Proof of Life (The Potentate of Atlanta #4) - Hailey Edwards Page 0,1
where they laired. The ability to see through glamour was handy, sure, but not everything was hidden behind illusion magic. Some of it was just hidden period.
“Only for you to open the window.”
Drawing myself upright, I pushed back my task chair then located the control for the blackout curtains. A soft whir rolled them aside, leaving me staring out at a breathtaking view of downtown Atlanta…and the equally breathtaking view of a golden-haired man with aquamarine eyes standing on the fire escape. Granted, his golden hair was skull shorn these days, but some guys can make any look work, and he was one of them.
Fumbling with the window lock, I set the remote aside and shoved open a pane. “Well, hello there.”
“Join me for breakfast?” He gestured toward our outdoor nook where chocolate croissants in a glassine bag sat on my chair. A tray with two café mochas and two black coffees rested on the small table, and a container stuffed with crispy bacon rested on his chair. “I have a few minutes if you do.”
“For chocolate—I mean, you—I will make time.”
“I appreciate it.” He took my hand as I stepped out onto the coarse rug.
“How is it you’re here?”
“Mom is a big believer in early to bed, early to rise. We wrapped up our weekly security check-in around the time your alarm went off.” He waited for me to sit before joining me. “I’m done for the night.”
A tiny thrill zipped through me that he might patrol with me later. “What about post assignments?”
“Ford is handling it.”
“Hmm.” I dug in, and I groaned as the flaky pastry melted on my tongue. “And Bishop?”
A slow grin spread across his mouth, and I knew my guess was right. He was the reason Bishop was MIA.
“I heard a rumor he’s too busy 3D printing various weapons to notice you’re not on the roster tonight.”
“Where did he get a 3D printer, I wonder?”
“Who knows?” Midas played innocent. “But he seems happy about it.”
The ability to print whatever popped into his warped mind would entertain him for hours, if not days.
This scheme of Midas’s explained why Remy had waylaid me at dusk with hiking Mount Paperwork too. She must have been tasked with keeping me busy until Midas arrived with the food.
“You seem to have everything planned out.” I sipped my mocha, which was perfect. “Now that you have me all to yourself, what do you plan on doing with me?”
A crimson sheen rolled across his eyes, and he wet his lips. “I would like to take you out on a date.”
“The courtship is over,” I pointed out. “We’re an old mated couple now.”
Five days old, but who was counting?
“Our courtship wasn’t what it ought to have been.” He broke a strip of bacon in half then handed me the larger piece, waiting until I took a nibble before he dug into his food. “I want to make things right.”
Squinting at him, I confessed, “I…can’t tell if the other shoe is about to drop.”
I had the unique ability to twist any seemingly innocuous phrase until it resembled a pretzel of insecurity.
“The mate bond is permanent.” He grinned at that. “You’re stuck with me.”
“Stuck is not a great word.” I tugged my earlobe. “It implies one or both of us doesn’t want to be here.”
Gaze traveling my face, he lowered his hands. “How do you think mate bonds are formed?”
“I figured it was reflexive.” I squirmed on the spot. “Like you get within so many yards of your fated mate, and bam. A mystic bond is formed, and congratulations! You’re mated.”
“Then why didn’t I mate with you the first time we met?”
Again, my mouth had its own ideas. “You’re not an exhibitionist?”
“Stop deflecting,” he chided me. “Why didn’t the mate bond snap into place the first time we met?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “You didn’t know who I was?”
The mixture of Amelie and Hadley, and Ambrose, might have confused his inner predator.
“Exactly.” He tapped my knee. “I had to learn you to love you, to choose you.”
A pleased flush spread through my chest, warming me and slowing my heart’s frantic beat.
“This—” he gestured between us, “—is what concerns me.”
“That I’m a person-shaped bundle of neuroses and insecurities?”
“I don’t want you to doubt.” He rubbed his palm over the stubble on his head. “Not me, and not us.”
“I’m working on it,” I said quietly. “I trust you, I do, but I’ve never not screwed up a good thing.”