Chapter 4
Four
NARDI
I grip the steering wheel hard enough to yank it straight off and speed away from Josiah’s school. My heart is still racing. Indignation grows in the pit of my stomach.
Enraged, I slam my foot against the gas and burn rubber.
You lack emotional regulation.
Ha!
Me?
Me?
Ronan Cullen is a millionaire programmer. A modern-day Rapunzel locked in his ivory tower of privilege and money. He has no idea. My entire life, I’ve been biting my tongue. The moment I came to America, I could do nothing but keep my head down and take people’s crap.
And oh boy, there was so much crap on tap.
Back at the housekeeping agency, I was stuck with the pickiest client on the roster. For six months, I was berated, insulted, and carried out ridiculous tasks. I once had to sweep the same spot over and over because of an indistinguishable speck of dust that turned out to be a nick in the wooden floor.
Through it all, I didn’t once complain or show my frustration.
Not to mention, getting Josiah into this fancy school.
Does Ronan Cullen think that opportunity dropped into my lap? I had to do my share of butt-kissing and line-waiting and form-filling…
If I lacked emotional regulation, I’d be behind bars right now. There are many, many people I would have slapped full in the face if I had the opportunity.
And right now, the pushy, annoying, show-off of a millionaire Ronan Cullen is at the front of the line.
“Nardi,” Josiah squeaks, “slow down! I don’t want to die before I’m twelve.”
A glance over reveals Josiah squeezing his seatbelt for dear life. He slid all the way down in his seat and is bracing his short legs on the floor mat. His expression is one of pure terror.
“I’m not driving that fast… eep!” I gasp. The number on the speedometer is in the triple digits. I had no clue this old clunker could handle that kind of speed. Sheepishly, I ease my foot off the gas. “Sorry,” I mumble, “I have to get back to work. I’m late enough as it is.”
“Nobody told you to pick me up from school today,” Josiah mumbles.
“‘Thanks, Nardi, for rushing over and giving me a ride’. ‘I appreciate you so much, Nardi’. ‘I see all the sacrifices you’re making, Nardi’. Is that so hard to say?” I huff.
Josiah twists in his seat and gives me his back. “I was fine taking the bus.”
“Great. Glad we cleared that up. Next time, I won’t bother.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered this time,” he says under his breath.
“Watch the attitude, Josiah Davis. I’m still deciding on your punishment.”
Immediately, my little brother sits up ram-rod straight and frowns at me.
“Oh,” I say impatiently, “so now I have your attention.”
Eyebrows knitting in the center of his smooth forehead, Josiah defends, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I have no clue about coding, but I do know that ‘hacking into’ something means you weren’t invited. You broke in and invaded someone’s privacy, and now I’m the one who has to pay.”
“Mr. Cullen said I did a good job.”
“Mr. Cullen is a lunatic.”
“You’re just upset because he likes me.”
“You’re right about that.” My fingers flex on the steering wheel. “Men can be dangerous and creepy. Especially rich men. They think that money puts them above the rules.”
“Not Mr. Cullen.”
“Especially Mr. Cullen.”
My brother folds his arms over his chest and glances away.
“Why is he so obsessed with you , huh?” I reason. “Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“It’s only weird because you’re making it weird.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I want to learn from him,” Josiah insists.
“I’ll get you another teacher.”
He snorts. “With what money?”
My brain misfires. He’s got you there. “I’ll figure something out.”
“It won’t matter who you get. No one’s him . He’s Ronan Cullen.”
“So what?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Josiah says, turning away again.
I make a ‘go on’ gesture. “I want to know.”
Josiah starts speaking cautiously but the more he goes on, the more his eyes light up with excitement. “He won the Programmers Python Award four years straight . And he won the Global Coding Contest. With the prize money, he started his own company.”
“What’s the Global Coding Contest?”
“A competition with over two hundred thousand programmers from all over the world.”
I squirm in my chair. A competition that size is hard for my brain to even picture.
“His first company failed, so he did some contract work for NASA. Once, he was at a NASA camp with other programmers and someone dared him to re-program an old, broken moon-landing robot. He did and they kept his programming and sent the robot on a space exploration . ”
“Alright, so he’s smart.” I tilt my chin up, struggling to regain the momentum that I had at the beginning of this conversation. “Smart people can still be dangerous.”
“He’s a good person.”
“By whose standards?” I grunt.
“He wants to change the world.”
