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She arches an eyebrow. “So I’m a rookie now, huh?”
“Well, I did just bring you from the minors to the big league. However, if you prefer, I can go back to cupcake.”
“I have a name, you know.”
“Yeah, Alexandra Romanov,” I say, the reminder causing my voice to fall heavy. “And I’m pretty sure neither of us can be trusted to use it in mixed company.” Leaning over the console, I tap the pad of my finger against her forehead. “So, until the day I look at you and see it stamped across here, I think it’s safer to stick to pet names, don’t you?”
“But—”
“Rookie or cupcake. Pick one, or I’ll pick for you.” Throwing the driver’s side door wide open, I climb out of the car and lean over the hood, waiting until her dark hair pops up on the other side to add, “Piss me off, and I’ll throw in a third option.”
“Rookie’s fine,” she grumbles, slamming the passenger’s side door.
“That’s what I thought.”
Angel keeps any more comments to herself, following me across the parking lot and through the back door. As we climb the stairs to the second level, I hear movement. A fact that makes me question my decision to show up unannounced.
I barely make it inside before a tiny tornado charges toward me, knocking Angel to the side and me into the wall. “Where the hell have you been?” Milly yells, shoving a phone in my face. “I was getting ready to call hospitals, you jerk!”
“I told you not to worry.”
A low growl gurgles in her throat as she punches my arm. “Why don’t you just cut me and tell me not to…” Her voice trails off, and she cocks her head to my right. “Who’s this?”
The proverbial and literal million-dollar question.
“Milly…” I start, but I might as well talk to the wall. Once she jumps into investigative mode, there’s no reasoning with her.
In three wide steps, she’s in Angel’s face. “Milly Boone, producer at Beyond the News, and you are?”
That’s not a friendly greeting. It’s a pointy-edged challenge dressed in etiquette’s clothes. I should intervene, but I’m curious to hear the answer.
I didn’t plan for a trial by fire introduction, but since the flame is already lit, I might as well watch it burn. I won’t always be around to spoon-feed Angel canned responses. I need to know she won’t crumble under pressure.
Milly has teeth, but the public has fangs.
Angel’s eyes shift toward me in question. I shouldn’t take as much pleasure as I do in that small act of submission.
I nod, and she clears her throat before staring Milly in the eye. “Alexandra Romanov.”
I cringe. Good form. Poor execution.
And judging by Milly’s howling laughter, she agrees. “Right,” she wheezes, palming her forehead. “And I’m the Queen of England. Girl, if you’re going to sell that load of crap, you should at least swat the flies off it first.”
“Milly!”
“What?” she snaps.
“Angel has agreed to come forward as the missing Romanov. She’s still trying to process all this, so give the girl the weekend before you nail her to a cross, yeah?”
Angel rears back, eyes wide with shock as they bounce between us. “Wait, she knows?”
“Hey, Angela!” Milly clips, waving a hand in her face. “I’m right here. I don’t need an interpreter.”
Angel’s expression darkens. “It’s Angel.”
Milly smirks. “Not for long.”
Son of a bitch.
