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I almost signed itLove,but fuck.
I don’t think that’s a discussion either of us can handle right now.
It’s hard to talk about feelings when you’re stretched over a hungry abyss, and even if we weren’t, it’s no easy conversation.
Hell, we’re both still acting like this is a silly damn childhood crush reborn in our adult lives.
With the way she’s feeling, I don’t want to dump the L-word on her when that’s just more emotional pressure.
Still, it’s hard to pull away from her.
I linger just a little while longer, brushing her hair back from her temples before I drag myself away and head out to scare up some answers.
I’m prepared to storm a bullshit factory and take no prisoners when I drive up to the Arrendell mansion and go stomping out of my vehicle.
I refuse to hand my keys over to the valet waiting to take them, curling my lip.
“Sir,” the valet says, his nose pointed up above the exact same uniform as Mason Law, “I’m afraid you can’t just leave your car—”
“I’m afraid I damn well can,” I snap off, brushing past him and pocketing my keys.
The man’s eyes bulge.
What’s he gonna do, call the police?
“I won’t be ten minutes,” I say. “You’ve got room to fit an eighteen-wheeler past my car. Deal with it.”
Offended, sputtering pleas trail me as I mount the steps without looking back.
Here we are, poised at the gates of hell.
The huge, gleaming double doors open before I can reach for the knob or knock. Another uniformed man looks down his nose at me.
“Whom should I say is calling?” he asks.
Like these fucking people don’t see me at least once a month with all the odd shit that goes down around here. Not to mention the occasional summonsfrom the exalted First and Second Selectman to stand in for Chief Bowden in budget discussions, wherever he’s fucked off to.
I fold my arms.
“And whom are you calling for?” the man asks again.
“His or Her Highness, who else? Can’t say I give a shit which, though both would be better,” I growl. “And you know damn well it’s Captain Faircross,Peter.”
“Ah, yes. You’ll have to excuse me if the uniforms start to blend together sometimes,” he lies. I only remember his name because I heard Lucia yelling at him during another visit. “Please come wait in the receiving room.”
I follow him inside, keeping a standoffish distance between us as we cross the red carpeting through halls with towering walls and glowing golden sconces.
After thinking for a few moments, I step closer, leaning over his shoulder and lowering my voice.
“Mason Law,” I say. “You worked with him, yeah? Just like you worked with Cora Lafayette?”
Peter’s shoulders go stiff.
“It’s a rather large estate with dozens of staff, Captain,” he says coldly. “We all have our assigned areas. It’s quite possible for us to go our entire term of employment here without meeting everyone.”
“Uh-huh.”
