“What?How much?” he snaps, and it’s low and lethal. His face stays stoic, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Frustration? Disappointment? Something that screamsNot my problem, but here I am anyway.
“Five thousand?” he says and then lets out this dry laugh that gives me chills. “Come on, P. You’re better than this.”
Who’s P? Why do they need five grand?
Is this a mob thing? It feels like a mob thing.
Kai curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll take care of it. But you owe me.Again.”
And that’s when it happens. Without even turning, without so much as a glance, he says, “You know, it’s rude to eavesdrop.”
“I wasn’t —” I start to defend myself, except my voice cracks halfway through the sentence. Great. Real convincing, Adeline.
Kai finally turns to look at me, his multi-coloured eyes locking onto my green ones with an intensity that feels like it’s meant to flay me alive.
I instantly wish I could disappear into my locker. Or the floor. Or the abyss.
God, I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that.
He hangs up the call without another word, tucks his phone away, and takes a step toward me. “You should probably thank Liam,” he says smoothly. “For the meal card.”
I blink. “What?”
“For the card,” he repeats, slowly. “He’s the one who insisted on it.”
I frown, caught off guard. “But why would he do that? I don’t even need —”
“If what you’re about to say is ‘I don’t even need it’, I beg you to re-evaluate,” Kai cuts in with something like exasperation.
I bite the inside of my cheek. Right. Of course I need it. I know that.
But still. I don’t like owing people things that I can’t pay back.
I open my mouth, about to argue. About to say something —anything—to regain the upper hand. Or at the very least, preserve what little dignity I have left.
Maybe I’m about to lie again. I wouldn’t put it past myself.
But instead.
Instead, I say, quietly, “Sorry.”
He looks at me for a long moment, unreadable, and then lets out a slow breath, like he’s disappointed in something. Maybe me.
Kai studies me like he’s dissecting something beneath glass. And then he laughs. It’s a quiet, humourless laugh. “Sorry for
what?”
I look down, throat tightening. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” he says, tilting his head slightly, “at least you’re honest about that.”
I glance back up. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
His lips twitch into something that could be mistaken for a smirk. “That depends. You want one?”
“No,” I say flatly, because I really don’t. Not from him.
A beat passes, my skin prickling under his gaze.
