24. Oz
Oz
The following morning, I’m seated uncomfortably at the breakfast table while Wilder throws an absolute fit.
“What do you mean there’s not another agent available?” He barks at the hologram of Emmer Sandoval, who, to his credit, looks as unhappy with the news as I am.
Emmer snorts. “I threw a fit to end all fits. I threatened to pull out of the entire contract. I did pull out of the contract and was promptly made aware of specific verbiage locking us into working with Saint’s agency.
My lawyer reads the verbiage differently, but for now, my hands are tied.
” He frowns, the golden ring in his nose shimmying slightly.
“I’m sorry, Wilder. We can pause, or…” His voice trails off, and it’s obvious by the tense set of his expression that he doesn’t want to halt the deal.
I don’t want to do that either, because something tells me Saint-Fucking-Ashbourne will find a way to stick around and continue to be a pain in our asses. I’m a hair’s breadth from telling Wilder I don’t care, that it’s not a big deal for me, but the look on his face stops me.
“I don’t want Oz to have to attend a single meeting with him then,” Wilder states, lifting his chin. “That was one of the original added requirements, but I refuse to place him in that position yet another time.”
“Of course,” Emmer says smoothly. “Anything else?”
“Let’s move up this timeline too,” Wilder says smoothly.
“We’ve gotten the results back from the surveyor’s trip around the property.
Willa’s sending everything over this afternoon with redlines through any changes, whether in your favor or mine.
I’d like to get this deal done as quickly as possible, Emmer. ”
The other male nods. “I can’t make promises without consulting my father, but I’ll take a look at Miss Lane’s email and get back to you. Sound good?”
“Fine.” Wilder grits his teeth as he disconnects the call.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. I’m pinned to the door, unsure if he wants to talk or just be silent. And I don’t have to work tonight, so I can’t use that as an excuse to get out of his way if he needs a moment. When he balls his fists and sets them on the table, worry fills me.
“Wilder, what can I do to help?”
He turns to me with a furious look. “Nothing.”
That’s all he says.
I’m desperate to ease a tension so thick I could almost choke on it. Reaching for him, I place my hand on his forearm, but the moment I touch it, he yanks it away and stands, moving to the other side of the chair.
“Give me a minute,” he barks, then spins on his heel and disappears toward the bathroom.
Hurt fills me. He did all of that for me, but now he seems almost angry at me? I can’t understand it, especially after our recent connection. So I follow him to the bathroom and knock on the door.
“Wilder? Can I come in? We need to talk, okay? I’m not trying to be pushy, but—”
“Give me a minute, Oz,” he barks. “We can talk later.”
The worry for him turns to anger. I don’t like being shut out. Saint used to do the same thing to me. Then he’d act like it was unreasonable for me to desire a conversation when there was discord between us.
“Not later,” I press. “You’re upset, and I don’t want it to fester.”
Stomping boots are followed by Wilder yanking the door open, his expression ferocious. He leans into my space, nostrils flared and pupils blown wide. Like this, he looks nearly unhinged, angry to a level I haven’t seen from him.
“Oz, what part of ‘I need a minute’ is hard to understand?”
Jerking back, I shuffle my wings at the question. Lifting both hands, I stare at him. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to push you, I’m really not, but you’re upset, and I—”
“Out,” he snaps, pointing to the door. “For fifteen godsdamn minutes, please.”
Hurt floods through me at being dismissed like that. It’s at once familiar and foreign. Familiar because Saint was dismissive every time I tried to have a serious conversation with him, and foreign because I haven’t seen it from Wilder.
Maybe I just haven’t seen it yet.
Maybe this is him waving the first of many red flags, and I should just think about my twenty K and my business plan. The business plan I haven’t worked on hardly at all since he came into town and we started dating.
A million saucy retorts are on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not going to argue with him. Not if he doesn’t want me around. I should have known this couldn’t be real, this thing between us. So instead, I force a smile.
“Understood. See you later.”
I spin on my heel and wrap my tail around my thigh, focusing on stillness instead of feeling like I’m walking away from someone I’m starting to actually like.
As I walk away, he says nothing, and that might be the worst thing of all.
* * *
“He said nothing?” Bluebell scoffs as she eats a bowl of chocolate ice cream on my sofa. Next to her, her mate looks between us with a neutral expression.
I look at Hadrian. “You’re a man; how do you take this?”
Hadrian shifts forward, resting his forearms on both knees. “He’d just gotten bad news, right? About something he was doing to try to protect you?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I’m sure that was frustrating, but—”
“It’s still rude to treat Oz like he did, though,” Bluebell says.
Slapping my knee, I shoot Hadrian a look. “See! Agreed.”
“He just asked for a little space,” Hadrian says carefully. “He could have handled it differently, sure, but it sounds like he was super frustrated.” He cocks his head to the side, scanning me with bright purple eyes. “Oz, why does this really matter to you? It’s a fake relationship anyway, right?”
I glance toward the small crackling fire to my left, considering how much to share. After a moment, I sigh. “We hooked up.”
Bluebell’s mouth drops open, and she throws her spoon at my head. I grab it with my wing tip and set it down on the coffee table.
“And you said nothing all fucking day?” She stands, crossing her arms and stomping her foot. “Did you tell Lemon?”
“No, bestie,” I say softly. “I told nobody because I haven’t even talked to him about it, not much anyhow.”
“You caught feelings, didn’t you?” Hadrian asks, lifting his wings to drape them over the back of the sofa.
Ginger eyes his sharp wing tips and moves closer to me, plopping onto my lap as she stares at him. I run both hands through my hair. Am I about to admit this aloud for the first time?
“He did.” Bluebell drops back onto my raggedy sofa and tucks herself into the crook of Hadrian’s muscled arm.
“I did,” I say, scared to even look at them.
“Does he know?”
“We haven’t discussed that.” I look at Hadrian. “And now it seems like it would be weird to bring that up, you know?”
Hadrian’s about to answer when my comm watch rings. Dread and hope fill me in equal measure. It could be Wilder. Maybe he’s—
But when I look down, Saint’s name hovers over the band.
“Gods, didn’t the Sandovals tell him to steer clear of you?” Bluebell’s brows furrow as she stares at his flashing name.
“They did,” I mutter. I slap my watch to decline the call.
There’s no reason I need to talk to him, none at all.
I can’t imagine any scenario where it goes well, especially considering that last conversation with Emmer Sandoval.
Saint Ashbourne is like a leech, and if I let him attach himself to me, he’ll suck me dry.
Not in a fun way.
“I need more ice cream for this,” Bluebell says, rising and rounding the sofa.
Hadrian winks at me. “That’s the hangover talking. I told her so.”
She waves dismissively at him. “We get it. You told me to slow down. I didn’t listen. And now I’m paying the consequences two days later. Anyhow, I blame Lemon. That vampire metabolism makes it soooo much easier for her to handle this shit. Yada yada yada.”
After filling her bowl with more of my ice cream, she returns to the sofa and drops down next to Hadrian once more. She digs happily into the ice cream as I consider if ignoring Saint is actually the right thing to do.
“It’s the right thing, Oz,” she says. “I can tell by the look on your face that you’re second-guessing yourself. But don’t. Just give Wilder some time.”