Lose Ben.
Find the courier.
Give him my phone.
And leave every stupid, lingering feeling for Ben in the dust where it belongs.
Unfortunately, Ben spots me like he has some kind of built-in-tracking radar, and my annoyance doubles. I weave through the crowd, determined to shake him. Why is he following me? Why does he have to make everything complicated? And why, for the love of all things sane, is there still a stupid soft spot for him in my heart?
I’m so tangled up in these questions—inhim—that I completely miss the curb and nearly wipe out a children’s puppet show. A marionette loses an arm, a kid screams, and an Italian grandmother levels me with a side-eye so sharp it could cut pasta. I give an apologetic wave and try to melt into the crowd.
“Cybil!”
Nope. Not turning around.
“Wait!”
Too late. His voice catches up with me, all warm and golden and inconvenient.
I whirl around. “Why are you following me?”
He lifts his hands. “Because I want to apologize.” He sighs. “And because you just amputated a puppet. Statistically speaking, you’re due for another near-death experience.”
I glare at him. “Do you have some kind of hero complex? Finance not thrilling enough, so now you moonlight as a disaster chaperone?”
“I’d prefer if you keep both feet on the ground and maybe stay away from motorized bikes,” he says, way too sincerely. “Besides... I just got you back in my life. I’d rather not lose you to a marionette-related homicide.”
Oh, come on. I willnotswoon at that. I will not. I can feel my heart caving—
Cybil Langford, do not give in to his words. Or the way he’s looking at you. Stay strong, girl.
“I’m not in your life, Ben. Our paths crossed because of our jobs. That’s all.”
His face flickers with something—regret—but it’s gone before I can confirm. “Even so, I know what it’s like, working for men like Earl Edmond. I just hope he appreciates what you’ve given up for him.”
I stop. Turn. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” His voice is casual. Too casual. “High-powered clients make high-powered messes. Sometimes they ask the impossible. And sometimes we say yes without realizing we’re selling off little pieces of ourselves.”
“Mr. Edmond is good to me.” I hold his gaze. “I have no regrets.”
He studies me like I’m an equation that doesn’t quite add up. His words stir something unwelcome in my chest, but I shove it down. I can’t afford to let him get in my head or work his way deeper into my heart. I don’t wait for more. I turn on my heel and slip into the crowd—because I have a job to do.
Lose Ben. Find the courier. Make the drop.
I don’t look back. I don’t need to. I can feel him there, trailing me like a shadow I can’t shake.
“I know you’re following me.” He’s close enough that I know he can hear me over the noise of the crowded street.
“I’m not.”
“That’s not what it looks like.”
“I’m walking back to the villa.”
“You can walk on the other side of the street.”
“It would be easier to cross the Red Sea. On foot. Carrying a donkey.”
