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That was complicated. Why the hell are we rehashing this now? She was a pretty girl, who we’d watched for years, moving in. I didn’t realize how Wells felt about her. Once I did, I backed off and even pushed them toward each other. End of story.
“So was Gage, asshole! Why aren’t we fucking attacking him this morning?” My eyes fling to Wells, wondering why the hell he’s letting this all play out. Thanks a lot, Chief.
He stows his hands in his pockets and shrugs with squinted eyes.
“Don’t bring me into this shit show,” Gage snarls.
“Different than Gage because you clearly haven’t changed.” Ty rises, blood rushing to the surface of his tawny skin.
Why the hell is he this agitated over Celeste?
“That crap you pulled with Ivy,” he rants on, “was dickish, out-of-line flirting—pretty harmless and nothing compared to how you treat Celeste every time she’s here. Why is that, Graves? Huh?”
Because … hell if I know. What is he getting at?
“You have been a bigger dipshit than usual,” Gage observes.
Thanks, Big Guy. Feeling the love this morning.
“I don’t need this shit,” I spit. “You can all get the fuck out of my office.”
Unfortunately, right as I say that, Ivy storms inside, hot about something, and fiery blue orbs lasered on me.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“C’mon in, High Society.” I wave her in with a derisive grin. “I see you’re here for the shit-on-Liam morning meeting.”
She pauses, clamping her pouty lips, as though that saddens her, which pinches my chest. She’s always so worried about me. But a moment later, she resumes her wrath, leaning on my desk aggressively with her other arm cradling her belly for support. “I need you to promise me to be on your best behavior tonight.”
I have no idea what tonight is, but I don’t like her this worked up. “You gotta sit down if you want me to hear you out.”
Wells dips his chin to me in gratitude because we’re all getting a little freaked out by her mood swings and her tiny frame engaging in what looks to be a painful-as-hell stretch.
She stares me down in defiance, but I hold my stance until she huffs in concession. Gage hops up, helping her into the chair as Wells saunters over, probably to massage her back, and Ty pours her a glass of water from my corner minibar.
“Thanks.” She frowns. This weaker version of her body is grating on her nerves. It’s been rough since mid-December. She’s still working out, training as much as the doctor permits, but she wears easier. Her eyes flick to mine, and they start to spill.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask, hating her tears. “Talk to me.”
Ivy doesn’t cry often. It’s like kryptonite for the four of us.
“It’s just …” She swipes a hand over her cheek, collecting her emotion. “It took me all night to convince him and then all morning to convince her. And I’m so stressed because Jensen is pulling ahead in the polls. I really need this. But if you fuck it up, then it’ll make everything harder.”
My head cocks to the side. “I gotta be honest, High Society. The only thing I understood in that jumbled mess was about Jensen, and I’m doing my damnedest to find something on the guy. Patience. It’s being handled.”
That probably offers little comfort. Ivy’s main concern in election years is to fill positions all over the country with people who will do KORT’s bidding—from the president and his or her cabinet, down to state governors, congressmen, senators, and judges. It’s an exhausting year, especially being new to the role.
Oliver Jensen is running for president. Ivy met with him in September and felt sick about it. She insists something’s off. It’s not like she’s in the habit of working with people who are on the up-and-up because those officials aren’t willing to sell their soul to KORT. But Jensen is different. Squeaky clean. A country favorite. And causes visceral reactions in Ivy. We’re all on high alert with him.
“I know you will.” She swallows, rubbing her temples like she’s trying to clear her thoughts. “I’m kind of obsessing about him, which isn’t healthy, but I can feel it—the darkness around him. That’s not why I came in here though. God, please erase all these crying fits from your minds. I’m such a mess.”
And the tears keep splashing. The anniversary of Tom’s death was this week, too, so emotions would have been high, even without the hormones.
Ty glowers at me while scooching closer to Ivy and holding her hand. “See? This is the shit.”
Right. Everything is my fault.
He kisses her temple. “You’re all right, Freckles.”
