I shot him awhat the hellglare.
Saint shrugged and strode to the door again.
“Wait. I mean, don’t disappear, okay?”
“Yes, boss.”
He fucked off anyway.
I sighed and brought the phone to my ear. “Hey.”
“Hello.”
“Sorry about that. I was trying to pin Saint down.”
“Was it fun?”
“No.”
“Hmm. I think maybe you should change your approach.”
“Did you call just to wind me up about him?”
“I did not call for anything. I am returningyourcall.”
Fuck.What was it about the two of them that turned my brain upside down? I wanted to bang my head on the table.
I wanted to banghim.
Alexei.
And Saint.
Fuck.
“Are you okay?”
Alexei spoke quietly and without the dry amusement that seemed to colour most of his vernacular when it came to me.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah—actually, no. But it’s nothing you can help me with right now.”
“You would be surprised how helpful I can be.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“Oh, but you do.” The sound of a tapping keyboard filtered down the line. I pictured Alexei at his kitchen counter, bottom lip caught in his teeth as he frowned at his laptop screen and bantered in French to old ladies in Paris about their pension woes. At least, that was what he’d told me he was doing.
For all I knew, he was speaking Greek and plotting my death.
Or Italian.And there it was, the truth in his playful accusation that away from the bubble we’d found in the bedroom, I still didn’t trust him and he fucking knew it.
“As fun as this is,” Alexei said, “I am busy. You call me again when you have something to say, no?”
“Do you want me to?”
