Page 41
Once I dry off, I snap my nape guard on, the metal plate warm with condensation from the steam of my shower, and I walk out of the bathroom to open my closet.
The first outfit I pull out, a pair of charcoal slacks and a navy button-down, gets set aside almost immediately. It’s too formal, too much like what I wear for family meetings. The next option, a pair of ripped jeans and a henley with the sleeves rolled back, doesn’t feel Lee enough.
The third, a blazer and leather pants, is closer to what I wear when meeting with our contacts in the Southbank, and I drop it on the bed with a frustrated sound.
None of them are right. None of them are me. Not the me I am with the family, nor the me I’ve been with Orien. Not even the me I sometimes let myself be alone in my apartment without the risk of anyone seeing me.
I stand in front of the closet, fingers gripping the edge of the door, and breathe through the moment of uncertainty.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, and reach for a pair of high-waisted, loose-legged black trousers instead.
They hug my slender waist, and the pleats add volume to my hips and ass. A fitted cream, long-sleeved shirt gets tucked, and I pause, considering before I select a leather belt that wraps twice around my waist and buckles off center, leaving the crescent moon charm dangling just over my hip bone.
The burnt orange and cream cardigan I never wear outside of the apartment gets shrugged over my shoulders next, the fabric cloud-soft on my skin. It’s warm enough to stave off the winter chill, so I won’t need a jacket.
I leave the cardigan unbuttoned and open the jewelry box on top of my dresser.
It holds the few accessories I allow myself. Cufflinks for formal occasions, my father’s watch, and a handful of tie clips I never use. At the very back sits the jeweled ornament my mother gave me when I turned eighteen, a small crescent of metal meant to hook over my nape guard, the tiny gems set in a perfect curve.
My hand closes around it before I can reconsider.
The metal is cool around my throat as I hook it into place, and it settles in the hollow of my throat. My fingers pause on the sparkly hair clip. I don’t want to wear it, but if an opportunity arises and I don’t have it…
With a huff, I pull my bangs off to the side and clip them in place behind my ear.
I’m ready to go a little early, so I tuck my phone into my pocket, grab my wallet and keys from the desk, and head out the door.
As I head downstairs, I want to text Alexei and tell him I can’t attend the meeting, but there are still six hours before I need to decide.
I’m out on the sidewalk in front of my building when Orien pulls up in a dark sedan. Instead of trying to find a parking spot on the busy street, he turns on his hazard lights, stops in the middle of traffic, and rolls down his window.
“Get in.”
“So chivalrous,” I mutter as I walk to the curb and open the door, sliding into the passenger seat.
The cab of the vehicle is warm from the blasting heater, and the air carries hints of soap and the faintest trace of motor oil.
Orien sits behind the wheel in a charcoal jacket with the collar turned up against the chill, ignoring the car behind him who honks in irritation as he waits for me to buckle in.
As I settle back in the seat, he turns off the hazards and starts driving.
Silence stretches between us as Orien focuses on the road, his hands relaxed on the wheel. As the city slides past the window, I wait for him to break first.
He doesn’t.
After five minutes, I can’t take it anymore. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“No.”
I roll my eyes. “So helpful.”
“It’s a surprise.”
“A surprise,” I repeat.
Surprises are rarely a good thing in my line of work.
Orien doesn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement.
