Page 20 of Luxe

I am so tired I could fall asleep right here in the hallway and not wake up for a week. But there was still one more thing to do.

Two things.

And I didn’t want to do either of them.

The elevator arrives and I climb in. My shoulders lift as I test my injuries; they’re still a little sore from that security guard grabbing me. I make a point to not make any movement that might raise suspicions with Kylian. Something about the way he’d fought the guy that was almost twice his size tells me he will probably go back and finish things if he knows I’m actually hurt.

I ignore the urge to feel a sense of… flattery? To see him get so riled up over me being in danger but the rational side of me knows that it was probably nothing but him having a testosterone flare.

He’s waiting in the apartment lobby when I get down there. Hands in his pockets, looking toward the elevators, waiting for me.

Somehow he doesn’t look nearly as affected by the incident as I am, which is too bad. Even in the dark, his eyes hit deep inside me, and stir up feelings I thought I’d squashed years ago. The smart thing to do would be to turn around and walk away. Unfortunately, I’m not done with needing him yet.

"Where to now?" he asks, with a smile.

""Police station," I say. "I need to make a police report."

"You got it," he replies, without even an ounce of annoyance that he’s suddenly my chauffeur at 3 a.m. in the morning.

I don’t even know what he’s doing here, but for the next hour, I’m not going to worry about it. He appeared when I needed someone. And I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

We get into the car, but we don’t speak for the entire drive.

eight

Kylian

"Your hot water, sir," a friendly voice says in Cantonese about fifteen minutes later.

A mug has appeared on the table in front me as I sit at an empty desk at the police station. Smiling, I respond with a “thank you” in the same language. When I'm in Hong Kong, I speak in Cantonese, and some choppy Mandarin if the occasion requires it, as much as I can. I’m an Englishman in their country, I shouldn’t be expecting them to cater to me. My Cantonese is not perfect, and I make mistakes that often I get roasted for by my employees for weeks, but it’s worth it for all the richness learning the language has given me.

Kiara had given me a very pointed look when we'd arrived at the station, which I’d taken to mean that I was to leave her to her business. That was after she’d given me a withering look when I'd parked the car and followed her inside, instead of just dropping her off as she'd explicitly asked. It was the same look that I used to give my older brothers when we were children and they'd tried to help me with things that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I was better at than them. It hadn't worked on them and Kiara's look wasn't working on me now. But I agreed not to say anything, to sit in a corner and be quiet and I intend on sticking to my promise, I won’t say a word... unless I feel I need to.

For the time being, though, I'm happy to sit at the neighboring desk, just listening as she tells the police officer what had happened with her car.

I tear open a small paper packet I pull from my pocket and pour the contents into the mug. My older brother Damien's fiancée, My-Linh’s family owns a tea store, and she'd mixed up a concoction that was meant to cool my blood after I'd told her I'd been getting nose bleeds whenever I return to Hong Kong after being gone for a little while.

The dried leaves slowly sink to the bottom of the cup, coloring the water, the fragrance already lifting me. She added something to relax me, knowing the lifestyle all us Baxters live. I smile, thinking about the way she’d reminded me to drink it every night. I miss her; over the course of only a few months, she’s become like a sister to me, and my brother is lucky to have her. The hot water burns my tongue in a satisfying way that I’ve always enjoyed, and the drink instantly relaxes me.

I let out a satisfied, "Ahhhhh."

"Smells good," the uniformed cop who'd brought me the water comments. "Not as good as San Miguel beer. But good."

I laugh a little too loudly and elicit a scowl from Kiara from her seat ten feet away for interrupting her.

"Oops, we're in trouble," I say, dropping my voice conspiratorially, and the cop's eyes widen a little before he backs away. Probably wanting to put some distance between himself and the scary glare-y lady.

Smart.

Hooking my arms around the back of my head, I stretch my long legs out in front of me, trying not to appear like I'm following every word that Kiara is saying.

After not seeing her for five years, it's hard not to compare the woman who is sitting near me with the girl I knew before.

She’s speaking in Cantonese, and I realize that I had never heard her speak the language before, in London, both she and Nathan had always stuck to English. It was a little thrilling to experience this new side of her. Her voice is a few tones lower; she speaks slowly, clearly, incredibly articulately. Considering she's here to report a stolen car, she's almost emotionless, her voice steady, her face barely changing in expression. After each question the police officer asks, she pauses for a moment, then gives a succinct answer.

Physically, there's no denying that she's matured in her body. The last time I saw her, she had just turned twenty-one. Her mother's pale English Rose genes mixed with her father's darker Chinese tones meant that her skin was swirled with equal parts opaque silk and translucence. She was probably on the taller side for most Asian women and she'd always been slightly awkward in her frame, as if not really sure what to do with her arms and legs.

That isn't the same woman I’m seeing tonight.

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