Page 17 of Redamancy (Fated Fixation #2)

Chapter thirteen

“ S tupid. Fucking. Elevator. Always broken when I need you,” I mutter under my breath—what’s left of it, that is—as I unlock the door to my apartment.

I’m still huffing and puffing, my lungs and thighs burning from the exertion of having to walk up four flights of stairs.

There’s not a rock climbing career in my future, is there?

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Beside me, Adrian is perfectly unaffected by the climb, my bag of groceries in hand.

Any other time, I’d object to the suggestion of letting Adrian into the cluttered six-hundred square feet I currently call home, but I’ve got a thousand reasons to make every minute count right now.

“I’m fine,” I reassure him, but it comes out as half-word, half-gasp. “I’m just—usually, I just take the elevator up to my apartment. It’s been a while since I’ve had to deal with the stairs.” It’s only through sheer will and picturing Yoshi’s face as a dartboard that I reached the top.

I’m too winded to hold my breath as I swing the apartment door open, hoping to whatever higher power exists that LuAnne hasn’t decided to come home for lunch today.

Fortunately, it’s only a yowling Toby who greets us.

“Okay, you had breakfast a couple of hours ago. You are not starving,” I remind him, but I might as well be a can of that low-calorie prescription cat food he won’t touch, given how well he ignores me.

I expect Adrian to follow me in, but he remains in the doorway, still clutching my groceries. “You have a cat,” he says, eyeing Toby like it’s the first time he’s ever encountered one.

I nod.

“You have a cat,” Adrian repeats, and then, much more quietly: “How did I not know you had a cat?” The question doesn’t feel like it’s for me, but I answer anyway.

“How could you possibly know I had a cat?”

Whatever he’s thinking, Adrian shakes his head and finally steps into the apartment. “Just an assumption,” he shrugs, depositing the groceries onto the counter, but the movement looks too forced to be entirely natural.

My gaze lingers.

Well, that’s weird.

Toby jumps onto the counter—a habit neither LuAnne nor I have been able to break him of, no matter how many rolls of aluminum foil we waste—and heads straight for Adrian, who still seems very skeptical about his overall existence.

Not a cat person, I guess.

Toby gives him a few experimental sniffs before rubbing against the expensive fabric of his coat, and Adrian reluctantly scratches him behind the ear.

“Don’t be fooled by his cuteness,” I warn. “He’s very manipulative. He might seem like he wants attention, but Toby has only one earthly desire, and that’s food. He’ll wear you down until you give him a treat.”

As if to prove my point, Toby circles around to the locked box of cat treats on the counter and meows again.

The corner of Adrian’s mouth quirks up. “You are manipulative, aren’t you?” It sounds like an endearment coming from him—even more so when he reaches out and gently scratches Toby behind the ears.

This is not cute, I tell myself. Definitely, totally, absolutely not cute at all.

“You want something to drink? We’ve got tea, water, and Red Bull, but unfortunately, no coffee…

” I glance down at the disassembled coffee maker lying on the counter.

LuAnne officially called time of death this morning after I spent the better half of last night dissecting it, but I’ve yet to move the remains to their final resting place in the trash chute.

“Tea is fine,” he says, and pulls his attention away from Toby long enough to sit down at the bar and survey his surroundings.

I can only imagine what he thinks: the cramped living room strewn with art supplies for my upcoming show.

Our “decorative pillows” we pass off as extra seating.

The untouched bills taking over the counter.

Last night’s dishes still marinating in the sink.

“Your apartment is…” His lip curls. “Quaint.”

I cross my arms over my chest, unable to help the familiar defensiveness that seeps into my words. “Well, as I said, things are in flux right now. We’re moving soon, I’ve got my upcoming art show—”

“Art show?” Adrian interjects.

I freeze.

I just had to let it slip, didn’t I?

It’s not that I don’t want to tell Adrian—quite the opposite, actually. I’d love to let him know I’m not failing in every aspect of adulthood, but…

What if he gets too curious?

What if he wants to see the collection?

My brain flashes to the recent pieces I dropped off at Ocean’s office just a few days ago, the ones she gushed over.

The ones with dark eyes, large hands, and gleaming white teeth.

I swallow. “Uh, yeah, just this exhibition I’m doing in a couple of weeks. It’s not really a big deal.”

Just a totally life-changing deal.

“Where’s the show?”

I feel the weight of his gaze as I tinker with the water kettle. “Oh, just this little gallery in Chelsea. There’s a bunch in that area, so…”

In true Adrian fashion, he sees through my feigned nonchalance immediately. “What’s the name of the gallery?”

It’s not like he’s that connected to the art world, right?

And he just moved to New York , anyway .

“The, uh, Ars Astrum,” I mumble, hoping the words are too rushed and unintelligible for him to make out, but—

“The Ars Astrum? You’re showing there ?” His eyebrows skyrocket. “That’s hardly a ‘little gallery.’”

…great.

Maybe I should’ve just made up a name—something random he might forget to fact-check later on.

I rub the back of my neck, my tone laced with slight panic. “You’re familiar?”

He scoffs. “Of course. I’ve never been personally, but I’ve had friends who’ve gotten into all out bidding wars over pieces there.

It’s an extremely prestigious gallery.” I catch his eye as I grab the tea bags from the cabinet, genuine admiration shining in them.

“That’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. ”

Adrian’s approval shouldn’t mean anything to me, but I can’t stop the warmth that surges through me as a result. “Yeah, it is,” I agree.

