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“Why is Jericho calling me?” she asks.
Scowling, I take the phone she’s offering me out of her hand and glance at the screen. It’s a text from Jericho’s number explaining who she is and asking for a call back.
“Not sure.” I hand the phone back to Elodie. “You should call her.”
“Tonight? What does she want?”
I squirm in my seat, feeling Matthew’s complete attention on this highly unusual situation. “I think she might have an offer to make you.”
“What kind of offer?”
“Call her,” I say.
“Drew—do I look like I’m in the mood for a mystery right now?” She gestures at her battered face.
“She has this idea for a book…that’s all I can tell you.” I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. Especially mine.
“A book? What does a book have to do with me?”
I glance meaningfully at Matthew, and Elodie’s gaze follows. Her entire demeanor changes in a millisecond, from demanding to seductive. “Oh, hello.” She sweeps her hair over her shoulder, I guess forgetting she’s got a black eye.
“Matthew, this is Elodie Lafayette. She’s a guest on the twelfth floor. We have a mutual friend.”
Matthew shakes her hand, and they share a brief eye fuck as they assess each other. “Nice to meet you,” he says, charm he hadn’t bothered to use with me oozing from him.
“Same. Are you new?”
“I am. I’ll be filling in here from time to time.”
“That’s amazing,” she says.
I clear my throat, and they both look at me, dropping each other’s hands. “I’m sorry, Drew,” she says, still all sultry and trying too hard. “I would have called, but I think my phone must’ve lost your number.”
“Sure,” I say. She’s never had my number. I have hers because I made Olivier give it to me, but I’ve never needed to use it. “Happens to me all the time. So frustrating.”
“I’ll write mine down for you,” she says, with another not-so-subtle glance at Matthew. “Just send me a text and I’ll re-add you.”
Matthew is quick to hand her a notepad and pen. She hands it back to him with a slightly desperate smile.
Jesus.
“Anyway,” she says to me. “Should I call her tonight or wait for tomorrow? It’s kinda late.”
“If she texted, she’s still up. Your choice.”
“Okay. Well. Sorry to barge in. Good night. And nice to meet you, Matthew.”
He smiles, playing it very cool. Once she’s safely tucked into the elevator, he says to me, “Muse.”
“Really? Are muses really a thing anymore?”
He shrugs. “I’m a romantic. Is she single?”
“She’s complicated. You can look her up.”
“You think she’d mind if I called her?” He gestures at her phone number.
“You should probably look her up first.”
