Millie’s chin lifted. She chugged the last of her wine and stood, draping her coat over her arm. “I’ll need a month or so to go through the collection and speak with him about any that he is willing to donate.” A pause in which Millie looked at her phone and opened it up rested between them, and then the demon gave Ana a devious smile. One that held in it more secrecy than Ana had seen the entire afternoon.
”I’ll be in touch, Ms. Smith.”
It wasn’t a moment after Millie had started walking away from her that Ana saw her put her phone to her ear. She considered following her, but figured that would be more suspicious than staying in the bar would be. But it didn’t stop her from listening in on Millie’s short conversation on the phone.
“Are you home?” Millie asked into the phone. There was a pause, another voice responding before she said. “I’m coming over.” And with that, she hung up and pushed on the door so hard that the wall shook.
Ana resisted smiling to herself, resisted celebrating her short-lived triumph. And so, she kicked back the rest of her martini, ordered another one, and then took out a book to read.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SAM FROWNED AT the call coming in on his cell, but answered quickly. “Yeah, Mills?”
“Are you home?” she asked.
He glanced across the table at Rolfe. “We are,” he replied. “Just sat down to eat. You okay?”
“I’m coming over,” she said.
She hung up before Sam could get another word in, and Sam stared at the screen a moment, replaying the urgent tone in her voice.
“Mills is on the way,” he said, causing Rolfe to glare.
“It’s fucking Tuesday,” he grunted. “She doesn’t usually come by at night on a Tuesday.”
Sam shrugged and sipped on his beer. “Not sure.” He thought that was the end of it, but Rolfe threw his napkin on the table and stood.
“What?” Sam asked.
“I don’t make extra food on Tuesdays because she doesn’t come,” Rolfe growled as he made his way to the fridge.
Sam stared at the two trays of smoked pork and venison on the stove, but reminded himself how Rolfe liked to snack at night. Chuckling, Sam flipped open the afternoon paper he’d picked up in town.
Rolfe rummaged through the fridge and the freezer, grumbling the entire time. He finally decided on lemon pepper roasted chicken and green beans to go with the potatoes he still had going in the oven. Sam joked that he made Millie better meals than he made him, to which Rolfe glared and threw his apron onto the chair before leaving the room.
Sam laughed so loudly at his friend’s tantrum that Rolfe actually came back into the room.
“The fuck was that?” Rolfe asked.
Sam settled down, realizing how boldly he’d allowed himself to let go, how good that laugh had felt, and he cleared his throat before kicking his feet back up.
“What?”
“That…” Rolfe walked back to the sheet pan of food and pushed it into the oven, his brows still narrowed as he looked Sam over. “I haven’t heard you laugh like that in a century at least,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with the woman, would it?” he teased.
Sam’s lips tightened into a thin line, and he flicked his paper. “Had a good day, Roll. Don’t ruin it.”
But Rolfe grinned. “Yeah. Right. Good day, my ass,” he said. “She’s already got your laugh back after three weeks of dates… What are you going to do when you fall for her?”
“She doesn’t know who I am,” Sam said as he flipped the page. “There’s no chance of her usual seductions or games. I’m not in danger.”
“That is the biggest fucking lie I have ever heard,” came Millie’s voice from the hall. She appeared in her usual wear for duty uptown, hair perfectly curled, makeup done, in her best black pantsuit. She threw her bag into the opposite chair from Sam and Rolfe, then stared pointedly at her king.
“You are… so fucked,” she told him.
Sam eyed the way she threw her hand to her hip, how her stance radiated frustration.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, creasing the newspaper.
