“Can you walk?” His voice is a whisper, and I’m not quite sure if the discomfort I’m reading on his face is about thethought of carrying me up the few steps to the lift, so I nod, even if I would love to be so close to him again.
“Yes, thank you.”
The elevator ride to my floor is spent in tense silence once more. I prepare my little speech to saygoodbyeandthank youso I won’t get too flustered again before we reach it, but Misha gently nudges me out of the elevator and toward my apartment when the doors open.
How does he know which one it is?
I unlock it with my smartwatch, then turn to dismiss them politely. The words catch in my throat when I face all three of them lined up behind me.
A wall of handsome faces.
Good God, those meds are worse than I thought.
Grey rolls his eyes at me and pushes past into my apartment.
What the…“Hey!”
“Come on,” Misha prompts, guiding me inside with a gentle push on my shoulders.
This is absolutely bonkers.
TWELVE
Inside my apartment,I instinctively kick off my shoes, and to my surprise, the guys follow suit.
They’re staying?
“What are you—” I begin, but Grey cuts me off.
“Go take a shower and change,” he instructs, his nose wrinkling as he glances at the dried blood on my trousers from the EpiPen. Only now do I notice how disheveled I must look—clothes wrinkled and probably filthy from the cafeteria floor.
“I will, and thank you. For everything and for bringing me home.” I try to dismiss them, but Grey just grunts and walks over to my couch, flopping himself down. Misha grins, following suit, while Oliver offers an apologetic smile as he, too, makes himself comfortable.
Fine.
This is fine.
I retreat to my bedroom, catching sight of myself in the mirror. My hair is a nest, my face blotchy and red, remnants of the allergic reaction. My lips are dry, my glasses smeared—just like the rest of me.
No wonder Grey is disgusted by me.
Grabbing some navy sweatpants, a white Henley, socks with books on them, and fresh underwear, I head into my en suite bathroom. I’m too tired to wash my hair, so I brush and work it into a French braid, clipping it up before stepping into the shower. The warm water on my skin and the scent of bodywash in the steamy air soothe my frayed nerves and the anxiety of the last few hours.
Dressed and with my braid now curled over one shoulder, I consider applying makeup. But that would only irritate my skin further, and honestly, they’ve already seen me at my worst. So, I settle for some moisturizer and Chapstick and slip my glasses and smartwatch back on with one last look in the mirror.
Well, fuck.
I look defeated.
Because I am.
I would love to just take a nap, but I can’t because I have the company’s future sitting on my couch. But when I step back into the living room, Oliver is the only one still where I left them. His eyes briefly scan me from top to bottom before he quickly looks away. Misha is standing in front of the fish tank, seemingly fascinated by the tetras swimming back and forth.
Please don’t think too hard about that.
I search for Grey and find him at my small table, my laptop open in front of him.
What the fuck?
