Page 34 of Lessons with the Mothman

"You're a collector," I said.

"I suppose." His hands slid into his pockets. "I'm certainly an acquirer."

I crossed past him to a bookshelf full of leather and fabric spines, gilt titles faded. I didn't doubt for a moment that there was a single book printed later than the eighteen hundreds. Elias was…meticulous.

"Do your clients for the Agency come here?" I asked.

"No. But sometimes, I take things to the Agency if I think they'll suit an appointment," he said. "Are you…bothered by my hobby?"

I startled and spun to face him. "No! No, not at all. But I am trying to puzzle you out, I think."

Surprisingly, Elias smiled at that. "Fair enough." Which probably meant he was trying to puzzle me out too. His hand reached out in offering to me. "Come, let me show you the rococo parlor. It's ghastly. I haven't decided what to do next with it."

His hand was warm and smooth, and I suddenly itched to be pressed up against him once more, combing my fingers through his hair, peeling off his tidy button-down shirt. He was so soft in the places I'd touched or the parts that had touched me so far, and I wanted to feel him everywhere, learn all his textures.

"I can improve on the classroom if we'd like to use it again. Or change it altogether. Whatever you prefer," Elias said, his clasp on my hand firm and guiding.

I considered the offer. Playing teacher student with Elias had been fun, but it made me wonder what other roles he might invent for us. It was like visiting the bar and finding a drink waiting on the counter for me, something delicious and unfamiliar and designed just for me.

"I think I like when you choose," I said softly.

Elias's hand just squeezed gently around mine.

"Oh,there you are, Vicky. We thought you'd never show up."

I should've known this was a trap, I thought, my hands clenched around my messenger bag strap as I stood in front of the restaurant booth where my mother, father, and an as yet unknown man too close to my own age for comfort waited. If Elias hadn't fucked me silly earlier, leaving me quite light and cheerful, I might've seen her text this afternoon for what it was.

The man slid out of the booth, smiling nervously, but my mother refused to budge and let my father out.

"Ben Stone," the stranger greeted, offering his hand. He was tall, lanky, and to be honest, fairly cute. And I was too well trained to be rude, even if this was clearly a setup.

Because of course my mother wouldn't simply offer to take me out to my favorite restaurant on an otherwise meaningless evening. Not without motive.

"Victoria Dempsey," I offered, shaking his hand, giving into a cursory, skittish sweep of study.

Dark hair, with a bit of gray in the mix. Well dressed, but not quite up to Mom's usual standard, and wearing thick framed glasses that at least hinted at a personal sense of style. Ben Stone had Clark Kent vibes, but without Superman's beefy build.

"Ben's the son of an old college friend. He just moved to Chicago and I promised I would give him a little orientation, but really, you know the city better these days," my mother rattled as Ben took his seat once more, leaving me the spot next to him. "I figured the bribe of dinner would lure you out."

Ben's expression was slightly stricken and awkward at that.Hehadn't realized the scheme, at least.

"No bribe necessary, of course," I said smoothly. The bribe was necessary. If she'd given him my number or vice versa, I would absolutely have ignored or deflected any attempts at connection.

A fucking setup. I should've known. I should've been on my guard. I was suddenly surprised she hadn't attempted something sooner. She must've really believed I was mourning the loss of Brett before now.

Resisting the urge to sigh, drawing up the smile that had been instilled in me that came easier than my own honest expressions, I settled down into the booth. "So what brings you to Chicago?"

I hoped my mother could read the irritation in my glance. I was going to order an outrageous amount of food and take it all home in boxes and feast on fine dining for the rest of the week. It would be her penance.

"Work, of course," Ben admitted with a sheepish shrug and a charming smile. "But I've always loved Chicago."

"He's at the museum, darling, isn't that fascinating? Oh, we'll have to call that waiter back to get you a drink, Vicky. Where did he go?"

I braced myself for the evening ahead.

CHAPTER 13

Elias

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