As soon as I’m out of her office, my thumbs move speedily on my phone.
Me: What the hell did you tell Friar?
I wait impatiently through the text bubbles, clenching my teeth and growling in my throat.
Stiles: The truth. That I suspect Talon isn’t a team player.
Me: This is none of your concern. Call off Brett. Tell him you’re mistaken.
Stiles: No.
Me: Brett is my client.
Stiles: Mine too. Hunt poses a potential threat to the project.
Me: I’m handling it.
Stiles: So am I, by warning Friar. That’s my job.
His point might be valid, but I’m too frustrated in the moment to concede, so…
Me: ??
Stiles: Is that an invitation for tonight?
Wait!? He wants to see me again. Yass! My teeth unlock, and a giddy grin sweeps across my face. Not that I’ll give him any indication of that.
Me: I have a soccer game.
Stiles: I’ll come over to help you celebrate.
Me: What if we lose?
Stiles: Then I’ll make you feel better.
I hold back my response, letting him sweat.
Stiles: I’ll bring Royal’s for dinner.
I wait another few counts.
Me: In that case, see you at 8:00.
I slip my phone into my pants pocket and wipe the grin away as I approach Talon. “We need to talk. Now.” Without waiting for his response, I go into a private conference room. He follows.
“Thought you weren’t going to cry to Athena?” he says snidely.
I keep the door ajar. “I didn’t.”
“You had Friar’s goon do it for you. Are you fucking him?”
“Excuse me?”
“I saw the way he looked at you…the way he came at me.”
“His job is security, and he thinks you’re a threat to the project.”
“Right.”
