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She leans in until our noses nearly brush. “Gage.”

I tap the tip of her nose. “I’ll take you on one condition.”

“What?”

I let the silence stretch until her mouth opens to argue. “For the love of God, Princess…” Suspicion creeps across her face, and I grin. “Use the goddamn coasters.”

CHAPTER 21

Jubilee

At nine-thirty in the morning, Gage Cannon commits domestic terrorism by throwing open the bedroom curtains. Sunlight detonates across my face. I groan like a loud, dying moose and drag the comforter over my head. “I hate you.”

“Good morning, Princess.”

“It is not morning,” I argue from under the blanket.

“It is objectively morning.”

Warmth and fur lands on my stomach. Marzipan chirps once, marches up my chest, and plants herself there like hired enforcement. “Ugh. Tyrant. You weaponized my cat.”

“My cat. Custody has not transferred.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

The rich smell of coffee sneaks under the blanket and goes straight for the only reasonable part of my brain. I lower the comforter enough to expose one eye. Gage stands beside the bed, showered, offensively awake, and even more offensively hot, holding a steaming mug.

“Test starts now.”

My eye tracks the mug. “The test better have caffeine.”

He sets it on the nightstand. On a coaster. We both stare at it. Then at each other. His grin spreads slowly, smug enough to qualify as a war crime.

“Oh, fuck you.” I chuck a pillow at him.

“Drink your coffee.”

Forty minutes later, his bed looks like a department store lost a custody battle. In nothing but my bra and underwear, I stare down at six possible outfits while Gage leans in the closet doorway, supremely enjoying the show.

“What am I dressing for?” I demand. “Casual for your mother? A business associate? A parole officer?”

“Dress like I’m taking you somewhere to eat that isn’t fancy,” he says, “and also like you’re meeting someone whose eyes can burn straight through the most sophisticated bullshit known to mankind.”

Tension invades my stomach lining. “That was considerably less reassuring.”

“It wasn’t intended to reassure.”

I end up in a fitted burgundy sweater and a red-and-black plaid mini skirt. Of course, I add sheer black stockings patterned with tiny autumn leaves. And a velvet bow showstopper.

Once I’m ready, Gage’s gaze travels from the bow to the hem of the skirt, stalls on the stockings long enough to be deeply satisfying, then climbs back to my face.

“Well?”

He clears his throat. “I specifically told you this was a test.”

“And?”

“You’re making it much harder for me to concentrate on administering it.”