“To get what you want.”
“To get what I needed, yes.”
“That’s manipulation, blondie.”
“Call it whatever you want, Sinclair.”
His attention drifted to my suddenly dry lips. “Whatever. That’s not going to work on me.” I knew a challenge when I heard one.
“Good thing I didn’t ask you,” I countered. I knew he was right. There was no point trying to win him over with pleasantries or guilt. No, that wouldn’t work for Soren Sinclair.
“I’m not doing it,” he said defiantly.
“As I said, I didn’t ask you to.” From the intel I’d gathered, one thing was clear: Soren’s biggest enemy was himself.Thatwas his button. “I’ve got everything, andeveryone,I need here.” I turned on my heels. “Thank you, boys!” I called out over my shoulder.
It would take me thirty seconds to reach the dugout. I’d give him ten.Nine, eight, seven, six—
“Wait.”
I smiled confidently and spun to face him. There was no prompting him when I lifted the phone and hit the record button again. He already knew the question.
“Americano. With milk,” he said gruffly. "Soy."
I stopped the recording. “Thanks.”
“What about you?”
“Sorry?”
He stepped closer. “Your coffee, blondie. How do you take it?”
I swallowed. There he went again, challenging me when I had the upper hand for once. This was a recipe for disaster.
“Upside-down, quad-shot caramel macchiato,” I told him. Regardless of how much he annoyed me, it would be rude not to answer his question.
He wrinkled his brow. “And that’s . . . got coffee in it?”
I rolled my eyes and walked away. He was either clueless or purposefully making fun of me, but I didn’t care to find out which. What was it about society looking down on anything that gave women joy? Movies, music, coffee beverages. Sex.
In any case, I was riding the high of a successful first couple of weeks in the workforce, and I wasn’t going to let anybody ruin it. Last of all Soren Sinclair.
Later that day, I found an aluminum, reusable tumbler with the Roasters logo on it. The sweet smell of caramel wafted through the lid. “Aw, you didn’t have to do this,” I said to Dani.
She smirked knowingly. “I didn’t.”
Tanya, our social media intern, had already gone home for the day. And only one other person knew my coffee order, which meant . . .
Damn him.
Soren Sinclair had foundmybutton.
“You see Brogan approach the wall behind the tavern. Only, it isn’t a normal wall. After a few whispered words, the ivy pulls away from the bricks and they begin to separate. A section disappears, leaving behind an opening, a doorway into the unknown. Brogan looks around before disappearing through the space, which closes almost immediately behind him. You turn to each other, stunned, confused, and say—”
“Are we going to ignore the fact that he bought you coffee?” June squealed, practically bouncing in her seat.
Nessa sighed. This wasn’t the first time she’d been interrupted tonight with talk of my and Soren’s latest interaction. It had happened when we crossed the haunted bridge and then again when we followed Brogan, the priest’s guard, to the tavern.
As promised, I had been inducted to Rose City’s “most secret and sacred society,” otherwise known asThe Salem Bitch Trials, June and Nessa’s Dungeons & Dragons game.Campaign, I mentally corrected myself,not game.
