“I’ll go to my office. If you need anything, just call. I have an idea for the logistics—I’ll map out the plan and send it to you by the end of the day.”
“See?” I say to Drako and Apollo. “That’s how you’re useful.”
I gesture toward Atlas as he leaves.
“I prefer it this way,” Drako replies, bent over the coffee table, scribbling something on a Post-it. He straightens up, gives me a wink, and heads for the door as well.
The idiot sticks the Post-it to the inside of the door before leaving.
“Tell Icarus to come in, Apollo.”
“May God have mercy on that soul,” Apollo replies.
Judging by how fast my assistant appears in front of me, I’m certain he’d been standing right outside the door, just waiting for the chance.
“All right, Icarus. Tell me everything and ask all your questions at once. No more going in and out of that door. When we’re done here, I want you to cancel all my meetings. If anyone wants to talk to me, it’ll be by phone or message. Understood?”
Icarus nods, pulls out the chair in front of my desk, and launches into a barrage of demands.
I listen to all of them carefully—and at one point, I bring my fingers to my temples and massage them.
It’s only at the end of the day—long after the time I’d agreed to pick Nina up—that I finally manage to leave the office.
The paper stuck to the inside of my door catches my attention, and I remember Drako placing it there.
When I read it, I regret it.
There’s only one word written on it:
Asshole.
CHAPTER 15
NINA MARCHESI
For the sixth night in a row, I feel my stomach sink as the message lights up my phone screen.
He’s not coming again.
Tonight, however, I don’t put on a smile. I decide to do something else that justifies the effort I made to get ready.
I head straight to my bedroom, ready to take myself apart and drown in the largest mug of fennel tea I can find in this house. My phone vibrates in my hand the moment I kick off my shoes and step barefoot onto the plush rug beside my bed.
Frog:
I’m sorry,Little Fae. I swear I’m doing everything I can and that I hate canceling like this. I promise this is the last time. Things are almost completely under control here. Tomorrow I’ll make it up to you.
A million possible replies race through my mind, but the truth is, I know I don’t have a right to any of them.
We’ve gone out a few times—yes. That doesn’t give me the right to make demands, even if I really am upset that he’s been canceling at the last minute for almost an entire week.
Not even the inside joke of changing his contact name in my phone makes me laugh tonight.
The second time he canceled, I changed it fromNero / PrincetoNero / Not-so-prince-anymore. On the fourth day, I edited it toNero / Turning into a frog. Yesterday, I shortened it toFrog.
Tonight, it isn’t funny.
I exhale sharply before replying.
