Sullivan, whose passion is dissecting things—animals and people alike—is even crazier than my brothers. The only reason I didn’t lose my shit when I learned Trenton put him in charge of Quinn is because, for all his psychopathic tendencies, he has a soft spot for his daughter.
Unfortunately, it’s not soft enough to betray Trenton.
“I’ll get it done, but you keep everyone the fuck away from Electra and me, got it?”
“Or, what? You’ll quit the mission?” Trenton cocks his ugly head. “My wife’s counting on her little hero to swoop in and save the day.”
A scowl carves up my face. One that procures my cruelest stepbrother disgusting joy.
As I pivot to leave, I catch another glimpse of Lara’s face. She’s no longer smiling. I’m guessing she didn’t enjoy Trenton calling Quinn his wife.
If only she could steer his hand on the divorce papers and unlock Quinn’s cell, but Lara doesn’t have that sort of pull. Or that sort of benevolence.
I spendthe afternoon holed up at the gym, lifting weights between the classes I teach. No amount of dopamine combats my sullen mood. By the time I reach Cliché, I’m wound so tight that I cave and order a double shot of vodka on the rocks.
Like a closeted alcoholic, I throw it back before Jeneva shows up. It neither makes her presence nor Electra’s absence more tolerable. So I order another.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Jeneva asks, attempting to find a subject of conversation that’ll drag me into her mostly one-sided conversation.
“Married with half a dozen kids and a dog,” comes a voice from right above my shoulder.
And just like that, my irritability lifts.
Chapter 19
Electra
Idrag a nearby stool to the cozy table Jeneva has selected for her date. “Sorry I’m late, boo. Terrible traffic.”
The glare Jeneva tosses me for crashing her date withmyboyfriend—albeit, my fake one—is satisfying as hell.
“I’m still not sold on having a huge family,” I quip. “But I am coming around to having a dog. Or two.” Pets can’t lie or disappoint you.
Like a parched stalk finally given water, Cillian’s spine straightens, and the corners of his mouth lift.
Before heading their way, I’d haunted a shadowy alcove beside the multicolored tiled bar to observe them. I’d expected either boredom or intrigue on Cillian’s behalf. But those weren’t the vibes I got off him.
No, his expression was drawn, his shoulders hunched, and his mouth arced downward. Not to mention, the man who supposedly didn’t drink had ordered himself vodka neat. It didn’t take a behavioral analyst to tell he wasn’t having the time of his life.
“Where do you seeyourselfin five years, Jen?” I ask, crossing my legs. “Still chatting up other women’s boyfriends?”
A scowl crumples her very symmetrical face. If I had my phone, I would’ve recorded it to create a meme. Does that make me a bitch? Maybe… But at least I don’t prey on other people’s partners, which, on a scale of bitchiness, puts Jeneva way up there.
“If your boyfriend hadn’t wanted to come, he could’ve said no.” She swipes her phone off the table and dunks it into her shoulder bag. I hope this means she’s packing up.
“You’re right. He could’ve.” I glance at my “boyfriend,” who’s flipping his phone face down on the table. “But Cillian is a people-pleaser. Does Lisa know you rent outherkitchen for personal gain?”
Jeneva pales, but her loss of color lasts only for a second. Then she flips her long brown hair over her shoulder and says, “I don’t, so whatever. Also, she came by when he was baking and even sat with him to see how he was doing it, so she knows all about him using the store’s kitchen. But seriously, whatever. Tell her.” Her repetitive use of the pronoun tells me she’s not nearly as unfazed by my threat as she pretends.
Cillian turns on his stool and leans against the shiny cobalt wall, knees spread wide as though to accommodate my body should I feel inclined to scootch farther toward him. Which I don’t. The long hours of the afternoon have done nothing to defuse my conflicted mood.
“So, what are we drinking?” I ask, since Jeneva has yet to get up.
“Why do you hate me? What did I ever do to you?” She sounds genuinely puzzled and maybe a tad upset.
“I don’t particularly like you, but I don’t hate you. At least, not specifically. I’m just not a fan of people in general. Ask Cillian. He’ll tell you.”
He gives his head a small shake, his thumb moving from one corner of his smile to the other.
