Page 21 of The Final Contract
So will I.
It seems holding yourself back from committing second-degree murder really works up an appetite.
The date’s on a clock, like all of them. Companions have signals to cut things short or let them play out. Seraphina gives the one that says she’ll end right on time—no early escape, no dragging it out longer.
I shift my stance just enough so she sees me. My promise in silence: I’ll be ready when you are.
I glance at my watch and sigh. Fifteen more minutes of this circus.
Elijah’s still talking, already droning about their “second date.” Paragliding.
Perfect. Just what you want to do with a woman you’ve known for exactly an hour—throw her off a cliff and hope the straps hold.
I grit my teeth and slide my phone out, pulling up the Caviar Black app.
It’s the kind of delivery service only billionaires bother with—exclusive, invitation-only, the sort of thing where anything you order shows up plated like it belongs in a Michelin-star kitchen. No hassle. No wait. Just the delicacies of the world at your fingertips.
And the Ledger has one of the top accounts. Nothing but the best for our Companions.
I put in an order—more than enough for Sera—then send the instructions to Finn. Delivery window. Placement. Setup. Exactly where I want it waiting and a few extra directions.
Then I slide the phone back into my pocket, lean against the wall again, and count down the minutes until this shit parade is over.
This isn’t the worst date I’ve ever been on.
But Elijah Carter? He’s easily in the top three for douchiest men I’ve had to endure. And that’s saying something.
In my line of work, I’m paid to cater to men—to fluff their egos, make them feel big, brilliant, powerful. But Elijah is doing all of that for himself, puffing his own chest without any help from me. Of all the rich and elite men I’ve crossed paths with, he may be the most self-centered.
Nine o’clock can’t come soon enough.
The last ten minutes, he hasn’t shut up about some rival tech entrepreneur he’s about to surpass with a new development. I know from Eve he’s referring to Jaxon Kane, and hearing Elijah talk so confidently is almost comical.
Jaxon isn’t just another tech entrepreneur. He’s it. He sits leagues above the world, shaping it with every idea. If he hasn’t produced something, it’s probably because he already handedthe concept off to someone else, bored of its simplicity. After Jaxon, all the other tech leaders fight among themselves for scraps. And Elijah? Elijah isn’t even near the top of that list.
So I sit there, nodding in polite agreement while my mind drifts. I daydream about being home, scrubbing off this makeup, curling into my pajamas with my fireplace on. I’m starving, and the thought of food from Hearth—the sleeker, residents-only version of Ember & Ash—makes my stomach clench. One of Manhattan’s best steakhouses, worth every outrageous dollar Damien Wolfe charges to live in one of his buildings.
A soft throat clearing behind me snaps me back. Killian.
I feel the warmth of him at my back as he takes hold of my chair. “I’m afraid it’s time for Miss Wilde to go.”
He pulls it out gently, and I rise, folding my linen napkin onto the table. Killian steps back but keeps his eyes locked on the two of us, giving Elijah the chance to play gentleman and say goodbye.
Instead, Elijah catches my hand and lifts it, pressing his mouth to my knuckles. “You are even more lovely in person, Seraphina.”
Then he leans in, voice dropping low, breath too close. “I thought we could ditch your big, scary bodyguard and perhaps get to know each other more privately at my place with a nightcap.”
My stomach twists. He’s close enough now that I can see a faint ring around his irises—colored contacts.
And suddenly, a thought drops like ice water through my veins.
What if he’s wearing colored contacts to hide it? The ice-blue eye that makes my stalker stand out above everyone else.
I stumble back, tripping on the leg of the chair. Elijah lets go instantly, unconcerned, but Killian isn’t. His arms catch undermine, pulling me tight against him, solid and sure, keeping me from hitting the floor.
“Whoa,” Elijah says with a grin, clearly thinking himself clever. “Didn’t mean to sweep you off your feet on the first date.”
He’s not clever. He’s desperate. Pathetic.
