Chapter 6
Lucien
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Acomplication, buta manageable one; it will just take a bit of adjusting. I knew this girl had trouble written all over her when I first saw her and I was right. I just didn’t expect this by any means.
We’re leaving the bank after cashing Cambria’s check and heading back towards downtown to drop off Dorian at his shop. It’s going to be our first test on the distance nonsense now that we’re supernaturally chipped like dogs waiting for a shock. Of all of us, Dorian is half in love with the girl already and loving everything about this fucked up situation, so we don’t need to worry about intent where he’s concerned. That man would willingly sell his store, skip happily to the fae world, and never look back.
I drive slowly and keep glancing at Cambria from the corner of my eye to assess if she gives any indication she’s in pain. Not so much as a blip by the time we need to drop Atlas back at his place. He already missed two days of work and it doesn’t matter how good he is at his job; if he misses another day on the construction site of a project this important, he’ll be fired.
They never worry about these things, always so convinced that things will simply work out without a plan or effort.
“Feeling alright?”
She nods and I breathe easier. This won’t be as much of a problem as I thought.
We pull up to my house and I quickly throw my cell phone on the charger for a few minutes while I shower and change, anxious to get back to the office and deal with what will no doubt be a cosmic fuck-ton of messages and problems.
“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” I offer distractedly while tossing her the remote. “Make yourself at home, I’ll likely be back late.” I scrawl all of our numbers on a piece of paper and lay it next to the house phone. “Here, in case there are any problems.”
She gives me a thumbs up and walks into the kitchen. I shut and lock the door, heading back downtown. Not five minutes later my phone rings and I hit the button on my steering wheel to activate the Bluetooth.
“Lucien?” Cambria asks and my foot eases up on the gas, anticipating the words that are about to come out of her mouth.
“At least one of us needs to be near you, I take it?” I sigh.
I can practically hear her grimace. “Seems that way.”
Smacking my hand on the steering wheel, I turn around to go back for her. “Be ready in five then and please, wear something respectable.”
She snorts. “You act like I dress like a stripper. T-shirt and shorts are perfectly normal human attire, I’m not that far removed from your world,” she argues.
“No,” I concede, “but they aren’t appropriate for an office.”
“You do realize I didn’t bring any fancy ball gowns with me, right? I packed a bag for a few days and it has the basics.”
I sigh and rub my temple, pulling up to the house and waiting for her to get in. Pushing the speed limit more than I’m comfortable with, we swing into the first place that’s open. I toss a button up shirt that complements her outlandish hair and a black, pleated skirt into her hands, practically shoving her into the fitting room.
When she emerges, spinning once sarcastically while flipping me off, I have to fight the stab of irritation her lack of respect instills in me. “There, happy now? Not sure how this is any more respectable; I’ve seen this porno. Do you know how many girls get bent over a desk in a getup like this?”
