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She lost the battle with her jaw and gaped at him. “What? I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to say it. But for your information, Headquarters pays all their employees, all around the globe,verywell. I don’t want for anything. How do you think I bought the Chevelle?” His eyes narrowed as he waited for a response.
“But…”
He sighed. “I live in a shit-hole apartment because I choose to. I’d rather deal with shitty and realistic than fancy and fake any day.”
The clerk cleared her throat to get their attention and held out the key.
Jace took it and looked at the clock. “You were nearly late. Don’t let it happen again.” Then he winked at her and shoved a ridiculous amount of bills into her hand.
He turned on his heel, shot Frankie a grin and strolled toward the elevator. She hurried after him. Catching the closing elevator doors, he held them until she joined him inside. She hated elevators. The air closed around her and slowed her breathing.
“If you don’t like fancy, then why are we here?” She closed her eyes and leaned onto the inside railing. The elevator hummed as it shot up to the top floor.
Jace reached inside his coat and pulled out a flask. He unscrewed the cap and chugged a swig. “If you’d put a bounty on my head or were looking to kill me, would you start here?”
Frankie thought of the other hunters searching every slummy motel in Rochester for a sign of him. “Point taken.”
When the elevator finally reached the penthouse level, the bell dinged as the doors opened into a small lobby. The floor was covered with fluffy white carpet, and she had a feeling that lying on it would be as comfortable as lying in her four-poster bed. A white double door faced to the elevator, only the slight tan of the lobby walls adding any color.
Jace walked to the door, his dirt-covered boots leaving dark footprints all over the white carpet. She cringed at the sight. After unlocking the door, he stepped inside as if he’d been there a hundred times.
She followed him, and let out a low whistle at the sight of the penthouse. “This is absolutely gorgeous.”
He dropped his bag of weapons on the floor of the master bedroom. “It’s a little too gorgeous to be comfortable, in my opinion. Though I guess if you like gaudy, it’s all right.”
“Why does anything nice make you so uncomfortable?”
He grumbled like he didn’t want to answer that.
She grinned, ready to throw his words back verbatim. “You said you’d ‘rather deal with shitty and realistic than fancy and fake any day.’ I want to know why.”
Jace raised a single eyebrow.
She put her hands up. “Your words, not mine. I’m just trying to understand them.”
He unzipped the duffel and slipped one of his many handhelds underneath the pillows. “Shitty and realistic is what I’m used to, and I’m comfortable with that.”
“You’re a creature of habit.”
“No, I just don’t like change.” He tucked another handheld in the nightstand drawer.
“Same thing.” She looked at him. “Change can be good.”
“Change can screw you six ways `til Sunday.”
She dropped the subject and walked over to the bed. Sitting on the edge, she felt like she was invading someone else’s room, someone else’s space. She peeled her tennis shoes off her feet and wiggled her toes, then arched her spine. Her neck and back could really use a good straightening.
Jace strolled into the master bathroom and flicked on the light. He shrugged out of his coat and laid it across the counter, then leveled his face inches away from the mirror. He examined his eye, running his fingers over the bruises, which had already begun to heal. She watched as he stood up straight again and pulled his shirt over his head, then threw it on top of the coat.
Thick muscles defined his torso, and his back flexed every time he moved. Her stomach filled with evil, torturous butterflies. Every part of her body that he’d touched burned. A trail of heat washed through her, and she forced herself to look away.
She stared at the fluffy white carpet. A low grunt came from the bathroom, and she couldn’t help but look up again. Jace was attempting to pour whiskey down his back and over the scratches lining his shoulder blades from his fight with Eli, Mr. Ice-Blue Eyes. She walked slowly into the bathroom. As soon as Jace saw her reflection in the mirror, he stopped making a mess with the whiskey.
“Here.” She took the flask from his hand. “Let me help.”
“I can do it,” he said, though he dropped his hands to his sides and didn’t reach for the flask again.
