"I'm wearing a circus tent," she declares when she's finished, trying to tuck part of the shirt into the twice-rolled waistband of the sweats.
I pull her to me, stopping her from picking at the outfit. It's not like she has anyone here she needs to impress. "Then you must be the main act."
She snorts.
"She's a pretty good contortionist," Seven offers, coming up behind her to grip her waist and lean into her side, whispering into her ear, "Aren't you, Ro?"
She melts between us, her hands snaking up my chest through my shirt, and it would be so easy to close the door and…
I groan, clenching my teeth as I pull away, cursing Atty with every inch of space I force between us. We haven't shared since the plane, and I have to admit, I'd be down for a round two, maybe minus the being thirty thousand feet in the air part.
"We should head down before Atticus loses his shit."
Aurora pouts, deflating.
"Fine. Lead the way."
The difference in my angel's vibe as she follows me through the house is so glaring it should have a physical sensation. Like a temperature drop or the zap of an EMF reader on one of those ghost-hunting shows Sev used to watch when we were kids.
I take her hand. I know it's not to do with what we're about to set in motion—she's been anxious to get started—it's Atticus himself.
"You can change your mind," I offer when we get to the hallway and see the library doors are open ahead. "Sev and I can go in and get the info and pass it along?—"
"No. No, that would be juvenile. I can handle him. Besides, I'm sick of waiting."
I nod, and we go in.
Atticus leans over the table in the center of the room. He's brought in one of the monitors from his office, and it glows with several open windows of images and text on an empty shelf in one of the bookcases on the left.
On the table in front of him are three files and a tray that holds several items.
When he looks up, his eyes zero in on Aurora.
"Good morning," he says in a gruff tone.
A good start.
"Or should I say, goodafternoon."
The fucker can't help himself.
"Keep digging that hole, Atty," Sev says.
"We won't stop you," I add.
His nostrils flare and he drags his gaze from her back to the table, pushing off its surface to stand at his full height.
"Sorry," Atticus mumbles, and I don't think I've ever heard him say that word twice in a month, let alone in one morning. He stands straight,still.His throat bobs before he continues. "Aurora, I was hoping to?—"
"Can we get to the point?"
Atticus's mouth snaps shut and his cheekbones flare.
EvenIflinch at the callousness in my angel's tone, but Atticus seems only mildly offended by it. He expected this. But will he respect her request?
Atty works his jaw, as if he's chewing through at least ten different response options before he settles on, "If that's what you want."
I give him a look that conveys my approval.
