“Better you than me,” he declared, clamping a hand on my shoulder before heading out toward the front door.
“You’re not taking those fucking either,” I growled at Fenway who was holding up my cufflinks to the light in my office, having completely forgotten the pendulum.
Maybe I should have avoided answering my fucking phone.
This was the kind of night that not enough coffee existed for.
Then, as I moved in to get to work, the oddest thought crossed my mind.
I’d much rather have stayed on that sidewalk all night with Aven.
But I couldn’t have that.
I had the annoying presence of Fenway Arlington to keep me company instead.
That was, until Aven came to the doors, beating on them with her fists, hysterically calling my name.
And bleeding.
SEVEN
Aven
There was someone outside my house.
I mean, to be fair, they weren’t exactly hiding the fact that they were here. Which was maybe even weirder.
The all black SUV – literally, even all the usual metal accents on the thing were black – with blackout windows, was parked just a few feet to the side of my house.
The door slam was what made me realize someone was here in the first place.
I had, foolishly, jumped up, heart fluttering, belly flip-flopping, hoping that it was Quin.
I had even entertained the idea enough to run – and slide – across my living room toward the front window without my trusty bat or frying pan to look out the window.
But the man who came out of the SUV was decidedly not Quin. Neither was it one of the men I had met in his office – Kai, Lincoln, Finn, or Smith.
He seemed not at all concerned about anyone seeing him as he lazily moved toward the back of the SUV, went inside, and came back with flashlights, and a backpack that he slung over his shoulder before slamming the car and heading up toward my house.
I jumped back from the window, my heartbeat starting to hammer in my chest as I scrambled toward my coffee table where I had my phones, then back toward the kitchen, grabbing the frying pan off the counter.
I called up Quin, waiting, but there was nothing.
How was there nothing?
He seemed glued to his phone.
I hung up, tried again, moving to the window over my sink in the kitchen, looking out as the man walked casually around my yard like he somehow belonged there.
But it went to the voicemail yet again.
On a frustrated, pathetic whimpering growl, I tucked the phone in my pocket, running toward the front door while calling Mackey in my excited ‘wanna go outside?’ voice.
He lifted his head off the couch, slowly moving his front feet on the floor, doing a languid stretch complete with an epic yawn, before padding over toward me, his nails clicking a bit on the hard floor, making me wonder for the second how the hell I could trim them without losing a hand.
“Gotta go out? Gotta go do the good boys?” I asked, making my voice super cheery, making him scratch at the door impatiently. If I riled him up enough, he would run out like a wild beast, barking excitedly. “Gonna get the squirrel? Go get the squirrel,” I demanded, throwing open the door, listening to him sounding like a bat out of hell.
“Don’t have to literally release the hounds, doll,” a deep, attractive voice called. “If I were here to hurt you, you’d be hurt already. I am pretty sure I announced my presence loudly enough.”
He had been doing that on purpose?
Why?
“Who are you?” I shot back, watching the shadow move, his white shirt not exactly hiding him away.
The flashlight moved in his hand, angling the light upward to illuminate his face. “Gunner.”
“Gunner?” I asked, brows drawing together.
“I work with Quin,” he explained, sounding annoyed to have to do so. Like I was the inconvenience. Meanwhile, I was choking on my own heart.
What an asshole.
I guess there had to be one in every office.
“And you’re on my property without asking because…”
I moved to step out the door, reaching to hold my burner in one hand, the frying pan in the other.
“Oh,” he said, lips twitching in a not unpleasing way. “Are you gonna fry me up some eggs, doll? Over medium. Got any rye bread for toast? I like it dry.”
I sputtered for a moment. Genuinely sputtered. Because, really, how could anyone predict such words spoken to them by some random hot guy trespassing on their property.
“I’m not going to cook you breakfast,” I managed when my brain could catch up with the moment.
“Well, no,” he agreed, nodding, doing more of that kinda hot lip twitching thing. “It would be breakfast-for-dinner at this hour, wouldn’t it? Unless you want me to stay the night…”
“I want you off my property,” I countered. He might have had arms that looked like they could crush skulls for funsies, but if there was anyone I wanted to stay over, it was his boss, not him.