“Bed. Now.”
His mouth twitched. “Bossy.”
“Part of the job.”
My bedroom door clicked shut and I let out a breath, rubbing slow circles over Hazel’s back as I reached for a bottle.
One wall between us. I could still hear him moving around in there. Could picture him climbing into bed, that infuriating smirk still on his face.
I pressed my forehead against Hazel’s.
Six days.
I could survive six days.
Probably.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
GRIFFIN
Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap.
The chopsticks made a satisfying crack against the edge of the hotel breakfast plate. I drummed out a rhythm I couldn’t name, staring at the remains of my lunch while Hazel dozed in her Moses basket beside the table.
Twenty-four hours in Singapore. One day of being trapped in this beige suite with its beige walls and beige carpet and I was already crawling out of my skin.
I’d already done my training. Woke at five, ran intervals on the hotel gym treadmill until sweat soaked through my shirt and my lungs screamed. Worked through my neck routine until the muscles trembled. Then I’d come back here, showered, tried to sit still.
It hadn’t worked.
Violet had taken Hazel to Jewel this morning to check out the indoor waterfall attraction at Changi Airport. She’d texted mephotos of Hazel with that unfocused newborn stare like she was trying to figure out what the noise was.
Meanwhile, I’d been trapped thirty floors up. Alone. Because Griffin Michaels couldn’t take his own nine-week-old daughter to see a bloody waterfall without some prick with a camera turning it into tomorrow’s headline.
Can’t even take my kid out in public.
Down in the lobby, I’d watched families wander through. Parents with toddlers heading to the zoo, the gardens, normal places where normal people did normal things. And here I was, hiding like some kind of fugitive.
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
“Are you trying to summon a demon?” Violet asked, her voice strained. “Or just testing my patience?”
I didn’t stop. “Neither.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Thinking.”
“Think quieter.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She snapped her book shut. “Griffin.”
I set the chopsticks down with exaggerated care, meeting her gaze. “Better?”
“Marginally.” Her eyes narrowed, that sharp, assessing look she got when she was trying to figure me out. “What’s wrong with you?”
