Page 62 of His Ruthless Match
I set down my fork and leaned forward. “Yeah, about that. We need to talk.”
Her brow arched. “No, we don’t.”
I shook my head. “Negative. Your brother assigned me to keep you safe, and it’s become glaringly obvious that it’s unwise for me to leave your side. The Shadow was very clear in his instructions. He wants me with you at all times. Plus, I detected a hint of magic in the hotel room. I’m not sure what it meansyet, but it’s not wise for you to be on your own right now. Therefore”—I paused for effect—“I’m moving into your guest room. Effective immediately.”
She gaped at me. Then, to my utter dismay, she laughed. It started as a soft chuckle before escalating into a full-blown fit, tears gathering in her eyes. “The fuck you are.”
I didn’t smile. If anything, I was offended by how hard she was laughing. “This isn’t up for discussion or negotiation,” I said, my tone firm. “I’ll have Grelth pack my things tomorrow. Once you’re safe at the office, I’ll grab what I need. Otherwise, I’m not leaving your side. Except when you’re, you know, in the bathroom. Even then, I’ll be outside the door, trying not to laugh at whatever noises you make.”
She pushed away from the table and started pacing. “You can’t just decide these things! I’m calling my brother. There’s no way he’d be okay with someone like you sleeping in the next room.”
I leaned back in my chair, lacing my fingers behind my head. “Go ahead. Call him. He’ll tell you to grow up and let me do my job. I’m not here to interfere with your life or your work. Think of me as an added bonus, someone to handle threats so you can focus on whatever it is you do all day.”
She stopped pacing, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “You’re right,” she muttered begrudgingly. “Raffaele won’t relent. I know him too well. But if you’re going to stay here, there are going to be rules.”
I smirked. “Oh, this should be good.”
She folded her arms. “Rule one: You use the toilet by the guest room,notthe master bathroom. Rule two: You don’t come into my room. Ever. Rule three: You don’t talk to me in the morning. Or ever, really, unless it’s important. Rule four: You clean up your messes. Rule five: You contribute to the household chores, like cooking and cleaning.”
I held up a hand. “Hold on. Cooking?”
“Fine,” she huffed. “You must contribute to meals. However that looks.”
“Done,” I said, standing. “If that’s all, I’d like to get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”
She glared at me but stomped off toward her room. A moment later, I heard the door slam and theclickof the lock.
“What a hospitable host,” I muttered to myself. “This is going to be fun.”
18
EVA
Isat at my desk, tapping my pen against the edge of my laptop and pretending not to notice Theo’s delight at Jareth’s presence. True to his annoying, overbearing nature, Jareth had insisted on escorting me all the way to my desk and then lingered for a solid thirty minutes. His golden eyes scanned every corner of the office like a predator hunting prey.
“You can leave now,” I finally said, keeping my tone even but firm.
Jareth leaned against the edge of my desk, crossing one boot over the other. “Not until I’m sure you’re safe.”
I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t have the energy to argue. My head was a jumbled mess of unanswered questions and worst-case scenarios about Genevieve. My gut told me something was wrong—reallywrong—but until she returned my calls or texts, I had no way to confirm it.
“All right, you’re clear,” Jareth finally said after checking a million things on his phone that I assumed were connected to the security systems he’d installed. He straightened and gave Theo a mock salute before heading for the door. “I’ll be back once I grab my things from the cottage and take them to your apartment.”
“Take your time,” I muttered.
Theo plopped down in the chair across from me. “Is it weird having him glued to your side now? Or are you two besties?”
“Don’t start,” I warned as I checked my phone for the hundredth time. Still no word from Genevieve.
Theo grinned but wisely dropped the subject. “Want me to grab you a coffee?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks,” I said distractedly as I scrolled through Genevieve’s social media. More videos had been posted since last night. This time, the videos and captions came directly from her account, and she was bragging about her wild antics.
The words didn’t sound like her at all, though. They were too crude, too attention-seeking. My gut twisted as I clicked through the posts.
Something wasn’t right.
I tried calling Genevieve again. Straight to voicemail. Sighing, I sent her a text.