“All he’s doing is making lots of money, Josiah. That’s not exactly leaving a dent in ending world hunger or achieving world peace.”
“He’s going to make pilot-less planes.”
Sounds like the plans of a greedy capitalist who wants to put hardworking pilots out of their jobs. I roll my eyes. “I’m not convinced.”
“You don’t understand,” Josiah snaps. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”
“Because you’re a child. You don’t know how the world works.”
“I’m not a child. I’m eleven!”
“And I’m your guardian while you’re here.” My stomach coils with stress. “Josiah, you’re not the little orphan Annie waiting for a Mr. Warbucks. And I’m no Cinderella looking for a prince. In fairytales, it’s perfectly reasonable for strange men to randomly pop into someone’s life and throw money at them. In the real world, people like that are highly suspicious. Rich or poor, no one chases after a child without a reason. A really bad reason.”
“He has a reason. He’s dying and he wants a legacy.”
My eyes bug and I slam on the brakes. “He told you that he’s dying? Did he mention it that day? Did you lie to me when you said that you didn’t have a chance to talk with him before I came home?”
Josiah shakes his head. “It’s in his book.”
I really need to read this book.
A car honks behind me.
I drive forward again, my mind racing. “Josiah, are you sure you and Ronan Cullen didn’t talk for long in the living room?”
“No.” The word is laced with annoyance.
“And you didn’t overhear what we were talking about after you went to your room?”
He remains quiet.
“Josiah,” I bark his name.
My brother purses his lips in thought and then says smartly, “I think you should marry him.”
“Oh my go?—”
“It’s not like you’re dating anyone.”
“I’m not having this conversation.”
Josiah shrugs and goes back to his phone while I struggle to regain my equilibrium. I’ve never heard my brother string together this many words before. And it’s because of Ronan Cullen of all people.
Lost in my thoughts, the drive goes quickly and I near our apartment. To my surprise, there are work trucks filling the curb. Construction workers lug furniture out of the ground floor apartments while the sound of hammers knocking into walls fills the air.
Josiah’s eyes travel over the busy scene. “What’s that?”
“I have no idea,” I muse. Parking a distance away, I climb out of the car and approach the apartment doors hesitantly.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” A man wearing a construction hat and holding a clipboard stops me.
“Um, I’m a resident. I live on the fourth floor.”
“Name?” he asks brusquely.
“Nardi Davis.”
The man brings his pen down the clipboard, stops at my name and taps it twice. “Here’s an ID card, Ms. Davis. You’ll want to use the side entrance that way.” He makes a sharp gesture to the corner and then turns away from me. You’re dismissed.
I clear my throat. “What exactly is going on? Is our apartment being demolished?”
“I don’t know about that, ma’am. I only know that this floor has been cleared of residents and is being converted into office space.”
“Office space?”
A walkie at the man’s side squawks and he picks it up with an annoyed expression. Someone says something to him, but it’s incomprehensible to me because of all the static. To my surprise, the man seems to understand. He mumbles instructions into the device while stalking off.
I return to the car where Josiah is waiting, his eyes taking in all the activity.
“Let’s go.” I shut the engine and pocket my keys.
As we walk, Josiah says nothing and I’m glad that he’s returned to the reticent brother that I know. If he’d asked me any questions, I wouldn’t be able to answer them. In fact, I have a ton of questions of my own.
What on earth is going on?
I text the building manager message after message.
Then I check the apartment group chat, which is buzzing with news about the renovations. I’d missed most of them because I keep my phone on silent at work.
I think we’re all being kicked out, guys. Pack your bags.
No way. I heard the first floor tenants were offered craaazy money to move out.
I type: Can anyone confirm that?
No one responds.
At this point, all we have is speculation.
I call the manager since he hasn’t responded to any of my texts.
It goes straight to voicemail.
The management has never been particularly informative or transparent in the past. They haven’t responded quickly to requests either. It doesn’t surprise me that we had no heads up about this renovation process, but I wish someone would tell me what their intentions are for the rest of the building.
If the first floor is becoming an office space, will the rent go up? Will they renovate the other floors too? Are we being kicked out?
With each step up the flight of stairs, my worry increases. I’ve been putting up with the broken heater, rickety steps, lack of lighting and general weary appearance of this building precisely because the rent was so reasonable.
What do we do if the rent increases? Where will we go if they kick us out?
The thought of going apartment shopping all over again with my measly budget makes me want to curl up in a fetal position and cry.
