Page 54 of The Mourning Throne
Morgan’s instincts pricked—the familiar hum low in his skull. The voice that whispered when it mattered. The one that rarely lied.
He’d only been wrong four times.
He remembered each one.
Tossing the keys to Lex, he stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.
“Go to the car. I’ll meet you there.”
Lex’s mouth twisted in a practiced pout. “What about thebill?”
“You picked the most expensive restaurant, not me, Lex. You get to pay.”
Lex groaned—dramatic and theatrical—and Morgan couldn’t help but smile.
Actions had consequences. This one came with a receipt.
Morgan adjusted his cuffs as he stepped outside, the breeze of London evening air carrying leftover diesel and rain.
As much as he loved his corner of the States, he could get used to it here.
It wasn’t Mayfair. It wasn’t the sterile corridor near their hotel. It wasn’t close to the office or the circles Lex wanted to keep.
No. This part was different. Tactile in its own way. Gritty. Less polished. Alive outside of the restaurant doors.
Enough to give him that delightful hit of endorphins. The kind that always told him he wasright there.
“It’s been a day,” Morgan said after a moment.
“You’re telling me…” The doorman could’ve been talking to Morgan, or himself. But he barely acknowledged either. Still clutching the phone as if it might save his life.
“Long shift?”
“Been longer.”
Morgan nodded like he understood. “You wouldn’t mind if we had a quick chat while I wait for my car, would you?”
That landed.
The doorman dragged his gaze up, phone screen dimming, white-blue glow fading from his features. For a second, he just stared. Blank. Suspicious. But behind it—there it was. A crack. Thin, but present.
“If you’re moaning about service, all I do is hold—”
“It’s nothing like that—I promise,” Morgan cut in before the excuses could ruin the pacing. His voice softened to just the right level of performed exhaustion. “I’ve been in business meetings all day and I was looking for someone to tell me what to do around here for fun. I need a reset. If you’re off soon, maybe you could show me instead.”
He watched it happen. That slow tilt from hesitation to reluctant interest.
People were predictable. Eventually, when pressed by boredom and the ache of going unseen, every last one wanted to matter to someone. Even if only for a single evening.
And this one—tired and no doubt underpaid—was no different. His shoulders slumped. The grip on his phone eased. He nodded.
Morgan smiled, grabbing his phone from his pocket.
Bring the car around. Play along. I’m very excited for my prize.
Chapter 10
By the time Morgan and Pete—the doorman—got back into the car, over an hour had passed.
