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I know, it surprises me too, considering I used to be an honorary Cobalt.
Self-proclaimed, but I figured I was meant for the lion’s den. Not whatever animal hidey-hole the Hales are living in. My feelings have shifted so much, I have vertigo—dizzy at the realization that I couldn’t care less about being here.
I just wanna be with her.
This is what it’s going to take. And I need to keep everyone safe. I have to.
“Yeah, sure.” I walk towards the leather armchair. With fewer people around, I have a better view of the space.
Gotta admit, his office is different than I’ve imagined. Less modern. Less sleek. Robust wooden bookshelves line the deep blue walls, and a gas fireplace crackles in the corner where leather club chairs remain empty.
Everyone else is standing.
I take a seat, my muscles more strained than I like.
His wooden desk presides over the homey office. It reminds me of Yale’s library. Collegiate and warm. Outside the window, leaves of an oak tree have turned golden orange, like flames licking the glass panes.
Connor has a tablet in hand. “Our PIs can’t gain us access to your family the way that you can.”
I expect someone else to sit, but my ass is the only one in a seat. Am I on trial? I’ve tried not to think long about Connor’s feelings towards me after all this shit has transpired. Shit that I created, really.
His second-born son came way too close to being assaulted. I’m at fault. He should hate me.
But sitting here, I can’t really read his expression. Not as well as I can Loren Hale’s. Lo just looks aggravated while he’s scrolling through his own tablet.
“Whatever you need me to do,” I say, opening a floodgate I can’t close.
“Before you go to lunch, we need to verify some of the information we have,” Connor says.
Lo lowers the tablet. “When the hell did his family tree get updated? And why is it on an infinite scroll?”
“The PIs missed two of his grandfather’s brothers,” Connor says. “They’ve been fired.”
Damn.
“You fired my uncles?” I joke.
Connor skips over my weak shot at humor.Tough crowd.“You call them uncles?”
I shift forward on the chair. It squeaks. “They’re my dad’s uncles.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Connor says casually, calmly.
I scan him, waiting for the dark signs of hatred to appear. “Uh, yeah. I call them my uncles.” I watch Lo join Connor near the desk, facing me, but he checks Connor’s electronic tablet, making sure they’re on the same page, probably.
Connor looks to Akara and Price. “You both should have the updated report.”
“Got it,” Akara says, on his phone.
Price nods, using his cell too. He’s in a black designer suit, so I’m realizing why Akara dressed to impress and stand on par with the Triple Shield owner.
Thatcher and Farrow hang back near the fireplace with Connor and Lo’s bodyguards on Alpha: Tony Ramella and Bruno Bandoni. Do not want Alpha here, but at least Epsilon—like the Wreath brothers and Novak—aren’t around anymore snickering in the corner.
O’Malley is recuperating from his injuries, and I’m glad I don’t have to see his bruised and battered face this morning. Counting my few lucky stars, thank you and all that gratitude.
“How manygreatuncles, that you apparently just call uncles, do you have?” Connor asks. I must hesitate too long because he reminds me, “We’re verifying our information is accurate.”
I nod. “My great-grandpop had six sons.”So that’s five great uncles and my grandpop.But I don’t say that part out loud. I figure Connor can do mental math.
