Page 9 of We Three Kings

Goosebumps sprinkle across my arms despite my jacket from the demanding tone of the man calling in front of us. Everyone stops in unison almost as if choreographed in a cheesy movie from the unexpected shout.

The voice rumbles across the asphalt, thick with an accent that I’ve only heard once before. An imposing figure looms in front of us, but surely it’s not him. There’s no way it can be him.

I can’t make out his features in the darkness until he steps closer.

Oh my god!

Itishim.

Balthazar Wiseman.

Although he uttered my name, his seething gaze bores into Casey. Another chill shudders through me despite the warmth of my coat. I’ve never seen a man so angry.

“Don’t ever fucking touch her again. She doesn’t like it.”

He’s not wrong—I don’t like it. Yet his overreaction is more irrational than I’ve ever known. My chest swirls in panic.

From his fury.

From Casey’s fear.

From Bree’s frown.

She stiffens next to me, her suspicion mounting from Balthazar’s intimidation. “Who in the hell is that?”

“My boss.”

“I thought you said your boss was a woman?”

“She is. That’s her boss.”

“Oh shit!”

Oh shit is right.

I nod to Bree’s whisper. A man I’ve only known a few hours is threatening one I’ve known since freshman year.

While I appreciate Balthazar’s defense, his reaction is over-the-top ridiculous and crazy. But telling him so will lead to only one thing—me unemployed.

My stomach drops further. I need this job. I struggled to put myself through school and land this opportunity. I can’t do anything that will jeopardize my future with London.

With the only goal of calming myself and the situation, I take a deep breath and stride toward him, leaving my friends behind. Hopefully, separating them will diffuse the tension and keep me from being fired. “Good evening, Mr. Wiseman. What are you doing here? Is there something you need for me to do?”

Finally, his gaze tears away from Casey, and he overwhelms me, studying me from my face to my feet and back up again. “Are you okay?”

Uncertain as to why he would think otherwise, I nod and maintain my enormous smile despite my confusion. “Yes, I’m great. Our team won.”

“But he touched you.”

Although his protectiveness is unwarranted since Casey’s harmless, the concern feels nice. I haven’t had anyone look out for me in years. Even if it’s a terrifying man with obvious anger issues. “I know. It’s okay. He’s just—”

“No, angel. It’s not okay.”

Angel.

I can’t believe he called me that. Even worse, I can’t believe how much I like it.

A cold breeze swirls around us, lifting the hem of my brother’s enormous jersey flapping from the gust. I palm the fabric and hold the soft material against my thighs. Smoothing the material is the perfect distraction from the awkwardness between us.

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