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ChapterSix
Sidney
Finding oxygen suddenly seems beyond difficult.
Honestly, I don’t know if it’s because of the stretching out my stay here and spending cash I’ve limited supplies of, or his asking me to dinner.
The money thing is a worry when, according to Vic, people have been asking about me, poking about. While Vic’s managed to veer them away from mom at her fancy ass club, she let drop I’ve got some secret lair—she used the word lair, Gran said—and that they look like the kind of no-good types I’d hang out with, they got enough to work out where my new home is.
Which means I have to really make it stretch while I work something out.
Or maybe they’ll all get arrested.
I don’t even know what I walked in on.
Only it was illegal, and I recognized a member of the mafia who’d recently been arrested with a politician.
Last time I do work for people like that man.
The politician. Not the mafia. I don’t do mafia-based work. They don’t seem to have a need for a graphic designer. Or at least I don’t think they do.
I force myself to breathe.
Dinner. That’s pleasant.
Except, of course, it’s with the hot Mack Burns.
I start hyperventilating all over again.
Mack grabs me, steers me into the room, making me sit, and demonstrates for me to take slow, deep breaths while he opens the minibar.
“No! Bathroom. Glass. Water.” There’s no way I want to be charged for anything more.
“I’m flattered.” He ignores me, slams shut the fridge, and pours some water into a glass. “I really fuckin’ am, but it’s just dinner.”
A bubble of laughter rises, and I half choke.
“Hey now.” Mack presses a cool glass in my hand and bends on one knee to help me.
His face is close, and he’s even better looking. That scent of his is less garage and more clean grass and dried tea with a warm hint of spices that all mix to make my head spin.
I drink down some water, and then the panic rises once more.
“Through the flames, life will thrive,” I mutter under my breath, “or it will die.”
“What was that?”
“Family motto.”
“Kinda fucked up, but your family, Princess.” But there’s warmth in his words, and I struggle to find dislike.
Not that I actually dislike him. I want to, because if I’m stuck here an extra day, it might turn into two or more, then not liking him will make my life easier.
What am I even thinking? I raise the glass and put it to my head. “It’s . . . it’s meant to be about finding strength.”
“Kinda got that.”
I take a breath again. “I don’t want to be stuck here.”
