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Emmy stifled a laugh. I gave her a look that told her she was a traitor.
“I’m not driving you home,” I said to Dom. Not mad, just exhausted. “Call your security girl.”
Dom looked over my head to Emmy. “Can you talk some sense into her? I’ll pay off Chopstix for another year if that helps.”
“Just let him sit quietly in the back,” Emmy said softly, the humor leaving her eyes. “We’re all going to the same place.”
I gave some weird growly response that everyone else took to be acceptance. Dom slid into the back of the car, dressed in a nice suit that was way out of place at this hour in this sort of car. In my leggings and sweatshirt, I suddenly felt underdressed.
We made the drive home in silence. Dominic refrained from commenting on my driving abilities this time, though I did see his fingers tighten as I blew through a yellow light and forgot about one little stop sign. I was pretty sure he was worried I’d pin him to the wall with unbridled magic if he so much as hiccupped wrong, and I wasn’t totally upset about it.
When we reached our shared building, I pulled to a stop at a meter out front. However, Dom refused to get out until I pulled the car around and parked in my weird space behind the restaurant that was definitely a front for the mob. All three of us walked awkwardly through the back alley together.
“You do this nightly, huh?” Dom asked. “Walk back from Chopstix’s place?”
“Whenever I’m working,” I muttered. “We’re not all loaded because we sell peoples’ homes when they don’t want to move.”
“We’ve circled back to that little issue, I see,” Dom mused. “And we’re going to ignore last night?”
I just glared back at him.
“Trixie, can I speak to you upstairs? Privately,” Dom said as he pulled open the door to our apartment building. “I’ll bribe you with a coffee.”
I was about to flat out reject him when I realized that I hadn’t had coffee this morning. Plus, the way Emmy looked at me told me that maybe I should consider his offer. One could argue that the two of us had a few things to discuss, and I did feel like maybe I should thank Dom for his help last night.
“Do you have milk?” I grumbled. “I don’t like black coffee.”
Dom winked. “I have whatever your heart fancies.”
Behind his back, Emmy feigned swooning. I gave another hard eye roll.
We split ways on the seventh floor as Emmy headed into our shared apartment. Dom and I continued up, up, up to the penthouse. Dom had to swipe a key to get us into his place. His was the only apartment on the top level. Again, not surprising, seeing as he owned the whole damn thing.
“Welcome home,” Dom murmured, holding the door open for me. “Give me a minute, and I’ll have your coffee ready.”
While Dom disappeared, somehow having no bags despite our traveling overnight, I parked my janky pink overnight bag by the door and waited, taking in the space.
While I’d expected the big, airy windows and the open floor plan, I hadn’t pictured the delicate elegance of the place. Instead of all white walls and white countertops and light colors that were en vogue at the moment, Dominic had opted for a darker design that suited him well.
His kitchen, visible from the living room, was all blacks and caramel-woods with pops of emerald from the occasional plant—all fake plants, of course. Dom didn’t have the heart to care for something real.
Except, he did, didn’t he? The thought niggled in the back of my brain as I walked into a living room with black leather couches and minimal modern art hung on the walls. He’d taken care of me last night for no reason at all, and I was very much a living thing. He didn’t owe me any loyalty. And yet here we were.
Dom returned and set to fiddling with an expensive looking espresso machine on the counter. A few minutes later, he cursed under his breath, and turned to face me. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Any way really, so long as it’s not black.”
Dom turned to his phone and typed something out. Then looked up to me.
“I should say thank you,” I blurted.
“You should say thank you?” Dom’s ridiculously handsome face crinkled. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Trix.”
“What I’m trying—and failing—to say is thank you.” I cleared my throat. “Thank you for what you did last night.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You were there for me,” I admitted. “When I passed out after the incident, you made sure that I was safe.”
