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A flash of surprise. “No, little painter. I didn’t.”
“How did you know about the eggs, then?” My plan to observe him from a cool distance is off the rails two minutes in. “Did you ask my friends? Did you get to my family?”
His confusion sharpens into his usual focus. It’s like I’ve been standing in the dark and he’s turned on a spotlight. I’m too hot in this sweater. This is too far. This is way too far.
“Did I know what about the eggs?”
“That I like them scrambled.” I fold both arms over my stomach and force myself not to scream. “Just tell me. Did you have cameras in my apartment? Did I have any—any—” Emerson puts the plate down with a click and comes over to me with long, elegant strides. He braces both my shoulders with his palms. “Did I have any privacy at all?”
That was a guarantee in Leo’s house. Jesus, I was foolish. I spent all that time being pissed off at Leo, and I had everything. He refuses to have those kinds of cameras in his house. I’m dizzy. Sick at the possibilities.
“Daphne.” Emerson’s steady. It would feel good to lean against him, but I don’t. “They’re not for you.”
“My family?”
“The eggs and toast.”
The dizziness pulls back. “They’re not?”
“No. I was going to ask you what you wanted when you came down.” His phone buzzes in his pocket. Emerson keeps one hand on my shoulder and reaches for the phone with the other. Glances at the screen. “Wait here.”
No way. I follow him through the house to the front door. Emerson flips the lock and pulls it open.
“I distinctly remember telling you I didn’t want you here, Sin.”
“Love you too, prick.” A man sidesteps Emerson and comes into the house. It’s one of his brothers. He has Emerson’s eyes, but not Emerson’s light hair. Sin. That’s what Emerson called him. “Look. If—”
“You have to help me.” I’m much louder than I meant to be. Mortifying. “He’s keeping me here, and he won’t let me go. Please. Just help me get out.”
Sin turns his head, startled. His gaze isn’t razor-sharp, like Emerson’s. A faint wrinkle in his brow suggests mild concern. Not a great start. I hold my breath. Maybe he’ll punch Emerson. Or tackle him to the ground. I don’t have shoes on but I’ll still run.
I brace for a hit, my adrenaline kicking in. The door is open. I’d have a shot if Sin distracted Emerson for a few minutes.
Emerson’s brother lets out a sigh, a hand coming up to rub at his forehead. “What the fuck, Emerson?”
“Again. You were under no obligation to come here.”
“Oh, fuck off. You’re not going to call me in the middle of one of your—”
“Sinclair.” The warning in Emerson’s tone makes the hair on my neck stand up.
“I left you alone for a week, and this happens?” Sin shakes his head, then reaches over and pushes the door shut behind him. He flips the lock like it’s his house and not Emerson’s. “You have to tell me when it’s getting this bad, Em. Or—I don’t know. Any fucking human being.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.”
“If I wanted you here, I’d have texted you. Or called.” Emerson takes out his phone, taps something on the screen, and puts it away again. “But since you’ve already—”
“We’re talking about this, jackass. Is she serious?”
“You could ask me instead of him,” I point out, my voice trembling. “And I am serious.”
Sinclair narrows his eyes at Emerson.
Emerson looks flatly back at him.
“Emerson. For the love of Christ.”
