Chapter 23 #2
Holden slept on the sofa, but there’s no sign of it now.
Master control freak. The sofa cushions are pinned back into place and they look more plush than they did when we got here.
From the expression on his face, I’m guessing sleep didn’t come easy. At least we’re still sharing one thing.
Awkwardness thickens the air between us, along with the smell of coffee. He must’ve ordered breakfast from that bakery down the block.
My stomach grumbles.
“Morning,” I say, creeping through the space like a ghost.
“Morning,” he echoes.
I scan his face again, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the lines on his face accented by a rough night. I bet I look just as rough.
There’s a level of sleep deprivation and sadness makeup can’t fix.
Standing in front of him feels like baring my soul.
So much left unsaid.
And I hate that he’ll be able to read every inch of heartache on my face just like I’m reading his.
God.
He nods at the paper coffee cup on the table, steam winding through the sippy hole at the top. “Got you some coffee. Cinnamon roll latte. Disgustingly sweet and had your name all over it.”
How kind.
I don’t say it, though. That would come too close to plunging back into feelings lined with razors.
I just nod gratefully and grab my coffee, then throw myself into the chair opposite him. It’s a good drink, just not lovely enough to take the edge off.
He nudges one of the paper bags toward me. A croissant and a small chocolate éclair. The intoxicating smell hits me and my stomach growls.
It’s been too long. I remember I barely picked at a chicken wrap I brought on the plane from a small grab-and-go place in the private terminal.
“No need to go into this hungry,” he says.
“Right. Thanks again.”
We both eat in near silence. My mouth burns every time I think about the things I want to say, the ridiculous words I want to hear.
After all this time, I wish he’d just admit he cares one more time. Tell me this distance is killing him, too.
But he doesn’t say one word as he wolfs down a breakfast wrap, and neither do I.
When my phone buzzes, I snatch it, happy for the smallest distraction. Though when I see who’s calling, my stomach drops.
The curator, Talbot.
I switch on my sunniest smile and answer the call.
“Hi, Mr. Talbot. How can I help?”
“I’m just calling to confirm our meeting is still on for this morning,” he says pleasantly. “Nine o’clock sharp?”
“Yes, that’s right. We’re almost ready.” I sip my coffee, wishing my head wasn’t pounding. “Is everything still good on your end?”
For a second, he hesitates.
That weird dread I’ve carried the whole way here deepens.
“Actually, Miss Blackthorn, there’s been a slight change in plans,” he admits. “Mr. Fairfax has gotten in touch. He wanted to personally wish you well and see the egg off. I trust there’s no issues with this?”
Holden puts his cup down slowly, his dark eyes searching my frown. I turn away protectively, knowing he won’t like it.
If Holden’s right and Fairfax has other intentions…
But this is at a city museum for shit’s sake. Nothing could happen there.
Nothing will.
“That should be fine,” I mutter. “I’ll clear it and we’ll be there in roughly an hour as planned.”
“Great! I look forward to seeing you then.” He ends the call and after a second, I set my phone back on the table.
“What?” Holden clips, his eyes fixed on my face. “I know that look.”
“What look?”
“Something’s wrong. What is it?”
“Nothing!” But the jitter in my gut tells me that’s not true. “It’s just, there’s been a development.”
Holden’s eyes go pitch black as he watches me. “Cleo, tell me.”
I take another gulp of coffee, like caffeine will magically stop Holden from overreacting and going all secret service man.
“It’s no big,” I stress. “Talbot just called to tell me Fairfax will be there too.”
“Absolutely not,” Holden growls without skipping a beat.
A part of me thrills at the way he bristles, muscles bowed up, guarded and ready to kill for me.
Then I remember it’s unhealthy. He’s just doing his job, and it’s not an artifact of our little fling.
“You can relax. It’s a museum decked with cameras and security. We’re meeting in broad daylight,” I say, but he stands abruptly, shoving his chair back.
“No, it’s not. If we’re going to meet with Fairfax, it’ll be public. Somewhere I know.”
I sigh heavily, and his eyes narrow. “Holden, the museum is public.”
“Not public enough. Some stuffy little back office? Fuck that.”
“There are cameras,” I protest, knowing there’s a lot I don’t know about the setup there. That’s his job. “People will see us go in.”
He leans over my chair, his face mere inches from mine.
“There were cameras at your grandfather’s house. I’m not saying it’s a setup, but all it takes is seconds. One vulnerability and his henchmen will have you on the floor, and then they’ll have the egg.”
