “I’ll stay at hers.”
Shedidoffer.
“Sure you’re not mixing business with pleasure?” Arsène arched an eyebrow.
If only they knew Duffy’s company was about as pleasurable as shoving your dick into a KitchenAid mixer set to the fastest speed.
“Positive.”
CHAPTER SIX
RIGGS
My next stop was Duffy’s apartment. I got her address from Gretchen’s assistant number five, Trudy. I gotTrudy’snumber earlier today, when she gave me a grand tour of WNT and offered to let me fuck her mouth in the break room. I wasn’t going to take Trudy up on her offer—she couldn’t have been older than twenty-two—but after being treated like a walking, talking used condom by my future bride, it was a nice balm on my wounded ego.
Like a lot of young professionals, Duffy opted to live in a trendy neighborhood, in conditions you could find in a sewer. In New York, unless you were very wealthy, you had to choose between location and comfort. Judging by Duffy’s graffitied, smoke-stained building, she’d chosen the former. The place wouldn’t have been palatable to a Ninja Turtle, let alone a prissy Brit.
I showed myself up to her apartment on the second floor, slipping through the building’s entrance door when an older, dashing neighbor of hers walked in. His apartment was on the same floor, and when I stopped by her door, he frowned at me curiously. I knocked. It was already pretty late. I hoped she wasn’t entertaining Prince Charming.I didn’t mind stepping into some action, but it was probably going to suck for him to hear the news while he was inside that human ice cube.
Her door swung open, and in front of me stood my future wife, dressed like a medieval prostitute.
I’m talking burgundy bodice dress paired with golden, elbow-length gloves and an elaborate, crown-like braid. And she had a belt with a sword. An honest-to-Godbelted sword.
What in theGame of Thronesshit did I get myself into?
“Riggs?” Her mouth fell open. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Specifically, of someone she’d murdered with that sword who then came back to haunt her.
“Is this a bad time? Are you on your way to slay a Lannister?”
“What ...howdid you find my address?” Her delicate brows furrowed. I could tell I was an unwelcome surprise. Too damn bad. We had a lot to unpack, including my backpack and, with it, all my worldly belongings.
I strolled past her, inviting myself in. Her place was the size of a porta-potty. This was going to be an issue. For her, not for me. I was used to sleeping in inhumane conditions.
“Before I answer anything, please confirm the sword attached to your belt is fake.” I pointed at her waist.
“What, this?” She yielded the plastic weapon, waving it between us. “Faker than Hilaria Baldwin’s accent.”
“I don’t know who that person is.” But I was sure she hadn’t invented any important medicine or made a breakthrough with the battle against global warming.
“Of course you don’t.” She held the sword like you would a baby, not a weapon. Very good news to my limbs, as I seemed to have a knack for getting on her nerves. “I wouldn’t be so lucky that you’d be well versed in pop culture. Now tell me how you found my address?”
“Trudy gave it to me.”
“How presumptuous of her. Why didn’t you ask me?”
“Because the thought never occurred to me while we were at the WNT offices. I asked her an hour ago.”
“You exchanged numbers with your future wife’scolleague?” She blinked rapidly. “Are you barking mad?”
I opened my arms wide. “Every second marriage in the Western world ends with divorce, Poppins. We’re definitely going to fall into the wrong side of that statistic. Never put all your eggs in one basket. Going anywhere fun?”
I threw her fridge open. She had salads organized in containers with dated Post-it Notes on them on one side, and homemade dressings in small sealed cups on the other. Bottled water. Fresh fruit. And were these ...pickled eggs? Or her enemies’ eyeballs?
