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“You’re Bob, right?” Vlad says in a voice colder than a vampire after his daily liquid-nitrogen bath.
With a noticeable gulp, Bob nods.
“I want you to think really hard about any other object you may have forgotten here,” Vlad says, practically oozing menace. “This is your last chance to get it.”
Was that a threat? Bob’s face definitely looks like he’s taken it as such.
What should I do?
“I j-just came to get t-the book,” Bob says with a stutter he never had while we dated. “I can’t t-think of anything else.”
Vlad lays a possessive hand on my shoulder. “Fanny, do you know where the book is?”
“Sure.” I make my voice breezy, mostly to cut the tension down to about-to-explode-balloon levels. “I’ll go get it.”
As I leave the two men behind, I wonder if there will be only Vlad by the time I get back, plus an exsanguinated husk.
Locating the book, I rush back.
Bob looks whiter than a brand-new porcelain toilet, while Vlad’s eyes are like icicles as he stares my ex down.
“Here.” I thrust GEB into Bob’s noticeably shaking hands.
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
“Did you think of anything else you will ever need?” Vlad’s tone could cut through glass. “I mean it. This is your last chance.”
“N-no. I will never come here again.” The words come out as a stuttered oath. Then Bob turns on his heel and dashes away as if a thousand devils were chasing him.
It’s official. My ex just got impaled by the Impaler.
“What did you say to him while I was gone?” I ask, closing the door.
“Nothing much,” Vlad says calmly. “Now I’ve got a lunch meeting.”
Before I can ask for details, he strides back into the living room, gently picks up Oracle from the aquarium, and puts her into the carrier.
“You can keep the neutral play space here,” I say. “This way, it’ll be ready for the play date.”
Assuming the play date is still on. He looks stormy enough to cancel it.
“You sure it wouldn’t be in the way?” he asks, his expression warming by a degree or two.
I wave my hand dismissively. “Leave it.”
“Thanks,” he says. “But it might be best to put Monkey back into her own habitat before the play date.”
“I get it,” I say with a chuckle. “The famous guinea pig territorialness.” It’s almost as bad as that of a company owner over his testing minion.
His answering smile doesn’t touch his eyes.
I usher him to the door and hold Oracle’s carrier as he puts his shoes back on. Handing him the carrier, I ask, “We’re still on for eight, right?”
His eyes narrow. “Why not?”
“No reason,” I lie. “See you then.”
He heads toward Ivan’s car, and I close the door, exhaling the breath that seemed to have been in my lungs from the start of the Bob debacle.
