He smirks. It’s almost a smile, if the glimmer of mischief in his eyes is any indication. “And who do you have to blame for that? I didn’t ask you to clean.”
“It helps me feel better,” I practically whimper like a sulking six-year-old who was just told that they have to put their Blow Pop away because the gum will wind up in someone’s hair, either accidentally or accidentally-on-purpose.
“Give me five minutes and I’ll smooth things over.”
I narrow my eyes in skepticism. “What are you going to do?”
“Work magic.”
He winks, which makes him look even more brutally handsome, and then he disappears from the room. I listen as he goes upstairs.
So of course I follow him.
I tiptoe down the hall, where I hear him talking from inside his bedroom. It sounds like he’s on the phone.
He’s left a teeny-tiny crack in his door, so I press my ear to the slit while pretending to clean the glass knob. See? I’m not eavesdropping, I’mcleaning.
“I’m sorry to hear that, man. But you’re better now?” Pause. Longer pause. “Tell you what—I’ve got something that you might be interested in learning about, a way to slow aging. Yes, it’s real. No, it’s not a glamour. All you have to do is show up tonight. She’s very sorry about what happened.”
Another pause where Storm (I assume that’s who he’s talking to) explains that he never wants to see me again and that I’ve ruined things between us for all eternity. Just imagining the conversation makes my heart shrivel to the size of a walnut.
“You don’t have to do that. Just come and we’ll talk.”
My shriveled heart turns to dust as I realize exactly what Devlin’s doing. He’s willing to share an invention secret with his main competition if Storm will show up tonight.
Holy shit.
Devlin could make millions off an idea like that. Who am I kidding? Millions? More like billions. Every woman and their mother wants to look young as long as they look legal. In fact, I may be in my late twenties, but I’ve already got fine lines appearing on my forehead. What I wouldn’t give to be rid of those suckers.
“No, no,” Devlin says.Why is he saying no? What has Storm asked him?“I don’t expect you to do anything. Just come. Great. See you then.”
Conversation’s over. I sprint away from the door and make it halfway down the stairs when I hear Devlin’s rumbling voice.
“I know you were listening.”
I wipe my rag over the last bit of banister, step onto the floor, and turn to see him standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have a lot of dust in this house. I’m finding myself very allergic. Ah-choo!”
“Good try.” He smirks, and it’s the most beautiful expression I’ve ever seen. Too bad it’s onhisface. “I guess you heard that Storm’s coming to the dance.”
“No clue what you’re talking about, but that’s great! Does he hate me? Tell the truth.”
With his hand on the shiny banister, Devlin slowly slinks down the stairs, one step at a time. “The good news is that his nose is fixed.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t like where this is going. What’s the bad news?”
He pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “He may be a tad mad at you.”
“I knew it! He’s never going to forgive me, and this is all your fault.”
“My fault?” he scoffs. “I just spent time on the phone with a man that I dislike, convincing him to come to a dance for you. So that you can be with him. How is this my fault?”
“It’s your fault because if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have broken his nose in the first place. Besides, you only called him so that you hold up your end of the bargain. If you don’t get me together with Storm, then the deal’s off.”
“Right,” he says, eyes downcast. “I’ve got to hold up my end of the bargain.”
I’m not letting his little pouty face convince me that he called Storm for any other reason—not out of the goodness of his black heart, or even just because he wanted to be nice to me.
Devlin Ross called Storm because he needs me to have a stupid vision that I wish would hurry up and come so that I can leave this house—and him.
