Page 84 of Dead Wrong

“And what do you do for them, exactly?”

“I am an ambassador of the Adored,” I explained. “So, mostly, I do this. I entertain those designated by the Council and help them feel comfortable in the city. It can be overwhelming for those that live outside of the hustle and bustle.”

“Ah, so you party for a living, then?”

“That’s a bit of an oversimplification?—”

“I’ve never met an Adored before. At least none who identified themselves as such. But now that I think about it, you certainly fit the mold of what I expected.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bastien motioned to the surrounding restaurant.

“Oh, come now,” I said, my words tinged with exasperation. “What would you have preferred? Some dirty little watering hole with loud music and drinks that peel paint off the floor?”

“Sounds like a better time, to be honest.”

“Then why did you agree to come tonight?” I asked, anger flaring before I could contain it.

Bastien set down the menu once more, his eyes narrowing at me. “Maybe I thought I saw something else. Something that made me believe you were a different person.”

The maître d’ returned, setting down our glasses, but Bastien was already standing up. He pulled a billfold from his pocket, handing a bill over to the man. “Thanks for the tea,” he said, pushing his chair in.

“Wait, Bastien,” I started, but he was already turned, heading for the exit. The maître d’ gave me a confused look, but I just told him to put the items on my tab and bolted after the barista.

Outside, the wind whipped up, blowing the tails of my coat around me. Snow blustered into the air, blinding me momentarily, till I was able to spot the dark figure stalking away down the sidewalk.

“Bastien!” I called after him, careful to avoid the icy patches on the pavement beneath me. The figure didn’t stop moving, so I called out again, “Bastien! Please, just a moment of your—” My foot slipped out from under me, and I crashed to the ground, landing on my tailbone as the wind was knocked from my lungs.

This halted the figure, and they turned around, slowly approaching the spot where I landed. He leaned over me, fighting a smile as he offered me a hand. “That looked painful.”

“It was.” I took his hand, and he hefted me to my feet with ease. “Thank you.”

He dusted the snow from my shoulders. “Don’t mention it.”

“I am sorry about before,” I continued, ignoring the pulsing aches from my fall. “I realize that I’m used to entertaining a very specific crowd, and I foolishly assumed you would fall into that category. That was my mistake.”

Bastien took a step back from me, folding his arms across his chest. “Do you know why I finally approached you at the café?”

“I assume it wasn’t because of my devilish good looks?” I joked, my face still hot with embarrassment.

“You came in every day for two weeks, Tobias. You weren’t exactly being subtle. And for the most part, I treated you like any other regular customer. Learn your order. Make small talk. Figure out how to get you to leave a bigger tip. The usual. I watched you flirt your way through at least four different men during that time, each of them handsome and well-dressed and drooling over you like you were the most succulent meal.”

He moved closer, fixing my tie, then pulling the fabric of my vest with a quick tug. “After our chat, when you asked me to dinner, all I could think about was how different I was from those men. How you obviously had a type, and I was the farthest thing from it. So, I turned you down and I thought that would be the last of it. But you showed up again the next day. And the day after that.”

“I’m impeccably consistent.”

“Mhm,” Bastien hummed with a nod. “But do you know what changed my mind about you?”

“I’m hoping you don’t say my ability to walk on sidewalks without falling.”

“It certainly wasn’t your sense of humor,” Bastien answered, another smile playing across his lips. He stepped closer again, his words bursting into the air with puffs of steam. “Three days ago, you were sitting in the café. You looked irritated as you kept checking your watch, so I assumed that your man-of-the-hour must have been running behind. As you sat, staring a hole through the front door, one of our regulars came in and took the seat next to you. Gladys is her name. She comes in every Tuesday and enjoys a pot of oolong tea and a good book. She used to come in with her husband, Timothy, until he passed away last spring.”

I wracked my brain for the interaction, trying to place a face with the description.

“When I delivered her teapot to the table, you’d already scooted closer to her, discussing the book she’d brought in that day. When I checked in on her an hour later, you were still there, engrossed in conversation. You seemed… different. The haughty façade stripped back to reveal a tenderness I hadn’t seen before. That’s the person I wanted to go out with tonight. The man who would spend his afternoon entertaining a lonely widow. So, if you think there’s a chance that man is still available, I’d love to go find a—how did you put it? Dirty watering hole?”

I stared back at the man, feeling vulnerable for the first time in what felt like forever. Had he been watching me as intently as I’d been watching him?

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