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Fucking cute, right?
“You’re different.” Jameson peers at me from the other end of the table. “And I don’t just mean the merger. Your face…” He purses his lips. “Your face is doing this weird thing. Like, the sides of your lips are turned up. I can see your teeth.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve smiled before, jackass.”
“Not for real.”
He’s probably right. I don’t think I’ve smiled for real since Mom and Dad died. When was the turning point on that? When the cops knocked on the door to bring us to the hospital? Filling out Mason’s medical forms? Or was it later, when I went to the alleys for the first time?
“Maybe not,” I admit. “I’m happy you’re my brothers. I’m smiling because Mason can finally stop harassing me about joining his goddamn business. And because we’re together.”
Jameson clasps both hands over his heart. “Awww, Gabriel, you’re going to make me cry.”
“Please. You’re smiling because of Elise,” Mason says, the annoying prick.
I snort a laugh, but I’m physically unable to stop grinning on my way out. My siblings trail after me like I’m a celebrity relative.
There’s just a couple things that feel unresolved. It’s enough to let my face relax. It was starting to ache from smiling.
“Remy, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on. And I probably scared the hell out of you. That was shitty, and I’ll try not to do it again.”
She wipes away a tear and gets on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “It’s okay. I still love you. Just do me a favor and remember you have asister, too. We could hang out together sometimes.”
“We will definitely hang out together.”
Jameson’s standing nearby, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I face him next.
“I owe you an apology, too.” I tell him. “For making you feel like I wasn’t going to be here for you. I’m really fucking sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
He blinks, and then his wild, trying-not-to-cry smile spreads across his face. “I shouldn’t have said that I hate you. If you forgive me for that, we’ll be even.”
“Done.” I hold out my hand for him to shake, but he comes in for a hug. Then, because he’s Jameson, he insists on a group hug. To top it off, he makes Charlotte take a photo of the four of us in Mason’s foyer.
“Oh, but you’re not in it. We have to do a selfie.” Remy waves Charlotte in. “Mason, you take it. You have the longest arms.”
“Do we really need a record of us standing in the foyer?” I give it a little tune just to irritate Mason.
“Yes.” He flips Charlotte’s phone around so he can make sure we’re all in the picture. “I want to make a whole fucking scrapbook.”
Then he sends me down in the elevator. Mason lives in a building overlooking Central Park, and naturally he has thepenthouse on the top floor. Unlike that ridiculous conference room where Bettencourt hosted his little cult meeting.
I really think that guy’s afraid of heights.
His main office is on the twenty-sixth floor, which makes sense. He wants his power on display when he’s at work. The members of the consortium, on the other hand, wouldn’t question him about that kind of thing. He already has them in his back pocket.
The elevator opens onto the lobby. Mason’s favorite doorman, Derek, waves to me as I go across to the parking garage.
It’s quiet tonight. Rows of luxury cars. No people.
It’s usually slightly busier than this.
Unease is like sliding my key into the front door lock only to find that it doesn’t fit. I shouldn’t feel unease. Mason doesn’t fuck around when it comes to safety. He’s personally overseen many building upgrades since he bought his place. There are lights every few feet on the wall, casting long shadows. There are panic buttons and full-time armed security at the opposite end of the floor.
I’m perfectly safe.
The knot in my stomach doesn’t go away.
I take out my phone. There’s a missed call from Elise, but nothing else. I’m about to return it when it rings in my hand.
