Page 121 of Dance of Ruin

Just another lie I grew up believing in.

26

NAOMI

I findNico in our massive mirrored walk-in closet when I get home, and my core clenches as I drink in the sight of him: perfectly tailored black slacks, crisp white button-down shirt molding to every plane and groove of his hard, muscled torso. It’s half-unbuttoned, showing the chiseled, tattooed slabs of his chest.

His eyes catch mine the second I walk in.

“How’d it go?” he asks.

I blink. “Hmm?”

His lips curl into a small smile. “Leonard.”

Right.

I’m still thrown by how good he looks. Clean-shaven. Hair damp, combed back. And…cologne.

He lookshot.And not in the usual way. This isn’t brooding-in-a-dark-corner Nico in black jeans and leather jacket. This is hot-spy-from-an-Armani-ad Nico.

“It was…” I shake my head. “Fine. He’s not a fan of yours.”

Nico smirks. “Imagine that.”

“But I set a trap for him,” I add sadly. “And he walked right into it.”

Nico looks up sharply, noticing the way my voice falls. “How so?”

“I asked him if he’d been involved in the bombing, and he said no, he had no idea who theObsidianSyndicate was.”

His face darkens, and his eyes flicker.

“He didn’t even blink,” I continue, my voice cracking. “I only said ‘syndicate.’ But he said the full thing.”

Nico steps closer, jaw tight.

“I’m sorry, Naomi.”

He doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest. It makes me feel like even more of an idiotforbeing surprised.

Nico turns, grabbing a tie from one of the drawers. Then a jacket from a hook near the door.

“Are you going out?” I ask dully.

“Yeah.” He glances at me. “Sorry. I know you just had the whole Leonard thing. But I have to deal with something. Business.” He smirks a little as he turns to me. “What don’t you order whatever you like for dinner, open some good wine, and watch something trashy until I get home.”

My brows knit.

Business? Wearing cologne?

But I don’t say anything, because I know much doing so would make sound like world’s most insecure girlfriend.

Especially since I’m not a girlfriend.

I’m not…anything.

I fold my arms, watching him shrug on his jacket, the fabric molding to his body perfectly.

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