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I slow down so he can catch up, but he’s intentionally walking three steps behind.
I stop and turn, and he pauses, too. “I’m ready for lunch. Do you want to go somewhere? Or would you rather pick something up on the way home?”
He shakes his head. “What the fuck is it with you and food? I told you, I’m not hungry.”17Tempt Me (Sabrina)Since it’s the Saturday between holidays, we’re a skeleton crew.
My role—or Magnus’ role by proxy— is mostly being around to put out any fires and make sure teams meet their end-of-year deadlines.
It’s remarkably chill.
Most of the team already knows what to do—keep the ship running without his presence.
I’d say he has it easy, but I know he was the one who whipped them into shape.
The jackass doesn’t call or text. Probably for the best.
I don’t want to talk to him, and I’d bite his head off if I had to.
I’m able to start working on things I would’ve had to do Monday, like the prep work for the airline pitch after New Year’s. Having something important to do keeps my mind off last night.
Off the way he kissed me and touched me and blew up my world.
Off the way he left without a word, and then held me so sweetly all night.
Off the way he chewed my head off this morning.
Hell yes, I’m glad I’m busy.
My phone vibrates with a message. Ugh, is it him?
I tap my phone.
Ruby: Have you heard from Mag today? We all got cryptic emails from him and no one’s seen him in the flesh. I’m worried. He’s never missed work before. I would’ve expected him to call and check in fifty times by now.
I don’t respond to that.
If he wanted her to know more, he’d have told her.
But it makes me smile that he confided in me about his surprise half brother, and no one else. Still, everything about yesterday was wrong.
He can’t keep going hot and cold, and I can’t keep putting up with it.
Ruby’s right, too. He’s a natural control freak, so it’s odd that he hasn’t called to make sure the building isn’t burning down without his holy presence.
That’s how it goes all day. When everyone finally leaves the office, Armstrong is parked by the curb, waiting on me. I open the door and collapse into the leather seat. I’m completely spent.
“Take me to Mag’s place,” I say reluctantly.
I know I’m not supposed to set foot in his penthouse again, but...
If even Ruby is worried, I should check on him.
At the building, the attendant holds the door open, and I go to the elevator. I fish around in my purse for the white card.
Crap. I gave it back to Armstrong this morning. Retracing my steps to the double glass doors, I find the attendant and say, “I forgot my entry card.”
He nods. “Certainly, ma’am. You have two options. You can go get it, or if you use the row of buttons outside the elevator, you can call the person you’re here to see. They’ll buzz you in. You just put in the apartment number.”
“I don’t know the apartment number, but it’s on the forty-seventh floor,” I say.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Heron. That’s number four seventy.”
My feet burn like hell as my red-soled heels carry me back to the elevator. I buzz Magnus. The speaker rings until it goes dead. I try again and again.
I’m just about to text him something horrible when a gravelly voice comes across the speaker.
“Yes?”
“It’s me. Can you buzz me up?”
He doesn’t say anything else but there’s a ding and metal doors slide open.
On the top floor, I bang on his door until my hand hurts. When this jerk opens up, I’m going to tell him where to shove it.
Mag answers the door in flannel pajama pants...and nothing else.
Oh, God.
Of course, I’m staring like a lunatic, baked into place by his muscular good looks and freakishly normal attire.
Of course, his hair is disheveled, and his raging ocean-blue eyes are ringed with dark shadows, but screw it.
He may be a devil.
He may be ridiculous.
He may be a colossal, overbearing pain in my butt.
But this man has the most gorgeous torso perched between two broad shoulders I’ve ever seen, hands down. Lean muscle, corded biceps kissed by ink, abs so shredded I think they might singe my fingertips if I had the lady-balls to touch him right now.
He’s a walking, scowling fitness magazine made flesh.
Mr. Grumpalicious of the century.
Why does he even bother wearing a suit? If I was a guy, I’d walk around buck naked, all the time.
“Brina?” His eyes flicker when he says my name.
“Who are you again? Where’s Magnus Heron?” I ask, unable to stop staring.
He’s so exhausted he looks like he might fall over when he rolls his eyes. His hand cups the doorframe and he rests his head on his outstretched arm.
