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“Teagon, for how long?”
/> “Until we’re absolutely certain that Konstantine is no longer a threat.”
“How long might that be?”
“I’m sorry, Kenz. I don’t know.”
“You can’t stay on here forever. Gawd, you’d have the most boring life known to man.”
She took a drink of wine, set her glass down, and folded her arms in front of her. “Um, no. That would be your life, my friend.”
“What? How’s that fair? I’ve been under fucking house arrest for months.”
“What of it? What’s next, Kenz?”
I took a big gulp of wine and poured what was left in the bottle into my glass. “I’m no longer sharing with you.”
“I didn’t want more anyway.”
“So what do you think I should be doing?”
“What do you want to do?”
I’d tell her I didn’t know, but that would be a lie. Since we returned to London, I’d been thinking about some of the suggestions Cortez made. Two things in particular. First, the notion of me working for Whitby Press, even if only as a volunteer. The second was, which of the charities my grandparents supported did I want to get more involved with?
“I do have some ideas.”
When she said, “You’re joking.” I wanted to smack her.
“It was something you-know-who and I talked about.”
“The man whose name shall forever go unmentioned?”
“Correct. Anyway, he suggested that I consider seeking a position with Whitby Press.”
“That’s a fantastic idea!”
“It is? Why?”
“Gawd, Kenz, you own the bloody place. March in there and tell them you’re taking over.”
“Very funny.”
“What? I’m not kidding. I just said I thought it was a fantastic idea.”
“I never went to university. I can’t just go plop myself down and run a business I know nothing about.”
“Then go and learn. They all work for you, Kenz. Schedule a meeting with whomever’s running the place now and tell him or her that you want to start working in some capacity.”
“That ought to go over well.”
“Why not?”
“Bored family member comes in and demands a job. Come on, be serious.”
“What do you think Whit did?”
“What do you mean? What about my father?”
