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Brodie drank some more water. “I guess if you’re home this early, you two didn’t get along.”
She couldn’t imagine he’d believe any other reality, and his own view of the Italian was obviously a pessimistic one. He hadn’t invited Mischa to the manor, which suggested he was contending with his trust issues and was happy to keep the harlot at arm’s length. Some might wonder why he’d reached out to a woman he didn’t trust in his home. The way Zara saw it, bringing Mischa into CI was Brodie’s not-so-subtle plan for getting Zara away from the corporation. Brodie’s transparent motivation didn’t need any discussion, that she could so easily read him was a positive. It wasn’t like she could argue that he didn’t care when he was showing how much he wanted to have her with him by sabotaging every alternative.
Bringing his leg over the bench, he got to his feet and she went over to rest her forearms on his torso. He might be sweaty, but he was also shirtless, and she liked being close to him when there was an excuse for skin-on-skin contact.
Patting his chest, she enjoyed his strength and hoped it would endure when she revealed the real news that had come from her morning at CI. “I don’t care about that. I don’t want to talk about Cuckoo now,” she said, because she would get over it. Cuckoo wasn’t an imminent threat. As uncomfortable as Zara was with the idea of another woman in her apartment, Brodie was right that it made sense to put her there being that it was under Kindred observation and control. And situations with possible lethal consequences took precedence over petulant ones. “We have business.”
“Us or the Kindred?” he asked, resting both hands at the back of her neck.
“Both,” she said. Once she told him about her morning, he probably wouldn’t be heading to Rigor’s. All of their plans were about to change. “You shower and—”
“Talk,” he said. For a guy who liked keeping secrets, he was careful about making sure no one else got to keep them.
With him standing here sweaty and distracted, it didn’t seem right to have such a sensitive conversation. But the subject wouldn’t get any easier to broach no matter how long she delayed talking about it or how clean he was.
His face rested in concern, which wasn’t a great starting point because her guess was that his worry would increase when he found out what Kahlil had tried to tempt them with. “This morning, I went to tell Julian about Mischa. It turned out he already knew about her, but he told me that someone had called looking for me.”
Immediately, his body grew rigid and Raven eclipsed Brodie. “Who?”
“He didn’t know, but when I went upstairs…” She took a breath because she knew he would take this news hard. “It was Kahlil. He wants Game Time.”
Brodie’s hands shifted to tighten over her shoulders, he said nothing for about ten seconds, then his grip loosened to slide his hands to the back of her neck again. “You told him where to get off?”
Taking her watch from her wrist, she held it up. “I recorded the meeting and I think you should listen to what he had to say.”
“I don’t need to. I trust that you gave it to him straight,” he said, pulling her forward to kiss her hairline. “I’ll shower and we can get back to Swift.”
“Beau, I…”
He let her go to head for the locker room in the corner beyond this room. If all Kahlil had wanted was Game Time, then she would have shut him down. But she couldn’t let this go by without giving Brodie the chance to see what else was at stake. This wasn’t about money or about dealing with a lowlife like Kahlil.
Brodie’s reaction was the one she’d expected. Except Kahlil’s request for Game Time wasn’t the whole story. She couldn’t conceal the truth because she’d never be able to live with herself if it came out later that they’d had this chance and she’d made a unilateral decision to snub it. Brodie deserved to know that the truth was on the table. It wasn’t her choice to refuse. Only Brodie could make this decision, and the rest of them would fall in line for him.
Before the window of opportunity closed, she blurted out two words. “Future’s Hope,” she said before he took the final step to the locker room.
He stopped. Shouting it out was insensitive, but the urge to say something had clouded wisdom and the words had rushed out on their own. Locking her fingers together, she wouldn’t let herself fidget as he turned to set his gaze on her.
“You’re good,” he said, but there was nothing happy about his statement. “Art’s gone. Grant’s eating worms… and you’re still digging up shit from my past.”
If Brodie hadn’t given Mischa his real name then he wouldn’t have shared details about the demise of his parents with her. Zara’s knowledge could only have come from the one other person she’d met with that morning. The ire radiating from him suggested that he’d deduced that much. Brodie didn’t like to talk about sensitive topics from his past. The idea that an enemy of theirs could be airing his dirty secrets didn’t embarrass Brodie as much as it pissed him off.
“Kahlil offered more than money,” she said. As her pulse began to speed, she fought the urge to go nearer and console him. With his mood the way it was, he wouldn’t appreciate pandering. Any suggestion that he might be fragile or need support would fuel his anger. Instead of catering to his emotional needs, she appealed to his professional ones by holding up the watch. “He says he knows the truth about what happened to your parents.”
His sneer didn’t hint at interest or hope. “And you believed that?” he asked, becoming snide. “Maybe you should be a blonde.”
Mischa had said that to her. The two of them saying such a thing about her on the same day was no coincidence. “Enjoy discussing me with your ex, did you? Did you have a little chat while you helped her settle into my apartment? The same place you screwed me senseless last night?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She wanted to know what was so special about you that you got to stay at my place.”
“Did she?” Zara asked and folded her arms. Mischa had no tact or restraint, Zara had learned that after spending a few seconds with the woman. In the company of a man she was once intimate with, Mischa’s insensitivity would be even less subtle.
“It’s sure not your ability to call a bluff,” he said. “Kahlil dangled that in front of you because he knew you’d bring it to me and try the soft little innocent tiptoeing to cajole me into falling for his bullshit. He doesn’t know dick, and you weren’t smart enough to notice you were being played. Have you learned nothing?”
Given what she’d told him about her feelings of uncertainty with the Kindred, she didn’t appreciate him asking such a question. But she knew him too well to think that he was expecting an answer, though that didn’t moderate the initial kneejerk reaction of her emotions.
“Stop it,” she said, tensing to take careful breaths because only one of them could afford to be irrational at a time. “You’re lashing out at me ‘cause talk of your parents caught you off guard. It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to be angry about it.”
So much for not dealing with his emotions, it seemed they were too assertive to be ignored. “I’m angry that you let this guy play you,” he said, pointing at her with his sports bottle. “What you’ve seen the Kindred do so far, it’s been Sunday school. It’s going to get harder and dirtier from here. You better up your game if you want to—”
