Yay, them.Meanwhile I’ve probably destroyed my chances with Storm. I can’t stand thinking about it. I need something to do. “Where are your rags?”
“Under the sink.”
I leave him in the living room but hear him following me as I enter the kitchen, find the rags, get one hot and soapy and then start wiping down surfaces.
Cleaning calms me.
And I need some calming. I’ll be lucky if Storm shows up to the next ball. Which is tonight.
Devlin talks while I wipe down his counter. “Besides, what do you care if I talk to Molly?”
“I don’t,” I snap.
“Doesn’t sound like you don’t.”
I slap the rag against a table. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t care who you flirt with.”
He growls and covers his eyes. “We just went through this. I wasn’t flirting.”
“Right. You were helping her find the man of her dreams. Just like you’re helping me.”
“Why does it bother you so much?”
“It doesn’t,” I snap, pausing to glare at him. “You were just very, very loud the whole time you were with her, and you laughed right when I was about to swing. That’s what made me look up and see your eyes, that you were using the power.”
“Not for anything bad.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“You could do the same.”
“No thanks.”
He shakes his head as I move on to the appliances. I’m not one of those people who can’t stand cleaning and who’ll let dishes pile up in a sink. No, ma’am. My life must be in tidy order.
It’s really too bad that Devlin also likes order, because there’s literally nothing for me to organize in his house.
“If you want, I can toss some magazines on the floor,” he jokes as if reading my mind.
I hate how well he knows me. Too well. It’s like no time has passed since high school.
I shoot him a look full of flaming daggers. “This will do.”
He sighs and sits in a bar chair that’s pulled up to the marble island. “The situation with Storm may still be salvageable.”
“I doubt it. I broke his nose, Devlin. Hisnose. He’s probably telling his security detail right now that if I ever get anywhere near him, I’m to be shot on sight.”
Devlin makes a face that says,Probably so.
“See? Even you think it.”
“However,” he says calmly (how can he be calm when my life is imploding?), “there may still be a way to fix it.”
“How’s that?”
He rises. “Leave it to me.”
“Last time I left something to you, I ended up becoming your kitchen wench.”
