Page 136 of The Trade

“Well, he wants you to call him.”

“Probably just wants to talk about the paper.” I swipe my phone off the nightstand, hovering over Garrett’s unopened message. “Fall term starts in two weeks, so we might need to start hammering things out.”

“Yeah.” He gives a humorless snort. “I’m sure that man would love to hammer things out with you.”

“Ew, stop.” I stifle a gag. West already knows that nothing happened between us—past, present, and certainly not future. “I told you he’s in a relationship. He has a partner, whom heliveswith.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively.

I tuck my credit card, some Carmex, and our hotel key into a transparent bag. Phone in hand, we head out the door.

“Should I call him on our way to the game or just wait until tomorrow?”

“How about you just wait until school starts?” he grumbles. “I’m sure Garrett would love if you did his job for him, just like the end of last term.”

“That’s not how it was.” I thread our fingers together. “We were a team.”

We enter the elevator at the end of the hall, and he punches the lobby button, perhaps just a tad too forcefully. “Yeah, a team where he’s the editor in chief and you’re doing the grunt work without an official title or rank.”

“When you put it that way.” I stiffen as his thumb presses into my palm, a silent sign of reassurance. “Um, maybe I’ll just call him now—see what he wants.”

“Sure.” He pats his back pocket. “Should I order the Uber?”

“I forgot to tell you Ace sent a car for us. They should be here to pick us up—” I pause for a moment, double-checking the time. “—about five minutes ago.”

“God damn it.” His grip tightens around my fingers. “I owe him enough for this trip already.”

“You don’t owe him anything. He’s glad to do it.”

The elevator dings open, effectively cutting off his continued grumbling. We hustle through the lobby hand in hand, and he tugs me close as we slide through the revolving doors.

Once we make it outside, there’s a black SUV waiting for us at the portico, engine idling. West hastily pulls open the back door, and we both rush to slip inside.

This whole thing, from the driver in the tailored suit to the heated leather interior, is some Mica Jennings luxury bullshit. I’m certainly not accustomed to it, but I’m also not complaining.

I nudge West’s thigh with my knee. “I’m gonna call him now.”

“Go ahead, baby.”

I slide one finger over Garrett’s contact with a sense of resignation. As expected, he picks up on the first ring. “Warner speaking.”

“Hi, you wanted me to call?”

His voice booms through the speaker, businesslike, curt. “Yeah, I need you back on campus next week.”

“What?” My brow crinkles. “I’m not planning on coming back until the Saturday before term starts.”

“As co-editor in chief this year, I need you here for planning purposes.”

A stunned silence falls over me. “As what now?”

“Co-editor.”

I can’t help but shake my head, although I know he can’t see me. “No, I heard you the first time, but I’m a little confused. Since when am I co-editor?”

Beside me, West comes alive, his eyes darting in my direction, searching my face for answers I can’t give. I shrug, lost in the same confusion he must be feeling.

Garrett’s voice returns, methodical and plain. “I thought it was intuited after all our teaming last term.”

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