Page 32 of White Wings of Desire

"Do we?" I raise my eyebrows.

"Yes. I've been working for Mr. Holman for about seven years now, and he never had a girlfriend and was never interested in someone. For a while, I even thought he was gay and didn’t want to come out to me. You can imagine my surprise when I saw the lingerie you forgot the morning after the wedding."

"My what?" My eyes widen and my heart skips a beat. He really took my underwear that I left at the hotel and kept it?

"Yes, it's yours, isn't it?" She asks nervously.

"Yeah, I'm just surprised he kept it," I smile at her, but a cold shiver runs down my spine. I don't even want to imagine what the pervert has done with it.

"I thought he would have given it back to you by now. But maybe he forgot."

"Possibly. I’ll ask him later," I say and finish rolling the last meatball before carrying the plate to the stove where Mrs. Collins has started to heat a frying pan. She takes the plate from me and starts putting the meatballs into the piping hot oil.

"I have one more question, and I know it’s not polite to ask, but how old are you?" Mrs. Collins looks up from the pan in front of her.

"I'm twenty-six."

"Ah, I thought you were even younger."

"No, I'm not," I say with a chuckle.

"And the age difference isn’t an issue for you?"

"No, I mean, what? Eight years? It’s not that much of a difference." It’s true, and frankly, I haven't thought about our age difference at all. With everything wrong in our little situation, age is by far the least of my concerns.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Mrs. Collins smiles. I watch her mix the creamy sauce with the meatballs. "This is actually Mr. Holman's favorite dish." My eyes land on the pan with the sauce, and the pasta is bubbling in a pot. It is a very simple dish. To be honest, I was expecting something fancier to be his favorite. But when I think back to the last few days, when we ordered takeout, he always chose something simple and would even eat the same thing two nights in a row.

"Is he a picky eater?"

"No, I wouldn't call him a picky eater, but he is very set on what he likes and food-wise he is not very experimental," she says with a chuckle. "Can you please go get him? It will be ready in a few minutes."

"Of course," I say with a smile and head upstairs to his office. His voice comes muffled from inside the room and I stop in front of the door. He’s still on the phone.

With a gentle knock, I let him know that I'm there. Without waiting for a response, I slowly push the door open and step inside. He’s sitting at his desk with his phone pressed to his ear. He waves me inside, but then flips me his palm in a gesture to wait.

"So, he didn't pay the full price because I went against his original plan?" he asks the person on the phone, his voice the only sound in the room.

Trying to ignore the conversation, I walk over to one of the shelves against the wall and trace the spines of the many books while I read the titles. He seems quite upset, his voice thick with anger, and his fingers drum on the surface of his desk.

"I can't believe he's being difficult about this. I got him all the information he wanted from the target’s computer in the end, which means he got what he paid for."

I steal a glance at him and find his eyes are fixed on me. He is talking to someone about a job, but I thought he worked alone? Maybe he has a contact I don't know about. My curiosity is piqued, and I really would like to know what the person on the other end is saying.

"Keep your cut, Kyle."

I perk up at the familiar name, which I have seen pop up on his phone a number of times before because this person actually texts him a lot.

"I'm gonna get my money. If he wants to do it the ugly way, he can have it." After a few more minutes of small talk, he ends the call and sets the phone down on the table. "Come here, Dove," he says, pushing his chair back from the table, reaching for me.

I walk over to him and take his invitation, settle into his lap, and wrap my arms around his shoulders. "Who were you talking to?"

"Just a friend of mine." He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder.

"Just a friend or another killer?"

"A friend who also happens to be a hitman."

"I thought you weren't socializing with others?"

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