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My phone buzzes. I answer the incoming call from Joel. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. Sorry to interrupt your work?—”
“I went for a run, actually. Now I’m grabbing a coffee before heading back.”
“Oh, cool. Well, I just got the okay for you to travel with us tomorrow. If you want.”
I pause. The door behind me chimes, and Knox strolls in. The fucker isn’t even red in the face, unlike me. Just because my pulse didn’t speed up doesn’t mean my flush decided to stay home. No, I canlookat an exercise machine and my face will flame.
He stops behind me, in line for the cash register, and ignores me. I keep one eye on him, although he pulls his phone out and starts typing.
“Aurora?” Joel asks.
“I suppose I could travel with you,” I reply. “I’ve never been on a private jet before.”
Knox’s attention flicks to me, his brows lowering in a classic scowl.
Joel chuckles. “You’ll enjoy it. If you don’t mind some of the guys acting like heathens. But it’ll be more comfortable than flying separately, and we’re flying back the same day.”
Oh. “I kind of assumed you’d be staying over.”
“We’ve got press this week. Anyway, I’ve got a meeting with PT. See you tonight?”
“Yeah, of course. Love you.”
“Love you, sugar,” Joel answers.
“Love you,” Knox mocks under his breath as soon as I hang up. “I’d love to put that to the test.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He smiles.
Bait taken.Shit. This is familiar, too. A weird, awful sense of déjà vu, except it used to be harmless bets. Now… not so much.
“Yeah,sugar.”
Great, he heard that.
His smile turns into a sneer. “You tell him that you’re married to me. See what he says. And if he leaves you high and dry, well… I guess you’ll have deserved it for lying in the first place.”
The barista at the register calls for the next person.
“That’s you,” Knox prods.
I step up and order my usual. I’ve barely finished my sentence when Knox orders for himself.
“You’ve got this, right,babe?”
I wrinkle my nose. He moves past me to the pick-up spot. He ordered a cold brew with an extra shot of espresso and cold foam, which kind of sounds good but also… what the fuck? The barista eyes him, then me, and I roll my eyes and pay.
But I definitely don’t stand next to him to wait. In fact, I stand about as far away as possible.
“Rory,” a barista calls.
I move faster than Knox, maybe on the fact that he wasn’t expecting the newish nickname out of her mouth, and pick up both cups. I hurry to the exit, gripping both. Because he’s a psychopath, he follows.
“That’s mine,” Knox calls.
