Chapter 18
Stella
More than two weeks had passed since Cordelia’s death day celebration, and I was rushing to get ready for my Saturday plans with Theo. He was swinging by at six, and I didn’t want to hear whatever bitchy remark he would make if I kept him waiting.
So far, we’d gone to three more events together: a soiree, an afternoon cocktail party, and a reception (where Feddy and Julia cornered him demanding an invitation).
At each one, Theo acquired new targets, choosing his victims from the list of names I’d supplied.
We’d fallen into a routine, he and I, smiling and pretending to flirt, but under our breath, it was nonstop bickering and insults, which, every so often, turned disturbingly sexual.
“Truce,” one of us would say right before things went too far, and it had become our own little version of waving the white flag of surrender.
I’d been forced to say it three nights ago as he was dropping me off after the reception.
He’d made some gross innuendo, I’d told him he made me drier than the Sahara, he’d fired back, “That explains all the goddamn sand in my car,” and then I’d done the worst thing yet: I’d laughed. Hard.
It wasn’t even that funny, but between working long hours, spending so much time around people I hated, and not sleeping because my ongoing flare was keeping me up until 3 a.m. every morning, I’d turned slap-happy.
Theo had frowned, looking slightly concerned, and I’d blurted, “Truce!” and fled into the shop.
“Treat? Treat, treat?” Amos called from the living room, snapping me back to reality.
“You’ve already had three today,” I told him.
A thud, followed by the saddest little “Oh, no,” I’d ever heard.
I walked into the living room to see him perched on the back of a kitchen stool, staring down at his favorite chewed-up piece of balsa wood.
“Help.”
I picked up his stick and handed it back to him, something I did about twenty times a day when he was out of his cage.
He chirruped and leaned into my hand. “Pretty bird!”
I gave him exactly two and a half head pets—all he’d allow. “Yes, you’re very pretty.”
“I love youuuu,” he cooed in a singsong voice.
“Love you, too, Amos.”
“Amos, Amos, Snack Bitch. Treat?”
“Maybe later,” I told him.
He flew to his favorite perch in the middle of his jungle, keeping up a steady stream of inane chatter that had become a sort of white noise for me, and I let him have his fun until Theo texted that he was waiting outside.
I put Amos back in his enclosure, grabbed my purse, and blew him a kiss as I locked the door.
“Sunshine,” Theo drawled as I slipped into the passenger seat.
I chose to ignore the nickname because I could tell reacting to it gave him some sort of sick pleasure.
“That suit looks familiar,” I said instead. Tonight’s was black, but I recognized the fabric and cut. “What’d you do, buy the one I recommended in every color?”
His jaw flexed in annoyance.
“Aw, you did, didn’t you?” I teased as he pulled away from the curb.
“I would have chosen differently if I’d known we’d be so matchy-matchy.”
My eyes roved over him. He wore a black shirt beneath the suit jacket, fully embracing the monochrome look, and annoyingly, it worked for him, making the bold lines of his face that much more apparent.
I was in a black sheath dress that I’d borrowed from my mother’s closest. It wasn’t my usual style, but it would do. Silk, whisper-thin, backless. Thank god I had such a small bust and could pull it off with nothing but a thong and a pair of pasties underneath.
“At least they’re the same shade,” I said.
He dropped his voice. “Black like your soul.”
“You’re not funny.”
“Tell that to the witch’s cackle you let out the last time you were in my car.” He sent me a disturbed look. “I’ve been hearing it in my nightmares.”
“It was a pity laugh.”
“Oh? Like that pity orgasm you begged me to give you?”
“I did not. You were the one begging for it, pearvert.”
“What?”
Goddamn it. Blake hadn’t been speaking to me—he was still mad I’d taken on his debt—and I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell him about my favorite new Mom word, so of course I’d gone and blurted it to someone else.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Is that how Georgie pronounces it?”
I snapped my head toward Theo, wondering how he’d guessed.
He shrugged. “You’re a decent mimic of her.”
My god, was that a compliment? I tried to put my hand on his forehead, but he deflected me so hard that I ended up punching my fist toward the ceiling like a middle-aged man at a sports game.
It collided with a crunch!
“Ow,” I groaned, cradling it to my chest. At least it wasn’t the hand I tattooed with.
“What the fuck were you doing?”
“Trying to check for a fever, you idiot. I figured you must be delirious if you were being nice to me.”
“Please. That was neutral at best.”
“God, you’re such a bitch.”
Needless to say, the rest of the ride did not go well, and by the time we finally pulled up outside of one of the oldest, most stately buildings in the city, we were practically snarling at each other.
Theo got out first, tossing his keys to a valet and preceding me up the towering front steps. He must not have noticed I’d lagged behind, because he paused near the top and shot me an annoyed look. “Are you coming?”
“No, I’m just breathing hard.”
A nearby couple gasped.
The valet behind me wheezed with laughter.
Theo closed his eyes and pinched his nose, and I decided to take my sweet time reaching him because he seemed more on edge than usual.
A butler held the door for us, and we swept inside.
Theo frowned down at me. “Why are you so short tonight?”
“I got a blister from those heels on Wednesday, so I’m wearing flats. And I’m five-eleven. That’s the opposite of short.”
He glanced around, looking over the top of my head like I wasn’t there. “I’m sorry, who’s speaking? I can’t see you.”
“How have you not been dismembered by someone yet?”
“Uh?” a guy said. “Welcome?”
Oh. We’d reached the greeter.
Theo gave him our names, and together, we joined the party.