Something like amusement flickers through his eyes. “I have a feeling the whole world will know your name soon enough.”

Don’t smile, Poppy.

Don’t smile.

I keep my head down, focused entirely on sliding his steeped tea across the counter to hide that I’ve done just that.

“Well, if things go to plan, I won’t have to live in a shitty neighborhood like the one I toured this morning,” I say, my stomach souring at the thought. “At least, not more than a couple of months.”

With the steaming mug pressed to his lips, Adrian goes rigid. “You’re considering living in that neighborhood?” He stares at me in disbelief. “The one I found you in today?”

To be honest, I’m only lightly considering it—but the outrage in Adrian’s expression gives me pause. All day, I’ve been catching flickers of something —a part of that familiar darkness that infected every part of our relationship at Lionswood. In the car this morning, at the store, and now…

It’s like he’s holding himself back.

But why?

I make a split-second, impulsive decision that could end terribly. “Actually,” I say, taking a sip of my tea. “I’m not considering. I signed the lease this morning.”

I’m poking the bear here, but I want to see what’s hiding behind that carefully controlled facade of his—and I’m rewarded instantly when Adrian’s face twists with anger. “Why would you—”

But then he stops.

He takes a deep breath, the anger vanishing as if it was never there to begin with, and his expression relaxes completely. “Never mind.”

“Never mind?”

He draws another deep breath. “Never mind,” he repeats. “It’s none of my business.”

I take another sip of tea. “Really?”

He smiles. “You’re an adult, more than capable of making well-informed decisions about your life. If you’d like to live in that neighborhood, it’s not my place to intrude.”

I raise my eyebrows, mildly surprised. “…well, that’s very sensible of you.”

And why do I feel a twinge of disappointment?

Am I imagining things? These split-second reactions of his?

Does he really not care at all?

He mirrors my surprise. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all.” My eyes narrow. “It’s just…surprising, I suppose, given how upset you were after scaring those men off this morning.”

Adrian doesn’t miss a beat. “I was upset,” he explains.

“I was also experiencing an extreme adrenaline rush. My emotions were heightened—as was anything I might’ve said or did in the moment.

” He pauses. “But that was hours ago. I’m not reacting out of emotion anymore, and if you wanted my opinion about the neighborhood you live in or your diet or anything else, I’m sure you’d ask. ”

“You’re right,” I hum my agreement. “I don’t want your input.”

I watch him carefully, but his calm expression doesn’t falter. “In fact,” I continue. “I really appreciate you being so sensible. I mean, anyone else in my life would probably freak out if they knew I was planning on living in an apartment without hot water or air conditioning…”

His smile tightens around the edges, but he takes a sip of tea. “If you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

“That is all that matters,” I say. “I mean, I’m not happy about the potential gas leak but—”

“Gas leak?” He nearly chokes on his tea, and a jolt of satisfaction shoots through me.

“Oh, I didn’t mention that?” I feign ignorance. “Well, I don’t know for sure, but it definitely smelled like one. The landlord wasn’t too concerned though.”

I worry I might’ve laid it on too thick when Adrian's eyes narrow in response. “I see.”

My stomach flips.

Does he know I’m trying to provoke a reaction?

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I add. “If things go well with my art show, I won’t need to be there longer than six months or so. Even if there is a leak, I’m sure I’ll survive.” I shrug. “Probably.”

“Probably?” he repeats in disbelief. “You’re okay with probably surviving?”

I have to take another sip of tea to hide the smile that’s threatening to crack over my face. “We all go out some way, don’t we?”

I almost miss it—the muscle twitching in his jaw. “Well, usually not when the cause of death is easily preventable with enough notice.” Another twitch. “Like a gas leak.”

I’m not sure what it says about me that my stomach flutters hearing the obvious irritation in his voice.

“Does that bother you?” I ask, unable to help myself. “Me living in an unsafe neighborhood alone? In an apartment that might have a gas leak?”

I know I’ve gone too far the moment the words are out of my mouth, but it’s too late to take them back.

Shit.

Adrian cocks his head to the side, looking every bit like a predator that’s finally caught the scent.

Or the game.

My breath catches when he abruptly stands up, but he only reaches for his coat.

I blink at him. “You’re leaving?”

Just like that?

“Alex will kill me if I loiter long enough to get us stuck in rush hour traffic,” is all he says, and I have to dash to reach the door before he does.

“Wait.” My hand circles around the handle like I mean to physically block him from leaving.

Adrian waits, his gaze still boring into me in a way that feels far too invasive to be comfortable. “Yes?”

“Uh…” I’m still reeling from the emotional whiplash of his reaction, but eventually, I stammer out: “I just wanted to say thank you. For today. For…everything.” I clear out of his path. “That’s it.”

His expression is unreadable. “No.”

My brows furrow. “No?”

“To answer your question,” he says. “No.”

My body feels the change before I do, goosebumps sprouting over my skin in warning. “No…it doesn’t bother you?”

The smile that slowly breaks over his face would be comforting if it weren’t also full of menace. “No,” he repeats. “You don’t want to know how much it bothers me.”

He’s gone before I can truly process that answer, let alone respond to it.

What the hell?

I’m still standing there, trying to make sense of, well, everything that’s happened in the past two hours with Adrian, when my phone buzzes.

One new notification.

Adrian has sent you $2,000.00