Page 40 of My Cruel Salvation

“You guys are too freaking adorable,” Brandy says. “Which remind me—because Christopher is adorable, too—I talked to him last night.”

“Oh, good,” I say, the relief so palpable I can feel it flow through me. “Did you tell him what we said? Not painting him with his brother’s brush and all that?”

She nods, and her smile telegraphs her answer before she speaks. “He says he really appreciates hearing that, and he’ll definitely come over today. But he said he wasn’t going to spend the night.” Her cheeks flush. “But that’s not because of you guys.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” I trill.

One of her shoulders rises in time with her brightening smile. “He says he knows I don’t want to move too fast, and he’s afraid if we’re sharing a bed we will.”

I sigh and press my hand over my heart.

“Interesting,” Devlin says, clearly fighting a smile.

“What?” Brandy asks.

“Ellie’s reaction.” He turns to me. “I didn’t realize restraint was so romantic. I’ll make a note.”

“Don’t you dare. And as for you,” I say, turning back to Brandy, “Good news all around.”

“I think so. And, oh,” she adds to Devlin, “he said he was going to the foundation this morning. More research. But he also said he could do some internet research here if I’d rather.” She worries her lower lip a bit before continuing. “I know the sources are better at the foundation, but should I ask him to come here? I mean, I’ll lock the doors and everything once you two leave, but—”

“If you want him here, ask him here. But I have security on the house already, so you don’t need to worry about being here alone.”

“Right.” She quirks a half-smile in my direction. “I really should have guessed that.”

“That’s my guy,” I say, then kiss his cheek. “But keep the doors locked and the alarm on anyway,” I tell her. “Just in case.”

“She loves me, but she impugns my resources. It’s a sad world. She’s right about all that,” Devlin adds. “But it’s a sad world.”

“I’ll cheer you up later,” I counter, making him laugh.

“Speaking of the foundation,” Devlin says, “I scheduled a meeting for nine. Sources to help with the investigation.” He glances at me. “Can you get dressed that quick?”

“Oh.” It’s the first I’ve heard of it, but since I’m assuming that sources means Saint’s Angels, there is no way I’m missing out. “Absolutely,” I assure him, entirely dropping my teasing tone. I point to Brandy. “Save me a muffin for later,” I beg, then take my coffee with me to my old room for a quick shower and to change. I debate casual or professional, then settle on nice jeans, a pair of last year’s Manolos, and a plain white tank top under a blazer.

Devlin is still in what he wore yesterday, but he still looks completely pulled together as we say goodbye to Brandy and head out into the world.

“Who are we meeting with?” I ask as we pull into the parking lot for the Devlin Saint Foundation. It’s a stunning building, with clean lines and lots of glass that looks out on the Pacific. Designed by “starchitect” Jackson Steele, Damien Stark’s half-brother, it’s in the ultra-contemporary style that helped make Jackson Steele’s name. But even so, it fits into the landscape, complementing the beach-side lot on the Pacific Coast Highway in a way that some of the newer restaurants and hotels can’t seem to manage.

We arrive in Devlin’s Tesla, and I feel a pang of loss for Shelby, my beloved 1965 Shelby Cobra.

“You okay?”

Devlin is still behind the wheel, his attention on me. I shrug in response, and he gives me a gentle smile. “He’s good at what he does. Don’t write Shelby off yet.”

“It’s like you know me,” I say, melting a little as I feel that connection spark between us. “And I love that you do.”

He leans over to kiss me before we get out and head into the office. The receptionist, Eric, looks up, his smile faltering slightly before he plasters it back on. It’s then that I realize this is the first time Devlin’s been back on his own turf since the press outed him as The Wolf’s son.

“Good morning, Eric,” Devlin says. “And don’t worry. I promise you won’t say something and step in it.”

The younger man winces a little. “Sorry, Mr. Saint. I mean, sorry for not knowing what to say. I wasn’t sure if you wanted anyone to know.”

Now, Devlin’s smile is one of amusement. “As it happens, that choice was taken from me. But to be more specific, I have no problem with you knowing the story of my past, so long as you—and everyone here at the DSF—also understands that I had no choice in who fathered me. But I did choose to leave.”

“Yes, sir,” Eric says. “That must have been—well, that must have been hard.”

“It was. But growing an organization like this and bringing in good people like you has made the journey easier. You have a good day, Eric.”