Page 45

The driver names the fare. Sol pulls cash from his pocket, counts out the bills and passes them over through the window at the front. The driver’s eyebrows lift a little at the tip. He thanks Sol and taps the wheel.

I slide out of the back seat, my trainers hitting the pavement, the early morning air wrapping around me again. The door shuts behind me with a solid clunk.

Sol watches me stand, his gaze taking in my flimsy top, my tired face, the shadows under my eyes. Something softer passes through his expression, quick and subtle.

“Come on,” he says. “You shouldn’t stand out here.”

He jerks his chin towards the entrance.

“They just went up,” he says as we walk. “You missed them by a minute.”

My heart gives a strange little jump.

“Both of them?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

We approach the security station by the side door. The bouncer reaches for the access control pad, taps a code, and the lock gives a small metallic click. He pulls the door open, steps aside, and Sol guides me through with a hand hovering near the small of my back, not touching, only close.

The corridor beyond is quiet. No thumping bass, no roar of conversation. The club floor down below must be in that strange post-night state now–half empty, staff cleaning, lights up, music off. The energy drained out of the place, leaving only the bones.

We step around the corner to the elevator that leads to the penthouse.

Sol taps a sequence into the keypad beside the panel. A small green light blinks, and the call button glows in response when he presses it. When the elevator doors open, I enter, then Sol presses the button inside, and steps back out.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

The doors close, cutting him off from view.

As the elevator begins to move, I stand in the center and stare at my reflection. My blond hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, a few strands escaping around my face. I got dark circles under my eyes, in line with my showing dark roots. There is a faint smudge of something on my cheek. I swipe at it with the heel of my palm and glance again.

I look small in here, swallowed fully by the space. And I feel… anchored.

A soft chime inside the elevator announces my arrival, and the doors slide open onto the private hallway that leads directly into the penthouse.

My breath catches in my throat for a heartbeat. What do I tell them? Hi, can I crawl back into your bed?

It’s dim in here, the pale morning light spills in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, tinting everything in faint blue-gray.

Soft music plays in the background, a smooth jazz track, the saxophone line weaving through the still air. The volume is low enough to let silence press in around it.

Rio lies stretched along the sofa, one arm thrown over the back, legs extended, his shoes are still on. A whiskey glass dangles from his fingers, the amber liquid catching one slice of early light. His tie is off, his shirt is unbuttoned at the throat, his tattoo showing, sleeves rolled to show his forearms. His head is tipped back against the cushion, eyes half closed.

Brox sits in the armchair, one leg crossed over the other. He cradles his own glass on his thigh, big hand wrapped around the tumbler. His white shirt is marked by a few faint creases, tie gone, top buttons undone. His ice-blue gaze is turned toward the window, as though he’s watching the city slowly brighten.

On the table between them, the bottle of whiskey stands half-empty, the label turned towards them.

Just them. Sitting in silence.

As I step inside fully both of their heads turn at once.

They spot me at almost the same moment, two pairs of eyes locking on me standing in the entryway, wearing my flimsy top and jeans, the tote bag on my shoulder, and my hair pulled back. The music continues to murmur under the shift in the room, but everything else seems to still.

I can’t see their faces fully yet, not clearly. The light comes from behind them, outlining their frames and catching the edges of their profiles, but their eyes… I feel their attention like warmth on my skin.

Heat blooms in my chest, in my throat, sliding down my spine. I stop just inside the room, fingers tightening on the strap of my bag. For a heartbeat, my mind blanks.

“I, uh…” The sound of my own voice startles me a little. It seems to ripple through the still air and across the space between us. I let the strap slip down my arm until it rests in my hand. “My shift ended.”