Page 67 of Terror Tuesday
Elliot leans closer, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Because you walk into every room like you own the whole goddamn university.”
That steals my breath for a second. He seems to be good at that. “I mean, you know the name of the library.”
He smiles broadly. “I do, Miss Cardell. And on the board. And parts of the city.”
My stomach drops for a moment, thinking of his intentions. Have I been played? Am I walking into a trap?
“No,” he says, voice lower now. “I don’t give a shit about your family name. I just wanted to watch what happened to anyone who tried to take power away from you.”
A laugh tumbles out of me, caught somewhere between nerves and thrill. “So you’re into chaos.”
“I’m into people who know they’re on fire but don’t put themselves out.”
The air shifts. Much softer and warmer. This could be dangerous. Not only is the sexual tension fuming between us, but I’m being drawn intowho he is.
It seems like he’s studied me in ways I haven’t noticed until now. Why is it that I never saw him until last week? Have I been so blind that Hunter was the only thing that occupied my mind?
Yes. That and becoming his appointed.
What an idiot I’ve been. I’ve failed to see the forest through the trees.
Letting the silence settle, I sip my beer. “What about you? What’s your damage?”
He snorts. “Wow. Straight for the trauma round.”
“I figure it’s only fair. You’ve seemingly analyzed half of my personality profile by now. I know nothing about you except your sarcasm and your suspiciously strong forearms.”
“I lift laptops,” he deadpans.
“Right. And bodies, probably.”
His smile falters, but only for a second. Just long enough for something to flicker behind his eyes.
“What were you before this?” I ask gently. “Before NU?”
His jaw works as he studies the foam in his glass. “Someone who didn’t care if he lived or died.”
I go still. That…wasn’t a joke.
But he glances up with a wry smile. “Then I met someone. And I started to care.”
His hand is on the table, fingers loose, but I see the tension coiled in the tendons. I wonder who “someone” is. I wonder if it’s me.
“Did they change you?” I whisper.
“No,” he says. “They reminded me.”
I swallow. My voice is almost too soft when I speak. “Of what?”
A long pause. Then he smiles, just slightly. “That I’m not beyond repair.” And just like that, the moment snaps. We’re both fragile, but alive. He knocks his knuckles against mine. “Anyway. Enough about me. Let’s talk about your fake crypto strategy.”
I blink. “Excuse you, Nick’s a financial prophet. We’re all just his humble disciples.”
He leans in again, this time grinning. “Sure. Just promise not to use words like ‘blockchain ecosystem’ while you’re kissing me.”
My cheeks flush. “Who says I’m kissing you?”
“You just did,” he murmurs.
