“Whether you’re fucking her or Micah is…” he trails off. “Or both of you, for that matter, I don’t care. But don’t get distracted, little rockstar. You hear me? I need your head to be clear. Fucking is one thing, but no feelings. Nothing that could jeopardize this, you understand?”
I grit my teeth. “I can handle it.”
Alexei chuckles. “Sure, you can. But tomorrow, I need you. Lunch at my penthouse in Portland.” His gaze darkens, flicking to the house behind me. “Just you.”
I swallow hard. “Understood.”
“Good.” He straightens, his smirk returning, almost taunting. “Because I have quite a few things I need from you.”
Every hair on my body stiffens. My chest pounds, not just from anger, but from the surge of fear that always follows him. I glance back toward the door, knowing Emma is inside, utterly unaware of the danger closing in on me.
“Nice place, by the way,” he adds, voice low enough that if anyone heard, they’d think it was nothing, but I know better.
“Thanks,” I mutter, my voice tight.
With that, he steps back into the night, leaving me standing in the cool evening air, the door to Emma’s world shut behind me. The seed is planted, and I need to think of something fucking quick that will rip it out of her head so she doesn’t start asking too many questions I’m not willing to answer.
I take a second before going back inside, dragging a hand down my face and trying to erase whatever the hell just happened. It doesn’t work. My pulse is still clawing up my fucking throat. Moments after reentering the house, the doorbell rings again.
Mother fucker.
Emma’s halfway down the hall toward me, eyebrows knit, lips parted like she’s about to ask something—
But Micah beats her to the door, practically sprinting past. “I got it!” He pulls it open, and the delivery driver stands there holding pizza bags.
“Three large?” the guy asks.
“Yep!” Micah snatches the bags, overly cheerful. “Thanks, man. Here’s your tip. Have a good night.” He closes the door with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Heather stares at him. “Dude...what was that?”
Micah doesn’t answer. He just sets the pizzas down on the kitchen island and gets out four plates.
Emma turns back to me. Her eyes are soft, confused, and too damn perceptive. “Who was that guy?” she asks quietly. “He didn’t seem very nice.”
There it is.
The seed. Sprouting.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I force my shoulders down and try to look relaxed. “Just...another one of my publicists,” I say, brushing past her toward the kitchen. “He lives in Portland.”
Micah’s eyes snap to mine.
We both know that was a shitty lie.Ugh, damn it.He just caught me so off guard that it rattled me.
Emma follows closely. “He didn’t look like someone from your team. He had aheavyRussian accent. Not to mention, he was kind of scary,” she says, searching. “And you got really tense when you saw him. Is he someone else we need to worry about?”
My jaw works as I help Micah open the pizza boxes. “Babe, everyone gets tense when someone shows up unexpectedly.” I huff a laugh that feels so fucking fake. “I thought he was paparazzi or some fan who got our address at first. Happens more than you’d think.”
Micah steps beside me. “Yeah. It’s happened before,” he adds quickly, nodding too fast. “One time, a dude climbed onto a balcony at a hotel we were staying at in Palm Beach.”
Emma looks between us. She doesn’t buy it. Not fully.
Heather senses the shift and moves closer to Emma, looping an arm through hers. “Well, I’m starving, so let’s eat before Micah devours everything.”
Emma forces a small smile at Heather, but her gaze flickersback to me. Concerned and suspicious in the gentlest way possible.
