"I'll work on it," I grumbled. "Your feedback is always appreciated, Acevedo. Even if you're out of your damn mind." I pointed my bottle at the residents gathered near the pantry chalkboard, where they were busy drawing a set of kidneys and arguing over surgical methods. "Perhaps we should ask them to run an EEG on you this week. Maybe a psych consult. You need a good talk session."
He made a sound in his throat, something rude and contrary. "Oh, that would be fun."
"I don't agree with the substance of Acevedo's argument but I think you should consider the overall thesis. Think about it this way, Hartshorn. How did you introduce her tonight? Oh, right. 'This is Stella,'" she said, dropping her voice as she imitated me. "She's Stella. That's it. If I was Stella, I'd be climbing out the guest room window right now and finding a better situation."
I stared at her, unblinking. "You don't believe she's actually doing that."
Alex made a face, something betweenyeah, I totally believe itandwho the fuck knows? and said, "Probably not. I've been on some rough dates and never climbed out a window to escape. Not a second story window, that is."
"Alex," I snapped.
"Cal, chill out," she replied. "I'm sure everything is fine. You're great, she's great, everything is great. But maybe think about framing your relationship in less wishy-washy terms when introducing her to new people. That shit matters, dude."
Nick frowned, jerked both shoulders up. "She's been gone awhile. It's a short drop to the roof of the porch. I figure it's easy enough to make it down from there."
"For fuck's sake, Acevedo." I set my beer bottle on the countertop with as much care as I could muster, glaring at Alex. "And you."
"What did I do?" she asked.
"Nothing," Nick said. Another frown, another shoulder jerk. "You should probably go check on her."
They didn't have to tell me twice. I charged up the stairs two at a time and poked my head into every door I could find. More doors than anyone would ever need. Barren rooms by the dozen. Linen closets, laundry closets, closet closets. And then—finally—Stella standing in an empty bedroom, her phone pressed to her ear, her arm braced against the far window as she stared at the rain.
"Is there any way you can resolve this?" she asked, her voice low. Impatient. "I'm looking for you to handle this situation without my intervention."
I stepped inside, shut the door behind me. She glanced over her shoulder, offering me a tight grin followed by an exaggerated eyeroll. My shoes were soundless against the floor but the old hardwood sent up a creak and grunt as I moved closer to her.
"This is one of those opportunities, Flinn," she continued, "where I'm expecting you to be a problem solver rather than a problem identifier. Before you rattle off a list of everything else you've solved for me, I'd like you to recognize that complete client management doesn't allow you to deal with only the tasks you favor."
I moved closer, settling right behind her and bringing my hands to her shoulders. She was tense, her muscles bunched and tight under my touch. I gathered her hair, shifted it to one side. Dropped a kiss on the newly exposed skin. Then I pressed my thumbs to the base of her neck, kneading as she held the phone away, sighed, whispered, "Oh my fucking god."
But that moment was short-lived. She stiffened as she returned the device to her ear. I leaned into her, dragged my lips from the crook of her neck up to her tender spot behind her ear. Goose bumps rippled down her arms, over her chest. From this vantage point, I saw her nipples harden against the bodice of her dress.
"If anything, me stepping in at this point will only publicly validate the idea you aren't capable of resolving minor crisis situations as they develop," she said, her breath hitching as she spoke. "That's not the path to you identifying yourself as a competent client manager."
Stella paused, listening to the rapid-fire argument coming at her, and I put real effort into loosening those muscles. She shot a glance at me over her shoulder, mouthed, "Thank you."
I responded with another open-mouth kiss and the barest hint of teeth scraping over her neck. That earned another glance, this one hot, wide-eyed.Interested.I was hard before she could blink.
"Listen to me, Flinn. I cannot continue giving you prime chances to lead if you are not willing to take them. I want you to make this better and I want you to do it without me hovering over you. If you need support, get Tatum involved. She's quiet but she makes things happen when they need to." She murmured as he spoke, shook her head. "Call me if the situation does not improveandyou've exhausted the tactics I proposed."
Stella didn't wait for a response. She stabbed the red button on her screen, ending the call, and dropped her head back to my chest.
"That sounded fun," I remarked. "McKendrick?"
"Yeah. Flinn is dealing with it. Somewhat." She blew out a breath. "But my pal Lucian is back on his shit again."
I had to ask, "When is he not?"
"There are moments. Not many of them but they're essential to the preservation of my sanity nonetheless."
"He sees more of you than I do," I said, immediately hating the way those words sounded.
"That's not true," she said with a laugh. "There's plenty of me he hasn't seen."
A growl sounded in my throat. "I rather enjoy it that way."
"No argument from me," she said. "Whatever you're doing back there, keep doing it."
