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Armstrong waits outside when I step out, as promised. I ride there in silence, staring out at the city lights, thinking of what Paige said. Don’t let that rich boy use you.
Is Mag using me?
As I lay my keycard on Mag’s door, my phone pings.
Hugo: Test worked. Brochures will be printed and delivered to the office Monday afternoon.
A huge sigh of relief steams out of me.
Good. One less thing to worry about.
When I walk into the penthouse, Mag and Jordan are playing chess on the living room floor. Neither of them notice me, which gets a heaping smile.
It’s kind of adorable.
Mag has transformed, every part the doting big brother. My heart swells.
I don’t care what Paige says. I get why she wonders, why she’s looking out for me, but Magnus isn’t using me.
He may be ruthless in the boardroom, but he isn’t nefarious enough to keep our relationship a secret for the wrong reasons.
Those searing blue eyes look up from the game.
He’s wearing little spectacles, and it gives him this Professor McHottie vibe. My core tightens, already thinking about tonight.
A smile spreads across his face as he removes his glasses.
“Jordan likes chess,” he says. “I haven’t played for years.”
I come in and sit down on the couch. “Looks like you two are having fun.”
Jordan slides a Rook across the board.
“Checkmate. I win again,” he snickers.
Mag scowls. “I let you, of course. I’m not that rusty.”
“Right.” Jordan belts out a laugh, skimming his fingers through his wavy hair. “You said that the other three times, too.”
With a hapless grin, Mag joins me on the couch.
“The test piece worked out fine,” I say, holding up the new picture on my phone.
“Perfect.” He nods, but he looks at Jordan. “Go back to your video games, bud. I’ll clean up the board.”
“Thanks!” Jordan takes off to the back of the penthouse.
Those intense blue eyes land on me now. “I’m glad our little crisis was averted, but I’m worried about my girl.”
“Careful.” I smile. “You just called me yours.”
“Did I?” He quirks a knowing eyebrow.
“No take-backs.” I shake my head.
“What is this, middle school?” He chuckles, and once again, I’m falling a little harder for this man.
“Might be. Paige is stuck in eighth grade.”
“The sculptor friend. Is that what’s got you so riled up? She’s not making you a bas-relief, is she?” He pulls me into his lap. “You seemed upset earlier.”
“Nope. Paige’s art is way too whimsical to make me look cool.” Laughing, I shake my head. “And I’m fine. But, Mag?”
“Yeah?” His hand strokes my arm.
“Why were you checking the security footage?” I ask, carefully choosing my words.
His huge shoulders roll as he shrugs.
“It’s an app synced to my phone. I do it periodically when I’m away. I like to make sure my office is safe and sound.” He brings his fingers to my chin and tilts my face softly, bringing me into those sharp blue eyes.
“News to me. So you’re able to look in on the zoo even when you’re not there?”
“I was checking the office, not you. The cameras only cover my office and the main work areas. It’s not like I spy on everyone’s desk. Still, seeing you there was a relief,” he says, then his fraught smile sinks. “I’ve been paranoid ever since Marissa got attacked, I’ll admit. I need my EA safe.”
“You called me yours again. Oops,” I tease with a small smile, burrowing into his chest.
“You’re reading way too much into it,” he growls.
I look up, loving how he turns away. “Hey, I thought it was sexy, but if I’m reading too much into it—”
“No.” His eyes snap back to me and he slides a hand under my shirt, finding my nipple, making me sigh with the roughness of his fingertips. “We’ll stick with sexy.”* * *Two weeks later, I’m in the town car with Jordan perched between Mag and me. It’s actually warm enough for a light jacket with March right around the corner.
For the first time, the boy doesn’t have his earbuds in, and he’s taking in the sights as they pass by, a big question mark on his face.
“Guys, c’mon, where are we going?” he asks for the tenth time today.
“It’s a secret,” Mag answers, zipping his fingers across his lips, also for the tenth time.
“Brina?” Jordan asks, his adorably frustrated face turning to me.
“Sorry.” I hide a smirk, studying my nails.
“Aw, this is stupid. At least, give me a hint.”
“You’ll like it,” I say. “There. That’s your clue.”
He lets out one of those prized middle-schooler huffs, complete with droopy shoulders, but I can tell he’s excited, even if he’s trying to play it cool.
“That’s the hint? Is it pizza again?”
I laugh. “It’s too early for Pizza Shack.”
Mag takes my hand and we spend the rest of the trip fending off Jordan’s questions until we stop in front of a wide flat brick building. A sixty-foot neon-red sign above the parking lot says Dreer Pharmaceuticals.
