I blink.
Of course, I’d heard of him once or twice, but every time Baxter’s name was mentioned, it was always in hushed whispers. “Baxter? Mag’s dad?”
She nods, throwing back the rest of her drink like she needs it, pronto.
Weird.
None of Paige’s research turned up any major scandal. I’m beginning to hope she never takes a job as a researcher.
“What happened?” I ask. “If you don’t mind me—”
“I do mind, actually, and that’s all you’re going to get, and even that you didn’t hear from me,” Ruby says, a sharp look in her eye.
Jeez Louise. Why is everyone so freaking secretive about this terrible dungeoned secret?
Turning, I’m ready to flee for the hall, when she says, “Sabrina?”
I look back at her.
“Like I said. Keep a buffer. Don’t be too friendly or chatty with anyone. You’re a fabulous, talented assistant. I didn’t expect you to last longer than a week, originally, but you’ve proved me wrong every step of the way. For everyone’s sake, remember—Magnus Heron hates rumors.” Frowning, she glances down at her phone, shaking the screen. “This stupid thing froze again?”
The digital timer on her screen has to be running at least five minutes behind.
Broken clock.
Another echo of the omen from Hugo.
Swallowing a sick lump in my throat, I head out to the lobby, eager to get away from it all.
My phone buzzes in my purse, so I pull it out. There’s a text from Mag.
Armstrong has the night off. I’ll send my stand-in driver if you want to leave early.
I smile and text back. Ty. That would be great.
He sends back a phone number a second later to get a ride. While I’m waiting, I can’t resist sending one more message.
Are you okay, M.?
I wait, the car comes, and then I wait some more back at the hotel.
Magnus never responds.* * *The worst part is, the conference is far from over.
The next morning, we return to it as a group. I don’t get a chance to talk to Mr. Snarlypants in the limo. He’s nestled securely between Ruby and Hugo.
A couple of guys from marketing sit across from him with Dave the Sales Guy. They’ve pulled up charts on tablets and they’re going over some campaign pitch.
But before the conference starts, I find him in the same coffee line at this barista stand outside the main venue.
“Still hanging in there? You were pretty upset last night,” I say, curling a strand of loose hair around my fingers.
Heron takes his scorched black coffee from the barista and looks at me. His body stiffens and his face is hard, and I know I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
“I’m fine,” he says without a flicker of lingering anger. “Make sure you get today’s notes in a Google document, so you can share them with me later.”
Without another word, he walks off.
Wow. What a ray of sunshine...but I guess it’s something that he’s not hurling lightning bolts?
He stormed out, causing a scene, left me there, and now it’s like it never happened?
He’s the same arrogant jackass I met in the park a month ago.
I find Angie and sit with her, wanting as much space as possible between myself and Magnus Heron.
Of course, I’m careful to record all the notes he asked for in the cloud ever so carefully. There’s no point in poking a very strange bear.
Later, there’s a luncheon, and Magnus approaches the table we’ve occupied.
He stands behind the empty chair next to me and stares down. Then he places his hand on the back of the chair and leans in, like he’s about to say something.
“Yes?” I smile up at him, and we lock eyes.
It’s a hint of the same unexpected magnetism from last night when he gave me that pep talk, when he touched me, only...it’s mingled with something darker.
I wait, but he doesn’t even grunt.
His face firms, and he walks away.
What the actual fuck? He’s like this brooding beast from one of Mom’s books. I never thought those guys actually existed.
But somehow, I don’t think their assistants are the ones who wind up stuck with their BS.
“Are you okay?” Angie asks, sipping her soda, looking over the cup with concern.
I look up at her and realize I’ve been staring after Magnus the whole time.
I shake my head. “I’m fine. Why?”
“Umm—you look like you’re ready to punch someone, and you sighed really long just now,” Angie says.
Did I? No wonder she’s concerned.
I didn’t even notice we’re not alone at the table anymore. A few more HeronComm co-minions have joined us.
“Did he hear me?” I whisper. Crap. I didn’t mean to ask. “I mean, not that I care, but—”
“No, of course, you don’t.” Angie grins.
I nod, still trying to catch a subtle glimpse of the boss out of my peripheral vision, hating that I care so much.
“Relax, he was already gone,” she whispers.