Page 28 of Mistletoe Masquerade
Sante has paid me a visit, not Santa. Now, I’m even more on guard.
“What’s up?” I ask, giving him a curt nod.
We both lean against the exterior stone wall, our bodies facing the street as though we’re only casually aware of one another.
“I know you like to think the worst of me, but you need to know I didn’t send her.”
“So I hear.”
“Yeah, well. I wouldn’t bother correcting your assumption,but our working relationship has been mutually beneficial, and I don’t see any reason this should disrupt things.” His gaze slowly slides my direction. “You talk to her?”
“Last night.” I nod.
“Not sure if you know this, but she’s Tommy’s wife’s best friend.”
“And?” Impatience and a touch of irritation sharpen my tone.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Figure it’s good to point out how monumentally stupid it would be to fuck around and hurt her.”
“That a threat?” I look over at him, wanting him to meet my steely stare and understand he can’t scare me. He’s pissing me off, more than anything.
“It’s a fact, that’s all.” He pushes off the wall and stretches his neck. “The whole point is, it was purely an accident your paths crossed. Think it’s best for everyone if we pretend it never happened.” He gives me a pointed look, then walks away.
I envision myself yanking him back around and planting my fist in his face. The same fist I have balled so tightly my bones ache.
Why the fuck am I so pissed about what he said?
It’s true. I was already telling myself the same thing, but coming from him, I hate it even more.
I stare poison-coated daggers at his back, not goinginside until he disappears around a corner two blocks down.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that asshole dictate who I can and can’t see.
I spend an hour trying to work. It’s no use. I still can’t concentrate, which is how I find myself on the phone with the catering company the city used to host our masquerade ball. Once I confirm Sachi didn’t lie about working for them, I look her up on social media because she’s a mystery, and it’s my job to solve mysteries. Also, because I’m a glutton for punishment.
I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to the food at the party. The photos she’s posted jog my memory, and I’m beyond impressed. The woman has some serious talent. And not just sculpting fruit—she works with all sorts of sculpting mediums, and they’re all equally as spectacular.
Double fuck.
It’s looking more and more like my assumptions about Sachi were a catastrophic jump to conclusions. And on top of that, I was an absolute dick about it. Hell, I fucked her against the wall, then walked out like she was some sort of cheap toy.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve taken the tennis ball that sits on my desk and thrown it as hard as I can at a metal filing cabinet. The ball dents the gray metal, then ricochets into a half-full can of soda on my desk, sending the can and its contents spilling to the floor.
Motherfuckinggoddammit.
Today is really starting to piss me off.
And things only go downhill from there. After problems arise in our Reaper stakeout, and a fucking pigeon shits on me on my way back from lunch, I decide this day literally can’t get any worse.
Another erroneous assumption.
Midafternoon, Amelie pays me a visit. Ordinarily, I’d appreciate a chance to see her. She’s warm and funny and an all-around good person. She’s the reason I first crossed paths with Sante, her husband—though, he wasn’t her husband at the time. He was her stalker.
It was complicated.
Now, Amelie and I are casual friends. I don’t think Sante would allow much more. Seeing her would be a happy surprise if I didn’t already know the reason for her visit.
“You and your husband in one day, I must be extra lucky.” Is that sarcasm in my voice? 100 percent. Does it earn me a raised brow warning? Absolutely.
