“Right, sorted,” I tell the group. “Coffee?” I ask Adeline again. As we start to head toward the door, I pass Tristan. Looking up, since he’s so damn tall, I meet his eye and remind him, “And then I’ve got to go to Russet’s.”
CHAPTER 13
Isolde
“This is the spot?” Tristan asks an hour later.
I made him walk to Russet’s despite his insistence that we drive. I put my foot down, but not before I noticed his jaw clenching. Every time he glances my way, his gaze holds a heat I’m not sure I understand.
I’ve told myself since arriving in New York City that Cade wasn’t going to hold me back. I’m not about to change that because of one disapproving bodyguard.
I whistle, my chin craning up to take in the skyscraper. “Yep.”
Why the fuck haven’t we been hanging out here?
“Adeline says she keeps a bowl of cream cheese frosting in her fridge at all times,” I tell Tristan. “Even if she hasn’t baked anything to go along with it.”
Tristan is not impressed by this fact about Russet.
“You want some?” I ask. He side-eyes me. “Your fucking loss.”
I step into the building, not about to miss out on this opportunity for cream cheese frosting.
“Ms. Matheson.” A Russian guy steps in front of us before we’re even halfway through the lobby.
“All right, Sergei?” I greet, recognizing him. Russet’s guard normally spares a smile, but his eyes narrow on Tristan.
He narrows his eyes right back at him.
“Is this a pissing contest?” I ask.
The two bodyguards stare at one another, silently relaying some type of information.
“Right, I’ll get the fucking elevator myself then.” I try to step around them.
Tristan grabs my arm, a familiar warmth spreading over me. But Sergei stares strangely at us, and when Tris lets go, I realize the Russian is making a professional judgment.
“I’ll be down here,” Tristan says.
He doesn’t have to say it, but I know it’s killing him that he can’t do a perimeter sweep. The Zimins would never allow it, and I trust my friend anyway.
“You got your panic button,” he reminds.
He installed an app on my phone.
His concern presses against me, a frown forming on my face. If he spoke with the normal, clipped tones he uses when he’s in bodyguard mode, I think I’d feel better. There’s a softness to his tone, and not because he’s whispering. His body bends forward, pulling me into whatever meditative quality I catch the occasional glimpse of.
“Are you going to be okay?” I reach out, my fingers skimming over his arm before quickly dropping my hand. “Waiting out here. And. . . with Russ?”
“It’s fine,” he says, shutting down that line of inquiry.
Russet must remind him of Daisy, though. Of all his work as the Ghost, taking down Marissa.
“Only a couple of hours,” I promise.
He shakes his head. “Take all the time you want.”
Sergei personally deposits me in the elevator, pressing some buttons. My ears pop on the way up. When the doors open, I find myself in a grand foyer.
