Page 42 of The Woman in the Warehouse

“Dude, seriously?” Saylor said, grabbing the back of my jacket as I fucking stumbled over a package in the hallway.

“In my defense, that shouldn’t have been in the middle of the hall,” I admitted, feeling my fucking neck and ears heating. This was, what, the fourth or fifth time I’d made an idiot of myself around her?

“I mean, sure, but you have eyes, right?” she asked, smiling at me as I fished for my key and stabbed it into the lock.

I said nothing to that as I moved inside, reaching to flick on the light, but finding it already on.

My spine stiffened, knowing it had been off when I’d left earlier. Just as I was about to reach for my gun to do a sweep of the place, my fucking brother came strolling down the short hall from my bedroom.

“I thought I heard someone almost wipeout in the… oh,” Emilio said, spying Saylor coming in behind me, his lips twitching. “Looks like I interrupted something,” he said, but he made no move to actually leave.

“Saylor, this is my brother, Emilio. Milo, this is Saylor. Now what the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” I asked.

“Can’t I just come and check in on my brother?”

“Check up on me is more like it,” I said, closing the door behind Saylor as she eyed up Emilio.

“Surprised you’re not working,” Emilio said, tone suggestive enough to have my hackles rising.

“He was. I got him to agree to take a little break,” Saylor said, her voice taking on a tone I hadn’t heard yet. Something, I don’t know, flirtatious. “I can be very convincing,” she went on, laying it on thick as she leaned into me, her fingers toying with one of my shirt buttons.

“I’m sure you can, sweetheart,” Emilio agreed. A retired manwhore, he always appreciated it when I seemed to be picking up the torch he’d lain down. “So, is that your brownie batter coffee creamer in the fridge?” he asked.

“Totally,” Saylor agreed, lying through her fucking teeth. “I love all things chocolate,” she went on, fingers walking up my chest. “So, ah, are you planning to be here for a long visit?” she asked, actually batting her eyelashes at Emilio.

It was so out of character for her that it was taking actual effort not to laugh at her.

“Oh, just a couple minutes, honey,” he said, barely holding back a smile.

“Good. Then I’ll just go get… comfortable then,” Saylor said, confidently walking toward the hallway like she’d been to my place a hundred times before. “Nice meeting you, Emilio,” she called as she went into my bedroom and closed the door.

“She’s pretty as fuck,” Emilio said, turning back to me.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And you’re keeping me from enjoying all that pretty. So, get the interrogation over with.”

“I’m just checking in,” Emilio said, shaking his head. “Don’t need to get defensive.”

“Milo, we both know it’s never just checking in,” I told him. “Lorenzo trusted me with this. And I’m all over it. You don’t need to look over my shoulder.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” he insisted.

“You’re trying to make sure I don’t make a fool of you,” I said.

“Hey, no, that’s not—“

“I’m a grown man now, Milo,” I said, finding the words I’d been tongue-tied with flowing out easily all of a sudden. “My fuck-ups, if or when they happen, are my own.”

“Fuck,” Emilio said, sighing hard. “Look, I get why it feels like that to you, man. But I honestly never meant to make you feel like I think you’re going to fuck up. I’m just… protective, I guess. And, besides, who am I to comment on fuck-ups? I allowed a fucking spy into my house,” he said, shrugging.

“Then married her,” I agreed.

“I’ll try not to look over your shoulder on this. But I want you to know I’m here, y’know? If you want to bat ideas around. Or if you need backup. Don’t want you to hesitate because you think I’m going to think less of you for needing an extra set of hands. Ma would fucking box my ears if I let anything happen to you. Speaking of,” he said, gaze going to my forehead where I’d whacked it on the desk the night before.

“A little mishap while trying to fuck Saylor on her mother’s desk,” I admitted, getting a big grin out of him.

“I’ve never been a prouder brother in my life,” he said, moving toward the door, and smacking a hand on my shoulder as he went. “Saylor’s waiting for you,” he reminded me. “Try not to get yourself hurt again,” he added, letting himself out.

Alone, I exhaled hard, feeling like a boulder I’d been carrying around for years had just been lifted off of my shoulders.

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