Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
Oscar: Copenhagen with Charlie, I think. (Last update was 48 hrs ago.)
Quinn: New York with Luna, I think. (Last update was 15 hrs ago.)
Farrow: Philly penthouse with Moffy and their son Ripley, I think. (Last update was maybe 4 hrs ago.)
Donnelly: the Hale house with Xander, I’m positive.
Thatcher: Switzerland
Banks: right in front of me
Pinning down SFO is becoming a game of “pin the tail on the jackass” that I suck at, and the only way I feel like a winner is to have Thatcher back.
Banks opens the door, and we push into the apartment. Immediately, the wind is stolen from my lungs at who I see.
4
AKARA KITSUWON
Quinn: Philly security apartment, I know because I’m looking at him.
Balancing a plate of avocado toast on his knees, Quinn watches college football on TV, but music is blaring over the game. He bobs his head to the beat of a pop song I’ve never heard. When he sees us, he upnods.
“Volume down,” I call out to the stereo. The music automatically lowers.
“That one was actually pretty good, wasn’t it?” Quinn licks avocado off his finger and checks the song on his phone. “It was RuPaul’s ‘Condragulations’. Oscar sent me a playlist after we went to the drag show together last night.”
Last night?
I try to not let out a sigh. Well, it looks like Oscar wasn’t in Copenhagen yesterday like I thought. Don’t know where he is now.
I’m a rusty lead (but a pristine boss). Back when I worked for Triple Shield, I used to be better-than-decent at locating the guys.
“Things are going better with your brother?” I ask Quinn since him and Oscar are actively spending time together off-duty. And I’m still paying for their therapy. Money well spent, especially if they can bury any kind of hatchet.
Even a Polly Pocket sized one.
“Yeah. We’re cool.” Quinn leans back, his floral shirt opened and bare-chested underneath. It’s November on the East Coast, but Quinn is the poster boy for trending LA fashion. He’s been a total babe magnet since the FanCon tour, and I really don’t want to be the killjoy of his early twenties as an asshole boss.
I do believe achieving a balance between work and play is possible in this job.
I found that with Sulli early on. Friendships with your client make every day more worthwhile.
You fell in love with your friend, Nine.
Okay, I do not want Quinn to befriend Luna and then fall in love with her. Ryke Meadows is one thing, but Loren Hale is a different breed of dad. He has the power to destroy Kitsuwon Securities out of spite.
Anyway, I’m positive that Quinn doesn’t have a buddy-guard relationship with Luna. He’s said he’s more like her big brother.
Nothing to worry about.
Quinn notices Sulli slipping into the kitchen, then us lingering. “What’s going on, guys?”
“I can tell you what’s not going on,” I say with not much heat. “You radioing me your location.”
“Do you need to know what I’m eating for lunch too?” He holds up his plate. “5 out of 5 best avocado toast I’ve made all month. Want a bite?” His teeth rip into the bread.
I have not missed this part of the job. Don’t want it. Need Thatcher ASAP.
Banks pats my shoulder. Like it’s all over my face, he says, “My brother will be back soon.”
“Not soon enough,” I breathe.
He smiles, then studies Quinn and his food like he’s flown in from outer space. “We look like the mimosa-sipping, avocado-eating type?”
Sulli calls out, “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
Banks glances over at her, and a soft smile plays at his lips. Like her words were more than just words, but also a memory they shared.
Time. I want more time with her, but I’ve also had years with Sulli that Banks will never have. It’s not a contest, and we’re all in this together.
It’ll be easier once people like Quinn know the truth. So we can stop hiding.
Quinn’s eyes scrunch at Banks. “You get hit, bro?”
Fuck.
His bottom lip is puffy, skin more reddened too.
Banks shrugs. “On-the-job horseshit.” It’s not a complete lie. We were on-duty when Ryke decked him.
While I head to the kitchen to grab an icepack for Banks, Sulli is already halfway in the freezer. She pulls out a bag of frozen broccoli. I take it, and she tries to whisper, “He’s not more hurt than he’s letting on, right?”
Banks promised he’d tell us when he has another migraine. But we both know he’d rather hide his physical pain.
“I think he’s okay.” He better be.
She eases.
I want to steal a kiss—the moment is there, but thinking rationally, I touch my knuckles to her knuckles instead of lips to lips. She makes a strange face, red creeping up her neck.
Yeah, that was awkward.
Ice.
Banks.
I wave to Sulli, losing all sense of smoothness. What the hell is going on with me? Leaving, I cast a single glance back at Sulli in the kitchen.