Page 98 of Double Apex

28

ABU DHABI

EARLY DECEMBER

PHAEDRA

I send the printed email up to Klaus through the front desk when I check in. On the back of the envelope, I writeCall me.

Shuffling exhausted through the lobby, riding the elevator, and walking down the hallway to my room, my gaze discreetly sweeps the surroundings for Cosmin, not wanting to be caught blatantly hunting for him in case he spots me first. I’m as nervous as a middle schooler scanning the lunchroom for an eyeful of her crush.

My flight came in late, local time. It’s dark—eight in the evening on Friday here, only eleven a.m. in North Carolina. The flight was fourteen hours, and I can’t sleep worth a damn on a plane even in first class.

I’m lying on the bed in my suite on Emerald’s reserved floorof the hotel—staring at the ceiling and trying to summon the energy to take a shower—when my phone buzzes.

Klaus

20:07

Meet me in the lobby, please. 15 mins.

“Oh, fuck a duck,” I say, sighing and rubbing my eyes before remembering I put mascara on. “Phone call maybe, Klausy?”

I rub my black-smudged fingertips on the front of my shirt, then haul myself to my feet and hurry into the shower. Five minutes later my wet hair becomes a braid with a tip that drips onto the left boob of myCAMPSOH-CAH-TOA T-shirt, and I’m not getting any fancier than yoga pants (which—surprising no one—have never seen the inside of a yoga studio).

The Department of Culture and Tourism should hire Klaus for a side hustle in ads where he stands and looks regal in Abu Dhabi’s priciest hotels, because if I didn’t know he’s naturally suave without trying, I’d swear he’s doing a bit.

He’s in a tailored suit, his wavy hair tumbles over an elegant brow, and he’s holding a saucer while tipping a cup of espresso (evening espresso! so bold!) to his shapely lips, gazing pensively out the hotel’s front window.

As he sees me walking across the lobby, he hands the cup and saucer to a hotel employee who gives a little bow before scurrying away. He’s so thoroughly the embodiment of a commercial that he almost needs a string quartet soundtrack.

I walk up and am taking in a breath to serve up a helping of sass, teasing him for being a perfect handsome son of a bitch, when I see his eyes are red. My mouth freezes mid-snark.

“Schatzi.” He pulls me into an embrace.

I stand with my arms hanging dumbly, unsure how to respond. Finally I give him a pat on the lower back—Klaus is like a hundred feet tall, so I only come to mid-chest on him. His cologne makes my heart ache because it reminds me of Mo, even though Klaus’s cologne probably costs as much as a tractor trailer full of Brut by Fabergé.

He pulls back and, gently holding my arms, nods toward the door. “Shall we walk by the waterfront?”

“Uh, sure.”

It’s warm outside the climate-controlled hotel, and before we even get to the railing near the water, Klaus has removed his jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbows, displaying gym-toned arms. He slings his jacket over one shoulder and leans on the railing.

“Being shamed by the dead is humbling,” he tells me. “And also defeating, because there is no way to tell them they were right.”

I snort. “Most people would say that’s a plus.”

“The irony,” he continues, staring at the water, “is that I would have agreed with Edward, had he made his opinion clear.”

“Yeah, well. You know how Mo was. The same thing that made him a good father made him a good team owner—his leadership strategy was ‘questions, not commands.’”

“I thought I was reading him correctly and giving him what he was reluctant to ask for: your return to North Carolina. I wasn’t truly worried about you losing your head over Cosmin. It was an excuse to send you home, which is why I didn’t bring HR into it. I always felt it was more of a personal matter than a professional one.”

“I agree, but I could hardly stick a finger in everyone’s eye and be like, ‘Hey, the rest of you keep your lusty little paws off each other, but there are different rules for me.’”

Klaus gives me his “smize” side-eye. “As your business partner, it’s my recommendation we omit that clause from contracts going forward. It was already in effect when Edward bought the struggling Montrose Racing team and changed the name to Emerald. Fletcher Montrose was a moralist. But that stipulation has no place in a team that treats its members as adults.”

“For fuck’s sake, Klaus. It might’ve been helpful for you to mention this a few months ago.” I shake my head with a grim laugh. “But I suppose you had to buffalo both Mo and me a little to get us to do what we wanted to anyway.”

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