My mind so occupied with fresh worries, I forget that I’m supposed to be on the lookout for Cullen. It’s not until I get inside that I realize I was to be on alert and checking around the premises.
Oh well. What’s important is that Josiah is safe. I’ll continue to drive him to and from home after school until Ronan Cullen finds some other tech prodigy to leave all his money to.
Eyes locked on his phone, Josiah opens the door.
I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. “I have to get back to work. Remember not to open the door for anyone.”
“Yeah.”
“ Anyone ,” I stress. “Including Mr. Cullen. I don’t care if he’s your hero. He’s not allowed to meet with you alone.”
“I know.”
“There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Yeah.” Without a backward glance at me, Josiah walks inside. His eyes are on his phone the entire way. I have no idea how he avoids ramming into the sofa.
With a sigh, I close the door, lock it and then test it by jangling the knob.
It’s secure.
On my way back down the flight of stairs, I tune back into the apartment group chat.
Big T is online.
He types: I just checked with my boys. They heard some fancy new owner bought the building.
I type back: Who’d want this ugly building?
The rest of the group chat agrees and everyone starts sharing all the things that are wrong with this place. Altogether, our list of complaints could wrap around the block.
The dimness of the stairwell dissipates, becoming brighter and brighter the closer I get to the side entrance. I put away my phone, fish my keys out of my purse, and mentally prepare to go back to work.
It’s going to be a long night. The company supervisor allowed me to leave early to pick up Josiah from school and drop him home, but I’ll have to make it up in overtime.
As I advance to my car, I spot a man wearing a beanie climbing out of a vehicle parked on the curb. It’s only for a split second, but I’d recognize that fashion disaster of a head covering anywhere.
Changing directions, I turn the corner and spot Ronan Cullen talking to the surly construction worker from earlier.
He’s wearing the same outfit as when I saw him at Josiah’s school earlier—black polo shirt and slim tailored pants. The pieces are so simple that they don’t make much of an impression but, because he’s so tall and lean, he wears them well.
What is he doing here?
I stomp toward him, ready to go to war. But when I get closer, I overhear his conversation with the contractor.
“I’ll need air conditioning in every room. Computers tend to run hot, so it’s very important to have that cooling system in place,” Cullen says.
The contractor bobs his head. “The air conditioning units are enroute now. Per your instructions, I focused heavily on the deliverability over price.”
He nods and walks forward, both hands behind his back and eyes fastened on the work being done on the building.
At that moment, the grumpy contractor turns back and sees me.
“Ms. Davis.” He nods tightly and then scurries off to bark orders at his workers.
The muscles in Cullen’s back stiffen when he hears my name. Slowly, he turns around and faces me like I’m a deranged bear chasing him in the woods.
Warring emotions tear my chest apart. On the one hand, I want to keep the promise I made to him in front of Josiah’s school. The one where I promised to make this his last day if I ever saw him again.
On the other hand…
There’s a very good chance Ronan Cullen is my new landlord.
Which means he now controls whether or not my brother has a roof to sleep under tonight.
I’ve been in this place before, a place where I had to choose between surviving another day or my dignity. Every time, without fail, I chose to survive.
Just once … I wish I could choose my dignity.
But I can’t.
Not when I think of Josiah.
So I paste a polite smile on my face and approach Ronan Cullen without any obvious signs of aggression. “Mr. Cullen, what are you doing here? What’s going on?”
“I—”
“Mr. Cullen!” A voice that can only be described as ‘nerdy’ rings through the air.
Two men approach us. One is short with a wiry frame and thick black hair. He’s wearing a wrinkled polo shirt, shorts and glasses. The other man is a bit taller with completely white hair, lots of moles on his face, and a sharp chin.
“Dr. Young. Asad.” Cullen nods tightly.
I swing around to take in his uncomfortable expression. Come to think of it, he’d looked exactly that uneasy and stiff when I first saw him talking to the principal too. Like he’d rather be miles away from the conversation.
Your lack of emotional regulation is refreshing.
I consider what Cullen said in a new light. Was he just—in the most awkward and offensive way possible—trying to tell me that he feels comfortable around me?
Or am I just inventing reasons to feel sorry for him?
“Who is this?” The older man stops and stares at me.
I speak up before Cullen can call me his ‘fiancée’ again. “I’m Nardi Davis. I live here.”
