Page 64 of You Rock My World
“Well.” Marcia stands. “That’s all the advice I can give you. I’ll draft the restraining order, anyway. If you change your mind, I’ll be ready to file immediately.”
“Appreciate it, Marcia.”
“Sure.” She snaps her briefcase shut. “And think about upgrading your security while you’re at it.”
With that, she strides out, stilettos clicking on the floor.
Tessa returns then, trailed by a maid carrying a tray of mugs. I accept mine and take a sip. Mmm—velvety smooth, creamy, perfectly frothed, the kind of coffee that makes you close your eyes to savor it. I get why Alfred’s lattes are so famous.
Tessa takes a long sip, too, then flicks her gaze toward the empty seat beside me. Face grim. “I guess Marcia’s exit means you’re not filing the restraining order.”
“I’m not,” Dorian confirms. “I’d rather focus on how Billie got inside the house.”
He turns to Nick. The only sign that the bodyguard is not, in fact, carved from stone is the fractional shift of his feet as he widens his stance before he speaks, eyes fixed straight ahead. “Sir, we’ve conducted a thorough sweep of the house?—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Nick,” Dorian interrupts. “Take a seat and stop hovering like a bat.”
I would’ve compared him more to a vampire with centuries of honed discipline, but sure.
Nick approaches the table with the gait of a soldier ordered into unfamiliar terrain: rigid, measured, and painfully awkward to watch. He pulls a chair out and sits —ramrod straight, posture impeccable.
He’s about to continue his report when Dorian slides a mug toward him. “And have a latte.”
Nick eyes the mug like it’s a radioactive water ration. “Sir, I don’t really drink lattes.”
Dorian nods. “You will after this.”
The only outward sign of Nick’s discomfort is the faintest flush creeping up his neck. Still, he stoically brings the mug to his mouth and takes a sip.
We watch, silent, waiting until Nick’s eyes widen. Not even the most impervious man on the planet can stop his reaction to the most perfect coffee he’ll ever have.
“Delicious, sir.” When he lowers the mug, a white foam mustache clings to his upper lip, making him look unexpectedly human. He continues his report, saying there were no signs of a forced entrance, but we’re all staring at his mouth. He doesn’t notice at first.
I feel for him since I was in a similar position only last week with my Sharpie mustache.
It takes Nick a minute to catch up. The bodyguard stops, looks around, and exhales. “I have a foam mustache, don’t I?”
We nod, biting back laughter.
Nick indulges in another, longer sip, this time deliberately swiping his tongue over his upper lip. “Worth it.” He places the mug down with a satisfied grunt.
Ah. So definitely human.
Dorian turns serious again. “If there were no signs of forced entry, how’d she get in?”
Nick explains how an old garage fob was never deactivated, but that all access devices have been updated now so Billie won’t be able to just use her old keys.
Dorian nods, satisfied. “Perfect.”
Nick stands and makes to return to his spot by the wall, but before going, he stops and takes his latte with him. The rest of us share a quiet laugh.
After that, the meeting is adjourned.
As the others file out, Nick included, I sidle up to Dorian. He pulls me into a hug. His arms tight around me.
I breathe him in. “I missed you.”
His chin rests on top of my head, his voice teasing. “Sure you didn’t dream about Cassian last night?”
