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Morrigan grinned at her. “Well, would you look at that?” She switched out the Jack for Lagavulin. “We have something in common.”
The amount she poured was triple what a standard drink would be, but Angela didn’t correct the other woman. She would simply sip it and sit on it for the remainder of their talk.
Morrigan passed her the glass, resting her elbows on the bar. “Real talk time: I don’t like you.”
Angela blinked rapidly, unsure how she was supposed to respond. In the end, she simply went with, “Okay.”
Morrigan snorted, pointing at her with her glass. “See, this is one of the reasons. You’re not nice.”
Angela’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not nice? Don’t you kill people for a living? Besides, why should I care if you like me or not? Your opinion of me is none of my business as far as I’m concerned.”
“Ah, but you see, I don’t go around pretending to be nice. I am what I am, and I’m cool with that. But you...” Morrigan sneered at her. “You swap who you are when you don’t like a given situation. That’s sneaky. And cold. And very uncool.”
“I do no such thing!” Angela exclaimed, glaring at the beautiful, deadly woman.
“You really do. You have a great bedside manner, Doc. I’ve watched you. You treat your patients well. You’re kind and respectful to strangers. You clearly give a shit about the world because you work to make it a better place at the Lighthouse,” Morrigan said. “But then you go and treat Roman like shit. But only on even days. On odd days, you’re friendly to him. It pisses me off, Angela. You’re not good for him.”
Angela hunched her shoulders, trying her best to escape Morrigan’s words. She wished she could unhear them, but they were already taking up prime real estate in her brain. Morrigan had hit the nail on the head, and Angela felt like she’d been spanked. “Well, luckily for you—and apparently, for Roman—there’s nothing between us,” she responded.
Morrigan’s expression turned incredulous. “And you accused alcohol of being a liar! You can lie to yourself all you want, Angela, but don’t lie to me. You don’t want there to be anything between you and Roman. There’s a difference.”
“You’re right,” Angela confessed. “Unfortunately, I’m not at a point where I can do anything about it.”
Morrigan grunted, tossing back her drink. “Are you at least working on it?”
“Why do you care?” Angela wanted to know. “You just told me you don’t like me and I’m no good for Roman. So, what do you care if I’m doing shadow work or not?”
“Maybe I’d like to like you. Did you ever think of that?” Morrigan put forward.
“No. I didn’t,” Angela answered honestly. She paused, making some circles with her thick-bottomed glass on the bar. She peered at Morrigan a little shyly. “Is it true?”
Morrigan grumbled under her breath, hoisting herself onto the bar and swinging her legs. “Maybe. I’d do just about anything for Roman. If you’re important to him, you’re important to me. It would be good if that were more than just an obligation, though. It would be nice if it were real.”
Angela cleared her throat, thinking, fuck it, before knocking her drink back in one swallow. It burned like a bitch, but the expensive scotch was damned smooth. “It would be nice,” she replied quietly.
“Good. Great,” Morrigan agreed irritably. “Do you have a problem with my life choices?”
“Um, do you mean being a contract killer?” Angela asked. Morrigan nodded once, and Angela shrugged. “No. I mean, I probably should. But in the spirit of honesty and because it’s an odd day...” She grinned, pleased to see Morrigan’s lips twitch. “No. Your life choices don’t bother me.”
They were silent for a moment as Morrigan poured them more alcohol. She handed the glass over and held hers up. Angela clanked hers against Morrigan’s as the other said, “So... if you have no issue with what I do morally, why do you have such a problem with Roman?”
Angela sighed, taking a sip of liquid courage before she answered as openly as her trauma would allow. “I have a bad history with his type.”
Morrigan frowned, tilting her head to the side. “His type?”
“A criminal overlord,” Angela supplied.
Morrigan surprised her by bursting into laughter. “Overlord? Roman would love that so much.” She grinned, still chuckling. “More than being called a rebel or prince.”
Angela groaned. “Please don’t tell him I said that.”
Morrigan cackled. “No promises.” She eyed Angela over the rim of her glass. “Care to elaborate more about knowing his type? Because Luca looked into your history and didn’t find any shit to affect your shine. Now, don’t look so offended, Doc,” she said briskly. “Of course we were going to check you out. Rich girl from the good side of town, professional parents, big house in a gated community, and a free ride at college in medicine. Nothing at all to suggest you’ve had any dealings with criminal organizations in the past.”
“Yeah, well, things aren’t always as they seem,” Angela muttered, guzzling her drink. She shoved the memories of her parents back into the locked box they were trying to escape from.
“On that, we can both agree,” Morrigan concurred. “Take Roman, for example. He’s the best man I know. Even though I’ve seen him beat a guy to death with his bare hands.”
It wasn’t the first time Angela had been told that about Roman. She could definitely see a pattern emerging amongst his tribe. “You really mean that, don’t you?” Angela asked curiously.
