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“Well that’s simple, I don’t have any.”

He gave me an odd look, unsure if I was joking.

“I tried calling Zee back at the hotel,” I said, rushing on so I didn’t have to explain my lonely life. “But he’s not answering. I thought I might try again.” Reynard unlocked his sleek phone and handed it over. “Thank you. And I’m sorry again, for earlier. I feel like I’m asking a lot this morning, and we haven’t even reached Cain Developments yet.”

“Adam, if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”

The weight of his words suggested a deeper meaning, or it could just have been his delicious voice making every word important.

I dialed Zee’s number, but while it had rung when I’d called from the hotel, now it didn’t ring at all, just going straight to Zee’s, “Leave a fabulous message, bitches.” I ended the call and handed the phone back.

“No luck?” Reynard asked.

“No.” I drummed my fingers on my knee again. He was probably fine. It was Zee. Zee was always fine.

“Forgive me for asking, but did something happen between you?”

“No, not really . . . maybe . . . it was nothing.” He thought he’d made me horny for him, thought he’d taken advantage of me. Was that enough for him to self-destruct somewhere? I should have gone after him, should have explained it wasn’t possible for him to allure me. But then he’d have asked questions I couldn’t answer.

Reynard was still watching me, waiting for an explanation that wasn’t coming.

“Can you check his socials?”

Reynard had been about to tuck his phone away. He unlocked it again, thumb gliding over the screen. “Any preference?”

“Oh, well, he’s on all of them. Some are more explicit than others⁠—”

Reynard’s eyes widened. “That warning would have been helpful several seconds ago.” He swiped, swiped again, then again, eyes widening further with each new picture scorching itself into his memory. “There are few occasions when I’ve regretted having a photographic memory—this is surely one of them.”

I snickered. But he looked up, and definitely was not amused. Could this morning get any worse? “Never mind, I’ll look later.”

“Some of these images”—he turned his phone to landscape—“are surprisingly professional.”

Oh, so wait? Reynard was impressed? “He takes his work seriously.”

“This one has over thirteen thousand likes.”

“He feeds on the attention, I’m sure you know that about lust demons.”

Reynard looked up from the screen. “He feeds on social media attention?”

“Yes, it’s not just for fun. Although, he does enjoy it.”

“I had no idea he could feed virtually. That’s . . . remarkable.”

“He is remarkable.” Most people made the assumption, after meeting him, that he was all about sex, and he admittedly did nothing to dissuade them of that. “When was his last post?”

Reynard’s eyes narrowed, something having caught his attention.

“Lord Reynard?”

“Yes?” He looked up again. “My apologies, what did you ask?”

“When did Zee last post something?”

He cleared his throat and handed the phone over. The video playing on a loop showed Zee approaching the camera, his face out of shot, just his corset-clad torso in focus. He sauntered closer, then raised a length of chain in his fists and snapped its links out. The snap coincided with him losing the corset, revealing his oiled-up skin and the arrow tattoo pointing down his Adonis belt. Candlelight licked over his washboard abs. The money shot was just out of sight, to avoid the image being censored, but Zee knew exactly how to tease his fans, leaving them gasping for more.

And Reynard apparently, who was now studiously looking out the window.