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Problematic

Page 42

by Ariel Brouillette

“Huh,” I said brilliantly.

I thought about him for a second. Kalon in his too-tight black T-shirts, sleeves rolled up over forearms that looked like they could bend steel. Quiet, polite, always taking the heavy bags off the delivery guys like it was nothing. Good tipper. Good listener. Good . . . everything, really.

Way above barely-not-human pay grade.

“What’s his designation again?” I asked, dragging my fingers through my hair.

Sam tapped her chin. “Hmm. Deathdrinker, I think.”

I made another face. “Damn. You’d think he’d be working for Lux, not City Coffee.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like the dress code,” she said. Then she elbowed me again, harder. “Well, your man does work for Lux.”

I stared at her.

“Sam?”

She widened her eyes, all fake innocence. “Hmm?”

Deadpan, I said, “Shut the fuck up.”

She burst out laughing, the sound loud in my tiny living room.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed too. It came out brittle, wrapped around a knot of fear in my chest, but it was better than shaking.

My gaze slid to the roses one more time.

Kalon liked me. There was a version of my life where that was my biggest problem. Where the scariest thing in my orbit was a Deathdrinker barista with a crush on me, not a faceless assassin breaking into my apartment.

Maybe I should lean into that. Safe. Casual. Someone with real power who wasn’t hiding behind a mask in my living room at two in the morning.

“Come on,” Sam said, pushing herself up. “You’re gonna be late. I’ll walk you and grab something to go before I crash.”

Kalon was already inside when we arrived.

Sam waved at him and then shot me a wink like some sort of misguided matchmaker. I let the door swing shut a little too hard in her face on purpose. The door cut off the sound of her laughter.

Kalon looked up from behind the counter, blond hair pulled back, forearms out, because of course his sleeves were rolled up. “Rough night?” he asked.

Great. Code for “you look like shit.”

“You have no idea,” I muttered, tying my apron.

He dragged his eyes over my face like he was checking for damage. Then he went back to wiping the counter, but I caught him watching me from the corner of his eye.

Shit. Sam was right.

Now I was stupidly nervous on top of sleep-deprived and stalker-freaked. Fantastic combo.

The morning shift was fine, technically. Orders filled. Machines behaved. No explosions. Just me making an idiot of myself in front of Kalon. Dropping a spoon. Forgetting a name. Overfilling milk and having to start again because I could feel him behind me, big and warm and careful like he was ready to catch me if I toppled.

By nine, the rush had thinned. I was restocking the lids when I saw him.

Vale. Walking up to the door with his neat coat and his neat energy and that Lux Tower aura that made the room feel tighter.

My stomach dropped.

I scrambled out of sight on instinct, ducking behind the doorway to the back hall like a coward. My heart hammered so hard I was sure everyone could hear it.