Page 50 of Darcy
“Given that I know how much the agency pays you, I doubt it.” Dodger scowls, then waves a hand at the door. “By all means, take it up with Prophet.”
He might as well have told me to argue with a brick wall. I can’t even tell them all the reasons it makes more sense for me to fly with the rest of the crew.
How do you explain you need to integrate with your colleagues so that you don’t draw attention to yourself because you’re actually an assassin?
Part of me is also worried about what everyone else will think. I’ve only been around the band for three days and suddenly I’ve scored a seat on their jet. I’m about to go from invisible to gossip material, and that’s not where any assassin wants to be.
I groan and shove away the sheets that have become tangled around our legs.
“Fine. I’ll talk to Prophet.”
Seventeen
Darcy
“No.”
“No?” I repeat, dumbly.
Prophet’s arms are crossed over his chest and he towers over me with a single brow raised.
I had the perfect argument. I stated my case perfectly, and I’m ready to go. All I need is for him to get out of the way of the elevator. Why is he even awake now, anyway? Don’t tell me he and Dodger are both morning people?
“No.”
“I need to get on that plane,” I insist. “All the other roadies are—”
“You’re booked on our jet. We don’t leave for another two hours.”
“Why? You don’t even want me around!”
His expression doesn’t change, and he doesn’t answer. Apparently, all of his communication points have been used for the day.
“The crew is going to think I’m sleeping my way to a better paycheck and benefits,” I tell him bluntly. “I have to work with them, so I’m damn well going to travel with them.”
“No.”
We’re back to one-word answers again. Great.
“Prophet, let me pass.”
Gentle hands stroke my shoulders, and Dodger pulls me away from the door. “Come and have a hot cup of coffee. There’s no reasoning with him when he gets like this.”
“Dodger, I have to—”
“Even if you left now, you’d have to run to get through security on time. It’s not worth it. Arlo is out grabbing us breakfast,” he cajoles. “And I’m pretty sure he said he was getting orange muffins.”
Oooh… Damn it, that does sound good. I can smell the coffee too.
“Don’t think this is over,” I tell the shirtless wall of muscle guarding the elevator. “You can’t distract me with coffee every time.”
I still don’t understand his problem. He doesn’t want me here, so why stop me getting on a plane?
“You’re going to love our jet,” Slate promises from his spot on the couch.
The bassist has been watching my standoff with Prophet for the last ten minutes, but he’s wisely kept his mouth shut. Now he catches my hand and pulls me down to join him while Dodger hands me my coffee.
“And we can use the extra time to go out and replace the stuff you lost,” Dodger adds. “We owe you that much.”