“Ah. Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Young. Ms. Davis, I’ve never been this far deep in the southside of town. Erm, would you say this neighborhood is a… quiet one?” Dr. Young glances around as if he expects a shooter to come barreling out of the bushes at any moment.
“It’s a neighbourhood filled with families and hardworking folks, Dr. Young. So yes, I’d say it is.” I glance at Cullen.
He avoids the eye contact.
“What about murders? Have there been any lately?”
What kind of question is that? I pull on the last thread of my patience to say in a sweet voice, “We’re not dodging bullets on a morning run if that’s what you’re asking.”
Dr. Young sighs in relief. “That’s good.”
“Hi, I’m Asad.” The other man shoots a hand out for me to shake.
I take his palm and find that he’s sweating profusely. As subtly as I can, I wipe my hand against my skirt when he releases me. “Nice to meet you.”
Asad’s eyes roam my face as if he’s never seen a woman before. It reminds me of Big T for some reason, although Asad’s gaze is not at all as ‘swaggy’ or as confident as the other man.
“Am I late? Am I late?” a new voice screeches.
A woman with wild curly hair, glasses askew and freckles all over her cheeks rushes up to us. She clutches a binder in one hand and a coffee in the other. The binder slips down to her thigh and she grips it with an elbow while saving the coffee. Bent over awkwardly, she offers the cup to Cullen.
“Mr. Cullen, oh my gosh. I never thought we’d actually meet in person. Here’s your coffee. I don’t know how you like it, so I just brought a decaf. Tell me if you don’t like it. I can run to the store and buy another.”
Cullen’s smile gets even tighter until his lips are a harsh line slashing over his face.
“Slow down, Sara. Breathe,” Dr. Young coaches.
“Sorry. I’m just nervous. I’ve always been his virtual assistant. There’s so much you can hide behind a screen that you can’t in real life. Like pajama bottoms.” She brushes her hand over a fitted blue skirt. “Anyway, real life and online are similar enough. It shouldn’t be that different working together, right?”
While the rest of his team seem lively and happy to be here, Ronan Cullen looks about ten seconds away from making a break for it.
His response is so peculiar that I want to stick around and hear more, but my phone rings.
It’s my work manager calling.
Oh shoot.
Unlike Ronan Cullen—I have bills, loans to repay, and work responsibilities. I’m way past the time I promised my manager I’d be back.
“It was nice meeting you all,” I say, encompassing the entire group with a polite nod.
“See you around, Ms. Davis.”
“Yeah, I hope to see you again,” Asad says, his stare as dewy as the moisture on the grass in the morning.
Cullen says nothing. Which doesn’t surprise me. He’s trying his best to remain engaged, but he looks absolutely drained just standing in the middle of the group with conversation flying all around him.
Because of the construction, onlookers are stopping to gawk.
But they’re not staring at the building.
Cullen’s team seems blissfully unaware of all the looks they’re getting. If I didn’t know better, I’d probably stare at them too or maybe ask if they took a wrong turn.
Stop being so judgemental, Nardi.
I leave the group behind, feeling a little overwhelmed. Halfway to my car, I hear footsteps following me. Cullen is hot on my heels, his face tinged red.
“Wait up. Let me walk you over,” Cullen offers.
I frown. “I’m kind of in a rush. I have to get back to work.”
“I won’t say anything. I just…” He glances over his shoulder.
It seems I’m not the only one feeling overwhelmed.
I should tell him to keep five hundred meters apart at all times, but I’ve always had a hard time ignoring people in need.
Besides there’s that pesky thought that Cullen might be the new owner of our apartment. But if he has the power to buy an entire building, then he’s basically a modern day king. Why would a mere conversation with his own teammates warrant a time out?
I can’t get a read on this man.
Silence stretches between us. True to his word, he doesn’t speak to me, look at me, or even walk that close to me as we make our way to my car. If anything, he seems to forget I’m even there.
I’m in front of my vehicle in no time. “This is it.”
Cullen releases a quiet breath, his lashes fluttering over those moonlight blue eyes. “Thank you.”
“I did absolutely nothing.”
He opens his mouth and then closes it. Stepping back, he gestures awkwardly to the car. I debate whether or not I should say something polite and then I think better of it. We don’t have the kind of relationship that requires small talk and he doesn’t seem like the type who’d appreciate it anyway.
On the drive to work, I get a call from my manager asking for a missing file. I walk him through the process and he, once again, asks when I’ll be there. From the sound of his voice, it’s utter chaos in the office.
