Can’t Escape Love by Alyssa Cole Page 0,41

pumped the Afrobeats playlist she used when she really needed to focus, and dove back into the read through.

An hour had gone by, and Reggie had just uploaded the finished transcript when she felt a pair of familiar hands rest on her shoulders and start rubbing. She lifted the giant earphones off her ears, placed them on the desk in front of her and then leaned back, locking her arms around his waist.

“Hi. Are you done using my basement to do crimes, or whatever was going on down there? I hope so because I’m about to . . .”

Her words trailed off when she realized his body was stiff, and when she looked up his face was serious.

“What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t been online?”

“No. I had my Wi-Fi disconnected until I needed to upload this. I was trying to get it done so I could come hang out with you.” She normally wouldn’t admit something like that but she was too busy trying to read Gus’s face to play it cool. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Has your sister called you? The morning papers just came out in Scotland, and social media is starting to buzz with some news that doesn’t seem good. Something happened at the event she went to.”

Images of the terrible things that could happen at a crowded event surged into her mind but she didn’t freak out. Not yet.

“She apparently got really drunk or something?” Gus clarified. “Which doesn’t seem like a big deal, I’ve seen worse on the train on St. Patrick’s Day, for sure. But there’s a whole sleazy tabloid spread.”

Reggie’s stomach dropped. Portia had stopped drinking. Her sister had been nervous, though, and maybe . . .

No.

Portia hadn’t said it outright, but Reggie knew her twin, knew how hard she’d been working to help with the whole inheriting a dukedom situation. There was no way Portia would get trashed. Reggie believed that, even if maybe no one else would.

She turned back to the computer, pulling up her social media and, yeah, her notifications were filled with Lunettes asking what had happened with Portia, whose exploits they’d been following on the GirlsWithGlasses travel page. Some had shared links to an article in The Looking Glass Daily, with a picture of Portia getting carried out of the event by her boss, passed out. The article provided a helpful rundown of Portia’s past deeds, painted in the worst light possible, and speculation on what had occurred at the event.

“Oh shit. No.”

She grabbed for her phone, but there were no missed calls or messages. Portia hadn’t reached out and her parents were sleeping, given the late hour. She called Portia’s number, but the call went straight to voice mail, too.

She opened their text conversation.

Reggie: Are you okay?

Reggie: CALL ME

Reggie: Tell me you’re okay

Portia wasn’t online and the messages went unread.

She went through social media, methodically searching her sister’s accounts and then anything related to her. She hadn’t been seen since the night before. Reggie pulled up email on her web browser and sent an email, and then called the number of the armory, which she’d saved in her phone. It was early in Scotland, and it went to voice mail, too.

“Hi. This is Portia’s sister. Is she okay? Can someone please tell her to call me, or if she’s not okay . . .” She sucked in a breath and left her number. Maybe she could put up a missing person’s post on social media, or ask her Scottish Lunettes to storm the armory and—

“Hey.”

She looked up at Gus, who she’d almost forgotten was there in the depths of her panic. She said the first thing that came to mind. “She’s a pear.”

Her voice snagged on whatever was blocking up her throat—fear, worry, anger.

“And you’re my pineapple,” he said gently, caressing her cheek. “I doubt Swordbae ditched her, so I’m going to assume he’s taking care of her. I’ll take care of you until we know for sure.”

I’ll take care of you.

Those were the exact last words Reggie had thought she’d ever want to hear from someone she was dating, but coming from Gus, it wrapped her in warmth instead of pricking her anger. She knew he didn’t offer because he thought she couldn’t do it for herself.

“You probably won’t be able to sleep, right?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Okay, I have just the thing for that.” She unlocked the wheels of her chair and Gus pushed her down the hallway to the vertical lift, something he didn’t usually do because