Page 117 of Boardroom Mask

You’re impossible.

I’d rather be that than safe. Safe bores you.

(un)fortunately, “safe” has never been an option with you. The best I can hope for is “probably won’t kill me today.”

Today, I can guarantee your safety.

As for tomorrow?

Tomorrow is tomorrow.

Swoon. Be still, my heart.

She starts typing again, but while I’m waiting for the three bubbles to disappear, the intercom buzzes. I ignore it, because nobody I want to talk to would be using the intercom right now.The list of people I care to see is one person long, and I’m texting her as we speak.

But then, to my irritation, it buzzes again. Then a third time, a fifth, a tenth, all rapid-fire. Someone knows I’m home and ignoring them, so they’re leaning on the buzzer.

I tap the speaker. “What.”

“Open the door, asshole. It’s freezing out here.”

It’s Mat.

I buzz him up and unlock the door, then flop back on the couch. Jillian’s next text came while I was at the door.

By the way, you should turn the camera back on later today. I was planning a thing.

My dick stiffens immediately.

That’s a lovely thought, but hold it. Something came up.

Is that code for “I have to go do crimes”?

Not today. Just a pest at my door that needs exterminating.

The elevator dings in the hall. Mat lets himself in without knocking and pauses in the doorway to survey me with a critical eye. He’s wearing a black peacoat over a black turtleneck, his dark hair damp from the rain, and he’s carrying two paper cups of coffee from the Turkish place on Second Avenue.

He sets one cup on the counter, peels off his coat, and drops onto the armchair across from me with a breathy, melancholic sigh that suggests he wants me to ask how he’s doing. I don’t.

“Your little stunt at Sleep No More was unnecessary,” I inform him.

Mat sips his coffee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mat.”

“Kir.”

“Did you really think cornering Jillian and whispering vague threats in her ear would spook her enough to make her run? I don’t know who should be more insulted, her or me.”

He scowls. “She needed to hear it.”

“She needed to hear it fromme. Onmyterms. Not from some masked stranger grabbing her in the dark—she’s had enough of that for one lifetime.”

“I was trying to?—”

“I know what you were trying to do. And I’m telling you it wasn’t your call to make.” I sit up, swinging my legs off the couch. “Stay away from her.”

Mat sighs again and lifts both hands in surrender. “Fine. Message received. But that’s not what I came here to?—”