“…isn’t that what you’re for? So ridiculous.”
His face screws up with annoyance.
“I’m the expert here,” he snarls. “I planned this exchange very carefully, and now your boy wants to pull the rug out at the last minute? For no real reason? It reeks, woman.”
I close my eyes for a fraught second.
“Holden, we don’t have time for this crap. We’ve come this far. Can’t we just trust one little surprise won’t derail everything?”
“Not when it comes to your safety,” he rumbles.
A hurt, dumb part of me loves that he doesn’t even mention the egg.
I push at his chest until he lets up so I can stand.
Precious space.
Just never enough for my aching heart. I’m half a second away from going nuclear, from kissing him, from trying to push him onto the balcony and locking the door. Yeah, good luck moving a mountain.
“My safety isn’t at risk. You can’t believe that.” I inhale sharply. Squaring up to him makes me feel smaller, but I do it anyway. “The museum’s open and the office is tucked away toward the back, isn’t it?”
He nods gruffly.
“Right. So they probably have cameras at the door, or at least pointed at it… Nothing gets in or out without being filmed.”
“Outside, yeah,” he clips. “That’s not the point. I haven’t trusted that fucking snake from day one, and now you want to walk right into a trap.”
“Come on. What trap?” Now it’s my turn to get closer and angrier.
I’ve kept a lid on my emotions as long as I can stand.
I stab a finger at his chest, and it doesn’t give even one bit.
“Holden, stop. I’m not letting one little change in plans blow this for us.
We’re not starting over again. We’re not doing this forever. You know what, screw your paranoia.”
His face falls.
I regret my words, but I also don’t.
“Paranoia? Cleo, someone broke into the house. Men who’ve crossed continents murdering for money.”
“At night! In the dark! This is a museum in flipping New York City.” I catch myself before I’m screaming. Barely.
He looks away, his lip curled like he can’t bear to look at me anymore. “Think about it, Clee.”
“No, you think about it. Think how crazy you’re acting when we can end this today, when we can—forget it. I’m done with this conversation. I’m going, with or without you.” I stalk over to the briefcase with the Hera Egg, but Holden beats me there.
He picks it up and glares with a challenge in his eyes.
“I won’t let you do this,” he growls.
His eyes flare like he’s trying to talk me down from jumping off the top of the building. But no, I’m so done with this.
So ready to quit this shit show like yesterday.
Holden, Gramps, museums, cloak and dagger bad guys, everything that wants to prolong this misery until I lose it.
“Stop it, Holden. Let go.” I yank at the briefcase’s handle, pushing my small fingers under his.
“Just listen. You don’t have to roll over and allow Fairfax to show up. You can call Talbot right now and remind him who’s boss. If you want to meet up with him again, let me organize it. We’ll do it after we’ve handed it off.”
“It’s my inheritance. You don’t get to organize shit.” I tug again, but he doesn’t let it go.
I know how childish this is. But besides being a massive hurtful pain in the ass, now he’s disrespecting me too.
“This is my job,” he insists.
“And it’s my property, isn’t it?”
A spark leaps into his eyes. “Clee, goddamn.”
That ragged whisper does it.
No more.
“Holden—enough!” I lunge forward, grab it with both hands, and pull. “This is my life. My decision. No one gets to tell me what to do.”
“And it’s my job to keep you and this goddamned treasure safe,” he snarls. His grip has weakened, but he doesn’t let go. He hangs on effortlessly with one hand as I pull with all my might.
Go ahead and laugh.
This would be tragically funny if it wasn’t so hilariously tragic.
Finally, I twist, just hard enough to break it free. Or maybe he just finally lets go because he’s afraid we’ll damage it.
I stumble and back up cautiously, cradling the heavy briefcase to my chest with both hands. I’m so exasperated I want to march over and throw it off the balcony.
He clears his throat and steps forward. I put my free hand up.
“No. Either you’ll come along and be my bodyguard and respect my decisions, or you’ll stay here,” I hiss. “Your decision. The only one you get to make, Holden Verity. Either way, I’m going.”
The volcanic gleam in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what he can do to stop me, but he doesn’t.
He could easily wrestle it away, tie me up with his belt, and deal with the egg himself. But to my relief, he just watches me stuff my feet in my shoes.
A muscle ticks in his throat as he straightens his tie.
I half expect him to stay behind.
To abandon me and leave me alone with my selfish, arrogant decisions.
After a second, he trails behind me, wearing an expression that makes me feel like I’m leading him into an angry sea.