I’m proven right when I step into the room filled with tiny cubicles and see everyone running up and down.
“Nardi! There you are.” My supervisor, a frantic woman who always has several pencils and pens stuck in her hair, grabs my hand. “Our company was just featured on a nationally syndicated program and the phones are ringing off the hook. We need all hands on deck. HR is sending all our people downstairs to help with the overflow.”
I hurry behind her to the elevator and spend the next three hours on the phone along with the customer satisfaction team.
By the end of the night, my throat is sore and I’m pretty sure I’m suffering from finger spasms.
Weary and extremely hungry, I return to my desk and call Josiah.
“Have you done your homework?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“And did you warm up the pizza?”
“Yeah,” he says distractedly.
I open the drawer where I keep my heels, switch out my slides for the uncomfortable stilettos. “Did anyone call the house or knock on the door?”
“No.”
“Did you get any weird texts?”
“Mr. Cullen isn’t a creep who’s going to kidnap me, Nardi.”
“I never said that,” I mumble guiltily.
Josiah makes an impatient sound. “Can I go now?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m working.”
“Working?” My eyes bug.
“I’m coding an app on my phone.”
“What kind of app?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“No, but I’d still like to know.” I pause. “Is it for Mr. Cullen?”
Josiah’s long, long silence screams his guilt.
I rub the bridge of my nose. “I don’t want you to do anything with Cullen Tech.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a child and your focus should be on getting through school. Don’t make me repeat myself. Stop whatever you’re doing for Mr. Cullen right now .”
Beep.
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it in shock. Did my little brother just hang up on me?
My patience blows.
My body surges with angry adrenaline.
I toss the rest of my items in my purse and scurry downstairs. Cooking up punishments for Josiah is all that keeps me sane on the road back home.
I’ve been more than considerate but, in my day, we would never hang up on a grown up when talking on the phone. We knew exactly what punishment would be waiting for us if we tried.
As I near the apartment, I notice there’s still quite a few construction trucks parked in front. The lights are on and the buzzing of tools is loud.
Are they planning on working through the night?
My phone shows no new messages from management. I guess they really don’t care about the tenants.
I yank my purse straps higher on my shoulder and storm toward the side entrance. To my surprise, I see Big T hanging out near the steps, smoking. He puts it out when he sees me and smiles wide.
“Hey, Nardi.”
“Hey.” I wave a hand to chase off the cigarette smoke.
“Crazy what’s happening, right?” Big T says, nodding to the trucks.
I’m not in the mood for a conversation with him. Besides, he still smells heavily of smoke. Josiah had asthma as a baby, so I’m very careful about strong scents in his clothes and our apartment. It’s one of the reasons I make my own shampoos, lotions, and buy all-natural soap from the farmer’s market.
I push a smile to my lips, hope it conveys enough of my disinterest and try to head up the stairs.
Big T slides into my path. “You just coming from work?”
Isn’t it obvious? I nod.
“You working hard, mama.” Big T rubs his hands together. “When do you let yourself have fun?”
“I have a brother to feed and bills to pay. There’s no time for fun.” I step to the left.
Big T does too, his chest jiggling under his giant T-shirt. Looking down at me like a dog with a bone, he croons, “A woman as beautiful as yourself shouldn’t be locked up like that. All work and no play drives people crazy, you know?”
I’ve worked hard my entire life and, while Josiah would probably beg to differ, I don’t consider myself crazy.
Big T folds his arms over his chest, a giant mountain in my path. He seems determined to lock me down for a date.
Why is he doing this tonight of all nights? I just want to go upstairs, yell at my brother a bit and then go to bed.
“What are you doing this Friday?” Big T asks, as he does that strange, chin down gesture men do when they’re trying to look cool.
“I’ll be getting ready for my sale on Saturday.” I step to the right.
Big T follows me. “You’re not getting ready all day, right? You must have an hour or so. I mean, you gotta eat, right?”
My belly growls at that moment. I skipped lunch so I could take an hour to go for Josiah. I haven’t eaten anything since last night. But what time is it? If I eat this late, I’ll have to stay up for at least two hours while my food digests.
“I’m on a diet,” I lie.
“I know this sick sushi place.” Big T grins. “Sushi’s healthy, you feel me? It’s just rice and raw fish.”
“Um…”
How do I get out of this conversation in a way that will make Big T still lug my rice pots down the stairs on Saturday?
