What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 4)

by Selena Kitt

  He hung up and turned to me. “See? Simple.”

  “I’m sure you call in sick to your work without going into withdrawal convulsions.”

  He shrugged. “That’s a little different.”

  I rubbed my temples. My head was really starting to throb. “Yeah, easy for you to say with your fat bank account.”

  “If everything went through like it should have, your bank account is quite a bit weightier, too.”

  I looked up at him though it hurt my eyeballs to do it. “You sent me money?”

  “I told you I would.”

  I frowned. “But I haven’t even—we haven’t even.”

  “I said I never go back on my agreements. Now—where’s your coffee?”

  I thought for a moment. “Oh, crap, I used the last of it on Friday and never bought any more.”

  “Water, then? And aspirin? Or you’re going to feel like shit.”

  “When did you become the expert on hangovers? I thought you didn’t drink.”

  “I’ve had a hangover or two in my life. Not fun.”

  I put my hands to my eyes, my mind jumping to the subject it had been stuck on since my argument with Heath the day before. “Adam, are you using me?”

  He had my cupboard doors open, peering in with narrowed eyes, clearly disapproving of what he saw—which was probably old packets of rice mix and a herd of dust bunnies, if memory served me correctly. And with this much wine addling my brain, I doubted that it would serve me correctly.

  “Using you? What do you mean?”

  “Heath said you are manipulating me. He thinks you’re putting this whole thing off on purpose.”

  Adam froze—just for a split instant, but even in my hazy state, I noticed it.

  “Are you?” I repeated.

  “Here’s a bottle of water—and your aspirin’s in the bathroom?”

  I glowered at his back as he disappeared into the bathroom. I took my aspirin and drank the water. Then I stood and walked toward him. “We can always take care of this whole thing now.”

  He pressed his lips together. “You’re drunk, Emilia.”

  “So… that was the original plan, anyway. Drink a lot of wine and then lie back and think of medical school.” I snorted, though at the back of my mind I was vaguely aware that I shouldn’t have said that. I probably shouldn’t have snorted, either.

  His dark eyes glinted in the low light. “Do what, now? Lie back and think of medical school? Was that your idea of how this would go down?”

  I shrugged and took another step forward, until we were touching, chest to chest. “Maybe. You plan on showing me it could be different?”

  He didn’t move, just stared at me. “When the time comes, you’ll see it’s very different.”

  I tilted my head up toward him flirtatiously. “Show me.” And I pressed my lips to his in an open-mouthed kiss. He returned the kiss, sliding his tongue into my mouth before pulling back.

  “I will show you—just not when you are smelling like Ernest and Julio Gallo’s wine cellar.”

  I threw my arms around his neck with wild abandon. “Come on. My bed is right over there.”

  “You’re right. Let’s go then.” He bent and scooped me up and I let out a little squeal of surprise. He carried me over to my little twin-sized bed and laid me down on it.

  “Time for sleep, Emilia.”

  I lay there, squinting in the light. “Why are you putting this off?” I asked quietly.

  He smoothed my hair back from my face, sitting beside me on the edge of the bed and didn’t speak for a long time.

  “Let’s talk about it when you are feeling better.”

  My eyes fluttered closed. I had to admit that my head was throbbing and all I could think about was how tired I was. “I’m sorry,” I finally whispered.

  “For what?”

  Sleep was reaching up to take me. “For saying you were empty.”

  And I don’t remember much after that—except for the vague impression, minutes later, of him leaning down to kiss my cheek and murmuring against my skin. “You were right.”

  Chapter Ten

  I woke up fairly early—around seven—and it took me a few minutes to clear the cobwebs out of my mind, but thankfully I had no headache. I remembered everything that had happened the night before with a sudden rush. Cursing my own stupidity for having drunk so much wine at a study date, I crawled out of bed, working the kinks from my neck and back, and took care of my brief morning routine. Shower, dressing, breakfast.

  I opened up the computer and went to the webpage for my Cayman bank account to check the balance. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but I was curious. And it was just as he’d said. Transferred from his account into mine, dated the day before. First thing Monday morning. I shook my head, trying to figure out what the hell was going on and strangely feeling like I was digging myself deeper and deeper into a hole that I had no idea whether I liked or not.

  I had half the money. Shouldn’t I be happy? But for some unsettling reason, I wasn’t. This payoff represented a barrier between us—like a wall, half-built. The balance of our transaction would only complete that barricade, blocking us from each other forever. After his kindness the night before, I had to admit to the regret—even if I just allowed myself to wallow in it for a few moments before solidifying my resolve that things had to be this way. That it was for his protection as well as mine. We had the power to hurt each other. With this safeguard in place, it could never happen. We both knew it would end and exactly when it would end. Or so I hoped. There was still that niggling matter of why he kept putting this off.

  I bent my head, resting my forehead in my palm for a long moment, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the key sitting on the table next to the computer. It wasn’t mine. There was a sticky note attached to it with neat, even printing that I did not recognize. It was an address—somewhere very close, near the Old Towne area at the center of the city of Orange. I stared at it, puzzled, starting to understand Heath’s description of where we were: Bizarro world with a sharp left turn into fucked-up land. When I inhaled, my chest felt tight, my heartbeat thumping. Was this a key to his house? Why the Orange address?

