Page 54 of Citius

Planning a working lunch on Monday.

Your team can send me their notes.

Tuesday? I’ll spring for double cheeseburgers.

My calendar’s full.

Would sushi on Wednesday change your mind?

I had to laugh at his persistence. Shaking my head, I checked my calendar before sending Cal the website for my favorite sushi place downtown

Too bad Kelsey was impervious to sushi bribery. No cheese, no interest. Which meant I needed to update Jacobi before he wheedled the events of the evening out of her in bits and pieces.

After determining he should be home by now, I set a timer to go off in an hour, just in case, so that we wouldn’t lose track of time. Otherwise, I’d be half-dead tomorrow.

Then again, half-dead might be an improvement.

I have an official Owen update for you.

Like I give a fuck.

Just had a business dinner with him and Cal.

TMI. Keep your indigestion to yourself.

Promise not to scream?

A video call came through. The camera zoomed in on a skeptical brow.

“Tell me, my so-called best friend, who likes to keep company with loft thieves and cat piss traitors, why should I care—”

“Remember that grumpy, kind of goth art history professor you used to draw half-naked all the time?”

Jacobi reared back, curls bouncing, and looked down his nose at me. “Well, that’s an abrupt change of topic.”

“No, no. Just picture him, but maybe ten years younger. Wearing a three-piece suit and glasses. And instead of brooding in the ruins of an ancient cathedral, plunk him in a science lab, playing with lots of sharp objects.”

“Are you claiming that Owen Redmond is not only the scummy asshole who stole my home,” he said, voice rising higher with every word, “but he’s also a smolderingly hot nerd?”

“More or less.”

Jacobi blinked while the cogs of his brain whirred away. “That may require one to three full business days for me to process.”

“Would it help speed things along if you knew I kissed Cal?”

The resulting vocal outpouring wasn’t a scream. But it was close enough.

Seventeen

Owen

Our inaugural Sunday pack dinner was a moderate success. We sat around our new dining room table, with the mated pair sharing a wooden bench, while Wyatt and I enjoyed the comfortable dining chairs. Alijah prepared a pot roast and vegetables, which we savored with a decent wine. The city skyline reflected the sunset through the ceiling-height arched windows, flanked by our inherited custom drapes.

Too bad about the conversation. A circuitous hour of verbal dead-ends and backtracking, at the end of which we had yet to select a date for Alijah’s desired housewarming event.

“You really don’t need to include me in your plans,” Wyatt said, ever the ostrich in search of a sandpit. “Just pick whatever date works for you guys. I mean, it’s your friends coming over.”

Joaquin refilled Alijah’s glass before topping up his own. “And co-workers.”

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