While I’m contemplating how to turn him down, Big T’s attention zips past me to something in the shadows. I turn too and gasp in shock when I see Cullen backing away from us like a parent who just put their crying toddler to sleep.
“Who the hell are you?” Big T demands.
“I…” Cullen’s eyes dart to me, to Big T and then land back on me.
“Were you listening to us the entire time?” Big T takes a threatening step forward.
His reaction to Cullen seems excessive. He must have sensed that I was about to turn him down and is insecure that he had an audience.
“Cullen!” I yell brightly.
Both Cullen and Big T stop in their tracks and stare at me.
“You’re late.” I spring forward and grab ahold of Cullen’s arm.
He blinks, licks his lips and awkwardly answers me. “S-sorry. I just got your message.”
Big T arches an eyebrow. “You know this…” He searches for a word and finally settles on, “hippie?”
The way Big T is staring at Cullen’s beanie, I’m pretty sure he meant ‘hipster’. But I don’t correct him.
“Big T, this is Cullen. He’s…” The lie bangs in my brain like a crash of lightning and thunder. “Josiah’s tutor.”
“Tutor?” Big T scrunches his nose as if the word or the concept is foreign.
“This way Mr. Cullen.” I grab Cullen’s hand and shoot inside, dragging him all the way up the stairs.
I’m so determined to get away from Big T that I don’t realize Cullen is moving slower and slower behind me.
Heavy panting fills the air. I spin around and find Cullen far behind. He’s bent over, clutching his knees.
“Mr. Cullen?”
My feet slam noisily against the steps as I close the distance between us. Cullen grips the railing for dear life. Sweat beads on his forehead and dots the fabric of his polo.
The man is about to pass out.
I panic. “Mr. Cullen! Mr. Cullen! Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“Stop… yelling… please, ” he rasps.
I’ve never noticed until he actually raised his voice, but Ronan Cullen always speaks quietly. This is the loudest I’ve ever heard him and it’s only because his voice is echoing against the walls.
“Are you sure you don’t need an ambulance?” I ask, chewing on my bottom lip.
Cullen shakes his head weakly and then sinks onto the nearest step. I stoop down beside him, feeling absolutely helpless.
What if this man dies right here in front of me?
Josiah will for sure think I had something to do with it.
“It’s just vertigo,” he whispers, his head hanging low and his entire body crouched over.
“Can you sit up? Let me see if I can help.” I guide Cullen to a more upright position and swing my purse flat against my back so it doesn’t get in the way.
Setting my fingers gently on his temples, I make a circular motion. Cullen inhales sharply and I stop, wondering if I’ve hurt him.
A moment later, he settles back down and I keep massaging.
As I work, his thick eyebrows relax and his jaw unclenches. I watch the relief spread over his face and the weight on my heart eases significantly.
“Better now?” I whisper, stopping the massage but keeping my fingers on his temple.
“Yeah. But… how?”
“Josiah practically came out of the womb on a tablet. When he came over here to live with me, he spent hours on my old laptop and he’d get a lot of headaches. When the pills didn’t work, I looked up home remedies and practiced this technique.”
“That’s amazing.”
“That saved me a ton on massage therapist fees.”
“Thank you,” Cullen says softly.
“You’re…”
His eyes burst open and focus on me intently. The grey-blue hue catches me off guard and my heart stumbles over itself.
A beat passes.
Then two.
Then three.
My mind is telling me to look away, but I just… can’t. It’s like I’m caught under a wizard’s spell.
The air around me crackles and pops. A strange tension pulses the air between us until I’m keenly aware of how close his face is to mine.
Cullen is the one to back away. “I think I can stand now.”
“Uh, right. Yes. Let me help you.”
“I’ve got it,” he says stiffly, pulling his hand out of reach.
Oh? So now he wants to be all cold and distant?
“Stop acting tough and take my help, Cullen,” I say.
“We should part ways here,” he says curtly.
“My apartment is closer than the exits.”
“You’re inviting me inside?”
“It’s either that or the ambulance.” I tug him forward. This time, he allows the touch.
I break a sweat as I help him up the stairs. He might look lean on the outside, but Ronan Cullen is heavy .
“How much do you weigh?” I complain.
“Are you asking so you can calculate the right amount of poison to slip into my drink?”
I frown. “Huh?”
“Didn’t you promise that I’d die the next time you see me?”
I glance over and find a small smile on his lips.
My own lips tug upward and I help him up another step. “We’ll postpone that plan for the time being. You’re not dying on my watch tonight.”