Page 49 of Double Apex

I shrug as if the relief isn’t killing me. “Sure, cool.”

He reaches across the table for my hand. I pause mid-chew, then lay my fingers over his palm, tentative as a child surrendering a shoplifted item.

“I want you to be happy,” he tells me, looking into my eyes in a way so significant-feeling that it freaks me out. I don’t mean romantic—Klaus has never gone there, period. It just seems he’s trying to tell me something indirectly.

I poke at a sesame seed in my molar, brow furrowing as I study his lean, handsome face and glittering eyes. My stomach drops as a horrible thought occurs to me:Is it too late? Is the deal done, and Mo hasn’t told me?

“What do you mean?” I manage, my nose prickling with the threat of tears. “Are you firing me?”

His open-hearted laugh—something I haven’t heard in a while—is the best sound, and my shoulders relax as I crack a smile to mirror his.

“Ah, Schatzi.No.” He closes one eye and shakes a finger at me. “You’re a pessimist. Kind words are not always the sugar hiding a bitter pill.”

15

MONTRÉAL

PHAEDRA

I’d take kind wordsorbitter ones from Nat at this point, but by day’s end there’s still nothing. Silence.

The fact that she doesn’t bother replying despite my mention of Mo being sick settles a cold realization in my stomach: I need this friendship more than she does. All these years I’ve thought I was the alpha and she was the sidekick—the arrogance of being a child prodigy!

Humility is a bitch.

I’ve been back at my hotel room for a half hour and have changed into sleep shorts and a tank top. I’m pacing, drinking Glenmorangie and soda while eating a barge-size bar of salted-caramel-filled chocolate and keeping an ear out for Ardelean, who has the suite kitty-corner from mine.

When I hear the elevator, I walk to the door and press myeye to the peephole. Seconds later a blond blur passes, and his door opens and closes.

Reece is staying just down the hall. I don’t think she’s in her room yet, but I can’t risk any chance of her seeing me knocking at Cosmin’s suite, especially half-dressed. I shoot off a text to him.

Open your fucking door.

The read receipt pops up, and I hear his room click open a moment later.

Dropping my phone on the bed, I charge into the hall and beeline to where Cosmin stands in his doorway. He’s opening his mouth to say something when I smack his chest hard with both palms, letting out a furious sound between a growl and a screech, teeth clenched. He stumbles back, hands raised, and I follow him inside, delivering a harder shove.

“What was that bullshit this morning?” I demand, hands fisted at my sides. “‘Bloodless’?”

He takes a deep breath and releases it in a nervous chuckle.

“Don’t you laugh at me!” I snarl, shooting my arms out to slam into his chest again. “This isn’t funny!” Another punch-shove.

He snatches my wrists as I’m preparing to double slug him again. “Stop that this instant.”

Baring my teeth, I kick his ankles while wrenching to escape. I’m apoplectic with indignation that he’s holding my arms—despite the hypocrisy, since I’m basically punchinghim—and muttering inarticulate fragments as my bare feet jab him.

“Don’t you… Motherfucker, I’ll… What are?… Okay, that’s it, you son of a…grrrrr!Let me go… I willend you!”

I get frustrated enough at the restraint that I pull his arms closer in the hopes of delivering a bite.

That seems to be a line in the sand for Cosmin when he spots my intention, because he barks out “Hey!” just before ducking to flop me over his shoulder like the caveman he joked about being when we were in Santorini. Except this caveman isn’t playing a sexy game.

He strides to the bed, and I yank his shirt up in back to get at bare skin. The “red mist” has descended, and I’m not sure how to dial it back. It’s as if everything that’s ever hurt me is going to be punished through Cosmin, and I’m beyond caring whether that’s fair.

I manage one good rake, though my fingernails aren’t long.

“Ai de pula mea!” Cosmin gasps. The hand he has wrapped around my left ankle tightens reflexively, and I explode into rage, flailing like a lunatic, loose hair roiling around me. I only dimly register the very real possibility that I might fall and be injured.

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