  Just then the phone rang. I checked caller ID, blew out a breath and picked up the phone. “Hi, Mom!”

  “Mia, where have you been all weekend? I was worried sick.”

  I paused, clearing my throat. “I’m sorry. I got super busy. Extra shifts.”

  “I called your work,” her voice trembled when she said it.

  Fuck. Silence. Caught lying to her. I never lied to her. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking. “I’m sorry.”

  “What’s going on? Why are you lying to me?”

  I gulped. “I—I’m fine. Okay? You don’t need to worry—”

  “I’m a mother. I worry. If I can’t get hold of you, then I try to find out what the hell is going on. Heath—”

  “Mom, please don’t call Heath anymore. We are kind of not on the greatest terms right now.”

  “Okay, now I’m really worried. Can I come down there?”

  I took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just. I’m not ready to talk about it.”

  “Are you—are you seeing someone? Is that it?”

  I bit my lip. “Um.”

  “Mia, do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “There’s someone. But I’m not ready to talk about it, okay?” And by the time I was ready to talk about it, he’d be long gone out of my life, so it didn’t matter anyway.

  A long pause. “Is it serious?”

  I cleared my throat. “No. Not even serious enough to mention, which is why I haven’t. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  “Mia, this is a good thing. I’m glad you’re dating.”

  Dating. A ball of sickness bunched in my stomach, but whether it was because of the thought of actually dating or of lying to my mom about dating, I couldn’t tell.

  “Mom, I p
romise that if there is anything to talk about, I will. Just…just you’ve got to let me go about this my own way, okay? Please?”

  “Only on one condition. That you let me know where you are.”

  “Of course. I have a new phone. I’ll text you the number, okay?”

  We said good-bye soon after. She still had that distant, hurt tone to her voice and I felt like the biggest jerk for causing it. But the news that I was “dating” was probably a big enough shock in and of itself. She’d been bugging me for years, even though she never seemed to follow her own advice.

  After dressing, I set aside the key and went back to the computer. With this unexpected free time—normally I’d just be returning from my shift about now and collapsing into bed, exhausted—I decided to while away a few hours in the game.

  Katya, our fourth group member who was our regular healer, sent me an in-game message.

  *Persephone tells you, “Hey Mia.”

  *You tell Persephone, “Kat! Let’s go kill stuff.”

  *Persephone tells you, “Can’t. I’m just logging off. Had to babysit my mainframes on the graveyard shift.”

  *You tell Persephone, “Where have you been? I was getting worried that you’d vanished like FallenOne.”

  *Persephone tells you, “What’s up with Fallen, anyway? Haven’t you chatted with him lately?”

  *You tell Persephone, “No. He’s gone kinda weird. I think it had to do with my auction.”

  *Persephone tells you, “Well, yeah…duh. He’s probably jealous as hell.”

  *You tell Persephone, “Really?”

  *Persephone tells you, “Duh, Mia. He totally likes you. He’s always giving you equipment and magic items. You guys chat and have in-jokes that I just don’t even get. Since you’re so hell-bent on punching your v-card, he’s probably crushed that you didn’t invite him to fly out and get the job done.”

  I sat back with a sigh, a heavy weight collecting in my chest. I liked Fallen. A lot. And yeah, once in a while, I’d felt a twinge of a crush on him but there was no possible future with him. He was just a friend. And really, I knew so little about him. He could be fifty years old, married, a grandfather, for all I could tell. I realized that I liked the idea of what Fallen could be to me rather than the actual person, since I knew so little about him.

  Men as friends were much safer. A force of nature in the guise of a man who threatened to tear my ideologies apart by the foundations, was not an option. I shoved that thought of Adam aside and replied to Katya.

  *You tell Persephone, “Did he tell you that?”

  *Persephone tells you, “He refuses to talk about the auction whenever I bring it up. Which, for the record, is not often. But you go, girl. More power to you. I hope you get lots of $$$.”

  *You tell Persephone, “Hey, on another topic, you know how I asked you to guest post on my blog about Dragon Epoch? I’m going to need that first column by Friday. Can you do that?”

  *Persephone tells you, “Yeah. Sure thing. Hey, I’m going to send you my quest notes on stuff I got done this morning. I think I might be close to finding another clue about the Golden Mountains quest chain.”

  I snorted, suppressing a laugh, speaking aloud instead of typing, so she couldn’t see my snarky response. “Yeah, good luck with that one, Kat.” According to Adam, the task was nearly impossible.

  After she logged off, I played, but I couldn’t concentrate and my character kept getting killed. I logged off and checked my blog, responding to comments. There were complaints about the fact that I hadn’t done my weekly DE update for two weeks now.

  A little while later, my phone chimed with a new text message. It was Adam.

  Good morning. How are you feeling?

  Not bad. You?

  Did you find the key and address?

  I keyed back, Yes. What is it for?

