“She has every justification. I was a complete tosser.”
Sage rolls her eyes. “It’d be funny! Just a joke. I thought maybe you were game to mess with her head a little, after the way you answered my phone. But never mind.”
As she tries to sidle past me into the living room, I put an arm out and stop her. She remains pressed against my forearm, as if stepping back would be a win that she refuses to give me. She turns slowly, her jaw hard, and meets my eyes.
“What,” she says, her tone flat.
The scent of her is driving me mad. I lean closer. “If I spend the night in your bed,” I growl, “it won’t be ‘just a joke.’ You’re bold as brass on the track. Have the courage to proposition me becauseyou want me as much as I want you—don’t hide your true intentions behind immature pranks.”
Her golden eyes narrow, and as we study each other for a long beat of silence, theENCHANTEDon her shirt rises and falls.
“You think I want you?” she asks, not quite managing the haughtiness she’s trying for.
“Yes.”
Another half minute passes as each of us refuses to look away first. Finally she hums out a dismissive laugh. “Yeah, maybe. But…” She chucks me beneath the chin in the same patronizing way I’ve done to women a hundred times myself. “You want me more.”
When the lift opens, Sage and I each hold one side of the door and gesture for the other to precede.
“Ladies first,” she drawls, pointing for me to step in. “God knowsI’mnot a lady.”
“Such a brat. Fine, you win.”
She chuckles, following me into the mirrored enclosure. “Iloooooveto win.”
She plucks at her aqua hair, fluffing it up and away from her eyes as she checks the reflection of her teeth. Turning around light as a ballerina’s pirouette, she claps her hands once, pinning me with a look of determination.
“So here’s the dealio, Sandy-boy. Julian is my older brother, and a dipshit deadbeat. He comes off all charming”—she rolls her eyes—“and everybody loves him; he’s a goddamned delight,ugh. But don’t buy into it. You’re onmyteam, got it? No becoming best buds with him after a handshake.”
I don’t think Sage realizes how much she’s told me about herself with this caveat. I can view the mechanics of not only her relationship with the ne’er-do-well brother but also Sage’s fears, through a layer of self-control stretched so paper-thin as to be translucent.
Her posture betrays her feelings; she doesn’t seem to know what to do with her shoulders, which adjust like the antennae of a threatened insect. I want to embrace her, to tuck her head under my chin and hide her from everything.
It’s in this moment that I feel the most guilty for what I wrote about her on my blog. She appeared so impervious to hurt that it seemed a harmless way to engage her. Reachingout with compliments would’ve been futile. I’d have been just another trivial fanboy.
But if I infuriated her? Becoming her enemy gave me aplace, a status.
Badrick was right—I should have used a different strategy. Not because I think my redemption in Sage’s esteem is now impossible (though it might be with the frosty Priya, who clearly loathes me), but because in the space of weeks, I’ve come to care for Sage so much that I’m overwhelmed with defensive rage at anyone who might hurt her surprisingly tender feelings.
The current chief threat is malignant blogger CJ Ardley, whom I’ve kept at bay over the past week. I told the woman to lie low and not to mention Sage in her posts, because I’m “working on something sensational,” which I’ll soon share with her.
I’m pondering the right time to speak with Sage about my role as double agent. Given her mischievous nature, she may find it entertaining to collaborate on providing misleading details to feed to her nemesis. But another side of me is concerned about bringing it up.
Sage has mentioned more than once that she doesn’t trust me, so I don’t have complete confidence that when I reveal my phony “allegiance” with CJ, Sage will believe I’m on her side. What if it shuts the door to a growing friendship? There might be no more hanging out, no more small shared confidences and glimpses of vulnerability.
Should I wait until we’re closer and she knows me better before saying anything? I have the situation well under control for the time being…
Folding her arms in almost a parody of childlike disgruntlement, Sage concludes, “I don’t want you and Jules bonding over ‘idle rich-boy shit’ like how cool it is to sit in a hot springs in Iceland and watch the northern lights with a supermodel on your lap. Or whatever.”
I cross the elevator and lean beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders, which to my surprise relax under my touch. “I won’t be so easily enraptured by Julian’s glamour. I’ll fight your corner, pet.”
I dare to plant a light kiss at the crown of her pastel blue hair, and she jerks her head away with a scowl. “Hey, watch where you put those lips.”
“So shy,” I tease, “despite the intimate familiarity you told Priya we’ve shared.”
“Haha.”
“I confess to curiosity about the story you spun.” I step back and lean against the wall. “Just what was our fictional tryst like?”
