Page 24 of Merciless Heir
Unless someone is making it seem that way.
I rub my eyes. With a sigh, I get up and give the notebook I’m making scribbled notes in a disgusted look. Nothing at all. I’d thought maybe I could have something as a starting point, and either work on it with Sadie or see if she’d gone to the same place.
But tomorrow morning I can deal with that. I shower and go to bed.
Something wakes me.
A sound.
Like breathing.
Soft.
And something slow, like a low buzz of electric awareness whispers through my blood. The darkness blankets my bedroom as I pulled the blinds designed to block light.
My heart starts to beat faster, but I just snap on the light and sit up. “There are things called phones. And regular hours. Not to mention doorbells.”
“I prefer this.” Sadie’s leaning against the doorframe, dressed in black, her hair back to hardcore pixie, with the longer side tousled and falling almost over one eye.
“Dramatic?”
“My own terms.”
“Aren’t you a little old for teenaged rebel bullshit?”
“Aren’t you a little young for cantankerous old man crap?”
I grin and go to throw black the quilt. “I’m dressed.”
“I’ve seen it all before, anyway. Men are not as impressive as they think they are.”
“You broke in to fuck with my male ego?” I get up and go find some jeans. There’s a part of me that wants to just stay in the boxer briefs—she’s lucky I wore something tonight—but it’s probably not that smart. She’s looking all sorts of delicious and sleep still wraps around me with soft edges and the last thing I need is to get an erection.
She’ll never let that go.
Figuratively.
I pull them on and turn to her. She’s staring at me. My ass, if I’m not mistaken from how high she has to lift her gaze, and how slow she then goes, even as her cheeks start to tinge red.
“Like what you see?”
“Just looking to see where the scars from your implants are,” she says with a sniff.
I come up to her and lean on the other side of the frame, crossing my arms over my bare chest. “How did you get in, anyway?”
“I’m very good at what I do. State-of-the-art security is nothing to me. And you didn’t turn it on. Just a tip, service entrances are a godsend to a good criminal.”
“I’ll note that down.” I let my gaze slide over her. Christ, she’s lovely. “The hour?”
“Maybe I’m into the witching hour?”
“It’s past that.”
“Call me a tardy witch, then.” She turns and starts down my wide hall, her boots silent on the hardwood floors. Me? You can hear me.
Sadie turns right and into my study, turning the light on as she slides behind my desk. My computer’s on, spilling its light on the notepad with a vicious scrawl below mine. An expensive pen sits, lid off, letting the ink inside the nib dry. Only the touch of a smile tells me she did that deliberately.
“Fire this guy. Actually, you don’t have to. I already did.”