Page 100 of I’m The Worst

“Drink your fucking coffee, AJ.”

A few minutes later, plates start landing on the table with bread, cheeses, eggs, sausages.

“Wolff…what is this? Why are we stopping at a⁠—”

“Eat.” He pushes a plate closer to me.

“Wolff—”

“Cómete tu comida.”

I huff quietly, fingers curling around the edge of the plate. “So you were listening to my story.”

“I’m not deaf.” His eyes flick to mine for half a second before scanning the room again. “Maybe you’ll follow directions better in Spanish.”

I pick up a fork and shove the eggs around on the plate, resisting the urge to say something back. Joke’s on him, I won’t follow any of his stupid directions.

“It’s nice to see you, Dylan.”

Wolff’s entire body goes rigid. My head jerks up, and there’s a woman sitting across from us. I didn’t hear her walk up. Didn’t see her pull out the chair. She’s just…there.

White-blonde hair, cut short and sharp around her jaw. She looks like she belongs on the cover of a magazine. Large, dark brown eyes, a heart-shaped face with perfect red lips. Her black coat is fitted to her slim body. She’s stunning.

Dylan?

I turn slowly, looking at Wolff, my brow pinched.

His jaw is locked so tight I see the muscle working beneath his skin. Fingers curled slightly, his hands have gone completely still on the table.

“Miranda.”

She smiles, leaning back as she pulls her scarf free, revealing a pale and jagged burn scar along the side of her neck.

Her eyes flick to me, then she looks back at him. “You look like hell.” The smirk stays as she continues talking to Wolff in a language I don’t understand.

“You have any idea how much paperwork I’m dealing with because you walked into that safehouse, Dylan?” Miranda says in Czech. “MI6 doesn’t take kindly to Sovereigns showing up unannounced.”

My hand curls into a fist under the table. I fucking hate that name. I buried it years ago.

“Who is she?” Miranda nods toward AJ.

“None of your business,” I answer in Czech.

“Ah.” She smiles slowly. “So she is your business.”

I don’t respond.

Her attention shifts back to AJ, lingering too long, picking her apart piece by piece. Miranda’s always been good at that—seeing things she shouldn’t, asking questions she doesn’t need answers to.

AJ shifts beside me. I should’ve known better than to bring her here.

“Maybe you should mind your fucking business, Miranda.”

“Oh, please. You showed up at my safehouse with a young, pretty girl. What did you think was going to happen?” Her eyes flick to me again. “And your Czech is getting sloppy.”

“It’s not.” My jaw tics. “Do you have the papers?”

She reaches into her coat and pulls out a thick envelope, sliding it across the table. I open it immediately, flipping through the passports. New names. New entry stamps. I stop on the last page.