Page 51 of The Crowned Garza

He keeps calling and I keep declining as I close up my car and start across the parking lot.

By the time I’m at the entrance of the building, I begrudgingly give in to the persistent calling and answer, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Who the fuck are you, bitch?” a female voice screeches in my ear. “Why is your number in my man’s phone?”

Oh, for Pete’s sake.“Yeah, so, uh, look, I don’t care enough about that dick to participate in this kind of drama. So do me a favor, pretty please, and delete my number from ‘your man’s’ phone. Cool? ’Kay, thanks, byeeee!”

Before that whiny shriek can reach my ear again, I end the call, put the phone on silent, and pocket it, then hit the buzzer for entry to the building.

“Hey, Kayla!” I greet the receptionist once I’m buzzed in. Then to the familiar floor guards, “Hey, Julian. Hey, Dave.”

“Oh, hi, Tillie, do you need—”

“No, no, I’ve got my All-Pass bracelet with me.” I wave my wrist with the bracelet as I head to the elevator. “I’m heading up to Tech to see Guy.”

“Ah, okay,” Kayla says. “I’ll go ahead and let him know you’re on the way up.”

“I’m sure he already sees me coming.”

Their laughs follow me into the elevator. “That’s true.”

The tech floor is quiet and dim when I get there, with no one in sight. North-west of the floor, there’s a glassed-off subsection where Core Six—Saint’s special development team—is stationed. Muffled sounds of life seep from that direction.

Navigating around the contemporary-style workstations toward Saint’s office, I’m not surprised to find him leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, waiting. His hard eyes already reprimanding me.

Once I’m in front of him, he motions for me to enter the office.

A shiver wriggles through me when I do. I’ve only been in his overly large office a handful of times, but entering it always feels the same—like walking into an igloo. It’s colder than a polar bear’s balls in here.

Saint closes the door and adjusts the air conditioning. “What are you doing,regalità?”

“Oh, relax.” I walk over to the sitting area with white leather armchairs and sofas. “I know Tor and Tripp are overseas. True’s in Denver. And I already called Trent to cover my reason for coming here.”

“And that reason is…?”

“A bullshit reason.” I deposit the takeout bag on the coffee table. “I’m here because I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

Because seeing you, smelling you, being close to you calms me. “I just wanna. I miss you.”

“You...miss me...” He pronounces the words like they’re foreign, a slight crinkle between his brows. “What do you ‘miss,’ exactly?”

“All of…this.” I wave a hand up and down his glorious existence. “And you looking at me like…that.”

He shifts his stance and slips his hands into his pockets. “How am I looking at you?”

“Like you’re vacillating between strangling me to death and fucking me six ways from Sunday,” I say. “Lemme just put it out there right now that I’d be game for both at the same time. Minus the death part.”

“Why eliminate the best part?” His tone is dry, apathetic. “The death part is what excites me the most.”

“Of course it does.” I gesture to the takeout bag. “Have dinner with me.”

“There’s no eating in my office.”

“Just this once?” I mock pout. “For me?”

A knock comes at the door just then. He lances me a hard look that translates as “behave,” as if I’m a petulant child, then calls for the knocker to, “Come in.”