Page 33 of Our Radiant Embers

“Okay.” I inhaled once more before I nodded and shot Adam a sideways glance. Pretty, an erratic thought informed me. “So. We’re ready, right?”

Adam smiled. “We’re ready.”

* * *

The next hour rushed by in stutter-steps, like puzzle pieces that my brain needed to fit together.

The Cabinet Room with its yellow walls and rich brocade curtains, dominated by a massive conference table surrounded by high-backed chairs.

Adam, greeting Cassandra Hartley’s father like an old friend.

How we were at least fifteen years younger than anyone else in the room, responsibilities passed onto us early—normal in a magical community still accustomed to survival of the fittest.

Archer Summers nodding at me from her end of the table.

Adam’s introduction and the warm certainty of his voice that set the tone for our presentation.

Questions we took turns answering, even though I couldn’t have reconstructed a single word I’d said.

When we emerged back onto the road, it was like stepping out of a dream—nightmare or daydream, I didn’t know. We didn’t speak as we walked back to where a small crowd of tourists was gathered in front of the gates, phones waving in pursuit of the ideal angle for a selfie. The guards allowed us outside, and then we were back in the real world where a dog owner picked up after her exuberant poodle and double-decker buses lined up at a red light.

“You all right over there?” Adam asked once we’d stopped a few feet away from the gates.

“I’m not sure.” I shook my head to clear it, but the effect was limited. Reality still seemed to lag by a beat or two. “Like…That did just happen, right? We actually presented our proposal to the Prime Minister?”

“Yep.” Amusement shone in Adam’s voice. “Good job, by the way.”

I blinked at him. “Yeah?”

“Yes. We’ll get the official response on Monday, but I expect Alaric will call me once they take their next break.”

Right. Because Alaric Hartley, shadow advisor to the Prime Minister, expected Adam to marry his daughter. Must be nice to have prospective in-laws in high places.

But also, we’d done it. We’d fucking done it.

The Green Horizon Initiative—one of the biggest urban development projects London had seen in the last decade, and my family was likely to be involved. We could pay off the house, maybe even renovate the kitchen. Add a second floor on top of the workshop, with an actual office for me. Order pizza twice a month.

I couldn’t have done it without Adam.

“Let me buy you a pint.” I’d made the offer before I could compose a mental list of why that was a bad idea—backseat hookups came to mind. Too late, though. “Unless you only drink to drown your sorrows?”

And I’d just made it worse. Go me.

“I don’t, no. Just…” Adam tugged at his tie, eyes darting away. “You want to buy me a drink?”

“That’s what I just said.” I paused, frowning. “It’s not code for blowjobs, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not,” he said quickly.

“Then what’s the big deal?”

“No one’s ever bought me a drink before.”

“No one?” Wow, okay. Learn something new. “Excuse me, but that’s a bit hard to believe. I mean, look at you.”

“I’m rich. People expect me to buy them drinks, not the other way around.”

“I was thinking strangers, more like.”

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