I keep my arms folded protectively over my chest as I turn around.
“I didn’t for—” Monty’s words are interrupted by the opening of the break room door.
Brad Folger steps into the hall, a startled sound escaping his lips as he finds Monty beside the open door. He recovers from his momentary fright with a look of recognition. “Ah, Mr. Phillips. It’s been a while. How do you do?”
Monty’s eyes remain locked on mine. “Fuck off, Brad. I didn’t forget.”
Brad blanches, his gaze swiveling from Monty to me and back again, before he scurries down the hall, shoulders hunched.
“I didn’t forget,” Monty repeats once Brad is out of sight.
Silence stretches between us, punctuated by the buzz of Araminta’s wings. She hovers in the air, gaze volleying back and forth much like Brad’s did, but without an ounce of his sheepish self-awareness.
The hunter in me lowers her defenses. “All right.”
He takes a step closer, his expression wary. Questioning. I’ve hardly ever seen him looking anything but confident. A corner of his mouth quirks, but it isn’t his usual dashing smirk. This smile is softer. Less sure. “I’m sorry, Daph. I was an asshole the last time we saw each other. Let me make it up to you.”
I squeeze my arms tighter, hoping I can hide how much his words soften my heart. “How do you intend to do that?”
He takes his stack of papers out from under his arm and extracts a fountain pen from his jacket pocket. I watch as he leans against the wall, tucking his cigarillo behind his ear and uncapping his pen with his teeth. My lips part involuntarily as my eyes narrow on what I can see of his canines. Why does the sight of them make my heart quicken so pleasantly? He scribbles something on the back of one of his papers, drawing my attention to the flex of his knuckles, the length of his fingers, the ease with which he holds his pen.
Were Monty’s hands always so…handlike?
He stops writing and thrusts the paper toward me, snapping me out of my reverie.
I accept the page and assess his messy scrawl. It’s an address for somewhere in town.
My gaze lifts to his. “What the hell is this?”
“I overheard what you said. You’re looking for a model, right? I have a solution that’s far better than anatomy classes or propositioning random coworkers. Go to this address tonight at nine.”
I shrink down, hackles raised. “This isn’t an orgy, is it?”
“What’s an orgy?” Araminta says, landing on my shoulder. “Can I come?”
“Why does everyone expect me to take people to orgies? No, Daph, it’s…better than that. Just trust me.”
“I’m not going to some unknown address alone.”
“Bring a friend.”
“I don’t…” I can’t bring myself to admit I don’t have many friends. None that live in town, at least.
Monty tucks his bundle of papers back under his arm and recaps his pen. Holding my gaze, he steps closer. So close I can almost smell the clean linen of his shirt.
I bristle, expecting him to pat my head the same way he did when we last saw each other.
Instead, he keeps his hands to himself. “I’ll see you tonight. We’ll catch up, all right?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He just winks and saunters off.
I frown as I watch him walk away. Even after he’s gone, I’m unsure what to make of everything that just happened.
I saw Monty again.
He was…nice to me.
And he has a solution to my model problem?
I stare at the address again, noticing the faint lettering coming from the other side. I turn the paper over and find the title page of a book calledAsk Gladys: How to Play the Game of Love and Win.
