My mouth goes dry, and the envelope slips from my hand, floating to the ground. Grateful for the moment to get myself together, I retrieve it, then swallow hard. I should have brought a cup of tea with me. Water. Whiskey. Anything to distract me from this envelope in my hand.
“Nothin’ to say?” Dax asks, the hint of a Southern drawl not softening his tone a bit.
Get yourself together, mate. You’re making an idiot of yourself.
“Thank you? I wasn’t sure—after what happened in Edgewater—if you were going to keep me on.”
His brows shoot up, true surprise obvious in his expression. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Ronan, you took a bullet from a professional mercenary and survived.”
“I let a group of civilians take me down first. Did you forget about that part? Mik was in trouble, and I couldn’t get past a security guard and five guys waitin’ for a tour of the Smithsonian.”
“Six against one?” Dax shakes his head. “No one in this office could count on beating those odds. You kept your cool, let Austin know what was goin’ on, and stalled long enough for him and Trev to get there.”
“And then I got shot.” Rubbing my side, the wound not completely healed, I shiver at the memories. Burning pain. Blood cooling on my skin. Fear that the bullet had hit something vital. Something that couldn’t be fixed with a few stitches, a pint of O Positive, and a handful of painkillers.
Dax leans back in his chair, pulls off his glasses, and pinches the bridge of his nose. I’m about to ask him if he’s all right when he sets the dark frames on his desk. “Every single person in this office with the exception of Vasquez and Marjorie has been shot, stabbed, beaten up, or tortured.” He shakes his head and laughs. Actually laughs. “I should probably arrange for some more advanced hand-to-hand combat and evasion classes. That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement for my leadership.”
“No class would have stopped me from taking a bullet at the Smithsonian. Fucker drew down on me half a second after I came around the corner.”
He stares at me—not that I have any idea how he can possibly know right where my eyes are—and I curse under my breath. “Fine. I didn’t fuck up as badly as I thought.”
“No. You didn’t. Goin’ to open that envelope? Or just crush it to death?”
I’m clutching the damn thing so hard, my fingers ache, and the paper crinkles softly. Forcing myself to relax, I lift the flap and pull out the check. “Fuck me. Dax, this is too much.”
“It’s been a good year,” he says. “Ripper made a few investments that paid off twenty times over, we split a tidy sum with Pritchard after the mess in Zurich, and now that we’ve finished the merger with Hidden Agenda…” Dax shrugs. “Second Sight is a family, Ronan. We take care of our own.”
I don’t have a response. Not one Dax will accept anyway. I don’t fit in here. Never have. Probably why I’ve spent three years as backup. The job with Pritchard was the closest I’ve come to my own assignment, and even if I didn’tcompletelyfuck it up, no one would call it a brilliant success.
“Evianna and I are headed to Seattle tomorrow,” Dax says, saving me from the awkward silence. “Cara and West are teaming up to cook a feast for Thanksgiving. There’s plenty of room on the plane.”
Is he…inviting me to Thanksgiving dinner? “Dax—”
“You don’t have to socialize. Much,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching into what might almost be a smile.
“I’m still knackered from my brother’s wedding. Haven’t had a full night sleep since I got back.”
In truth, I’ve slept like a feckin’ baby since I returned from Ireland. But Thanksgiving in Seattle? Pretending to be part of this family? I can’t do it. Not now.
“I’m still on Zurich time. So’s Austin. Got an excuse thatisn’ttotal bullshit?” Dax crosses his arms over his chest and arches his brows. “If you don’t want to go, that’s your choice, Ronan. But don’t lie and make me regret giving you that promotion.”
Fuck me.
Trying not to twist the envelope so hard I tear the check in half, I look Dax in the eyes. I know he can’t see me, but the man’s echolocation skills are brilliant, and if I stare down at the floor like I want to, he’ll know. “I never fit in back home.”
“I remember. It’s why you came to me askin’ for a job.” Dax rubs the back of his neck. “I also know you didn’t want to go to Dublin for your brother’s wedding. What I don’t know is why that has any bearin’ on you comin’ to Seattle.”
“The trip was a bloody disaster. I’d be a crap addition to Thanksgiving dinner.” Licking my wounds with a pint of whiskey and a large pizza? That sounds a hell of a lot better than trying to make small talk. Or worse. Finding out no one wants to make small talk with me.
“No one’s forcing you.” Donning his glasses once more, Dax reaches for his cell phone. “Voice Assist: Text Clive. Message reads: ‘Ronan’s staying in town. We’re wheels up at 10:00 a.m. Don’t burn the place down while we’re gone and take care of your mom and cousin.’ Send message.”
“So, it’s just me and Clive and Ella?” I ask, smoothing the envelope out on my thigh.
“Second Sight’s closed until Monday unless someone calls with an emergency. Ella’s flying to Cancun in the morning. Clive is bringing his mom home for a couple of days. You want to be alone for the holiday, that’s your choice. I spent six Thanksgivings with a bottle of scotch before I met Evianna. But that’s no way to live. So if you change your mind, be at Beverly Municipal Airport by 9:30 tomorrow morning.”
The dismissal in his tone? Clear as day. Pushing to my feet, I tuck the check into my pocket. “Have a good holiday, Dax. And thanks. You won’t regret promotin’ me.”
“I’d better not.”