  Meet me at that address at noon? We can grab a quick lunch afterward.

  I still have to go get my car.

  Look out your window.

  So I did. And there, parked at the curb in its usual spot was my little beat-up 1993 light green Honda Civic. He’d walked back to Jon’s house the night before and driven my car back here?

  OMG, I can’t believe you did that.

  Would rather you didn’t have to deal with that d-bag again.

  Thank you.

  Meet me at noon, k?

  Ok.

  The address, when I checked it out, was actually within walking distance of my little studio—and right smack dab in the middle of the historic Old Towne district, which served as an attraction for just about the entire county. Movies had been filmed there and the entire place was like a time capsule—a glimpse into the early twentieth century, complete with Watson’s, a 1950s-style drugstore and café, which hadn’t changed in over sixty years.

  The town centered around the Plaza, one of the last traffic circles in California, with a circular park at the center replete with fountains and centuries-old trees.

  Above all the curio shops and trendy eateries, the old red brick buildings housed vintage apartments. And I was standing in a narrow alley at the base of the stairs that would lead me up to one of them.

  I was confused. Obviously the key was to the apartment, but what on earth did he mean by giving it to me and telling me to meet him there? Maybe it was his other residence? But I could hardly imagine him having another one, especially one only twelve miles from his home in Newport, where he hardly spent any time.

  I climbed the steps and unlocked the door. Since I was a tiny bit late, of course he was already inside, standing by the window with his cell phone to his ear. By the sound of the conversation, it was his administrative assistant. He turned and smiled.

  As always, that smile snatched my breath away. He had on suit trousers, a crisp white dress shirt and a thin dark blue tie. Clearly he’d pulled himself away from meetings or something important at work to be here. I exhaled sharply and returned his smile. I wanted nothing more than to launch myself into his arms and press that exquisite mouth to mine. It was like I was addicted to the taste and smell of him.

  But I restrained myself—barely.

  Adam rattled off a few more orders and clicked the phone off. “How do you feel this morning?” he asked.

  “Good. Okay. No hangover, thank God.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Thank you. I really didn’t mean to call you last night.”

  His expression grew serious. “I’m glad you did anyway.”

  “Thanks, too, for getting the car.” He only smiled in reply.

  I stepped into the room, glancing around. The outer shell of the building might have been vintage, from the 1920s, but the inside was all modern—stainless steel kitchen appliances with dark granite counters and recessed lighting. Gorgeous crown molding. Beyond the main kitchen and sitting room, a doorway opened into what looked like a sizeable bedroom. It was, however, completely vacant.

  His phone chimed. He checked it but tucked it back into his pocket. I quirked a brow at him. “Shouldn’t you be ensconced in your office behind your desk, muttering the twelve steps for workaholics anonymous, right now?”

  He grinned. “Even workaholics take a lunch break once every blue moon.”

  I moved up beside him and shared his view out the window. “Nice place,” I said. “Yours?”

  “Yeah.” Because of course it was. “Recent acquisition. Investment property.”

  “And the apartment is vacant because…?”

  “It’s between renters.” He tossed a glance at me and then out the window with a casual shrug. “I have a management company handle my properties for me. But I have someone in mind for this location.”

  He turned back to me, shooting me a meaningful look, implying that I was the “someone in mind.” His implication hit me like a balled fist. I took a shaky breath and turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the look on my face.

  But I couldn’t hide my reaction for long because Adam was as sharp as a
razor.

  “What’s wrong, Emilia?”

  My jaw set but I didn’t turn back to him. “I hope you don’t mean me.”

  He paused. “And if I did?”

  I turned around and faced him. “I can’t afford the rent you must be asking.”

  “You can now.”

  I breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. A tiny voice in the back of my head—the voice of calm rationality—told me that he was doing a kind deed. He was helping me out. He was—

  No. Just no.

  My spine stiffened and sudden tension arced between us. “Is this the part where you hand me a roll of hundreds and tell me to go out and buy something pretty?”

  His features tightened, almost imperceptibly. “I was going to offer it to you at the rent you’re currently paying for your studio. This place is safer than your neighborhood. It would put my mind at ease.”

  “That’s impossible. You’d take a huge loss on it.”

  He looked away. “I don’t care about the profit right now.” His phone chimed again. He reached for his pocket and froze when he saw the look on my face. His expression was grim when he snatched the damned thing and looked at it. This time, he took the time to reply by text.

  I folded my arms over my chest and started to pace.

  “Emilia—just consider—”

  I turned on him, my shoulders and back so stiff I almost wrenched them with the motion. “I can’t live here. You know it as well as I do.”

  “I do?”

  “I can’t live in your apartment because of what happens after we…” and my voice died out as our gazes clashed. His features chilled. He jammed a fist into his pocket and his eyes flew to the window again.

  I couldn’t help but hear Heath’s words spoken to me a few days before. What is he buying with all of these expensive gifts? He wants more than one night…

  “Adam, what are you doing?”

  “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “I’d say I suspect you’re trying to set me up in a fuck pad but we aren’t fucking. So that’s out.”