Page 25 of The Fake Divination Offense
I close my eyes on a soul-deep groan and scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “I think the publicists got enough pictures.” I shove up from the chair. “Forget I said anything. We’ll see each other at the next—”
“I want to perform.”
My gaze hits his. “You want to—?”
“Dance.” He splays his hands. “Sing.Perform. That’s why this arrangement was appealing.”
I don’t sit back down. I should walk away, let this stay something professional, and go home so I can figure out what thefuckI’m going to do about Urzoth now.
“But,” I start, “Ms. Sombercrown said they asked you to audition and you didn’t.”
Alexo picks at the muffin crumbs. It is now that, just a mountain of crumbs. “I had my reasons for not wanting to. But this sort of sponsorship—” He shrugs one thin shoulder, his Hellhounds jacket catching the café light in a sheen. “I couldn’t say no. It solves a number of issues in my life that I didn’t think were possible to solve. The Urzoth patronage is a… security blanket.” Those dark eyes bounce back up to me. “Why did you agree to it?”
Because of you.
Just you.
I bite the inside of my cheek and throw an exasperated look out the glass window—
There’s someone new inside the HQ lobby.
Someone I recognize.
The guy who attacked Alexo at the bar.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I growl.
Alexo stands on his chair’s rung and leans over the table to see who I’m looking at. The moment he spots the guy, he grabs my arm as I try to leave, only the motion has him wobbling precariously. I whip back to steady him, but he’s already overcorrecting, and he ends up toppling off the chair and into my arms.
I catch him. There’s no other choice.
We’re bent to the side, me cradling him like he’s some kind of fainting damsel in distress, one arm braced under him, and he’s got his hand locked around my neck, his breathing fast and hot on my face. His apple scent is corrosively sexy—maybe he’s wearing a pheromone potion. That’s gotta be it.
“Th-thanks,” Alexo stutters.
He’s only about two inches from me. Closer than he’s been yet. And he smellsso goodand those big brown eyes are fucking me up inside, and—
The guy. In the lobby.
How did he find Alexo?
It’s painful to set Alexo down, but I do, straightening his jacket and keeping his back to the window as I throw a glare through the glass.
That guy’s standing there, hands in the pockets of his dirty jean coat. He clocks me through the café window and glowers, upper lip curling in a snarl, but he’s smart enough not to approach.
My instinct is to stomp out there and chuck this asshole into the parking lot.
But Alexo isn’t freaking out. He puts his hand in the center of my chest like he did last night. Only instead of lifting up to kiss my cheek, he shakes his head.
“It’s okay that he’s here,” he says. “He’s harmless. I promise.”
I really thought my brain wouldn’t have anything else to trip over after the unrepentant onslaught ofwhat the fucktoday. But I frown down at Alexo, flipping through his words, their implications, and—
Oh, gods.
“Is he your…” I don’t want to sayboy friend. And it’s entirely because I already feel possessive of the word in relation to the two of us, however play-pretend it is.
My self-hatred is rocketing to levels it hasn’t been at in years.
