It takes me a moment to realize the puffs of smoke in the contrail are spelling out words, little by little. I gaze up, watching as the letters disappear, fully invested until I realize what it says.
When it gets to, I’m sorry, B— I’m done.
A skywriter? Really?
He hired a flipping skywriter?
Jesus. I’m going to Logan Square. Paige and her mom said I can use her old bedroom anytime I need to hide from the lunatic. That time is now, because I’m questioning my resolve.
Reaching for my laptop, I realize it’s missing.
Great. I left it at Sweeter Grind. I hope like hell it’s still there as I head for the crosswalk.
As soon as the Walk sign turns white, I dart across the street. A black town car pulls into an empty space on the curb.
Holy hell.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I’d slap my head but I don’t have time. I have to dodge a diesel truck barreling toward me and get across the street. Just when I’m winding up to spit hot latte in self-defense, it happens.
Jordan Quail steps out of the car.
Thank God.
They got him home. Big surprise. I never had any doubt Mag would save his little brother. He’s the ruler of the universe and always succeeds, even if he had to confront his pond scum of a dad.
“Hey, Brina!” Jordan waves and flashes me a big smile. “Armstrong knew we’d find you here.”
I step to the sidewalk and hold my arm out. “Hi, Jordan.”
When he reaches me, we hug.
“I’m so glad you’re home safe. How are you doing?” I ask.
His feet are planted firmly on the ground. Since he’ll be sticking around for a minute and I need my laptop...
“Walk with me. I left my computer in Sweeter Grind and I have to find it,” I tell him. “Are you glad to be back?”
“Hell yeah. Things got pretty crazy for a while, Brina.” He follows me back to the building, matching my pace. “Turns out, my dad’s a way bigger jerk than Mag ever said.”
Wow. That’s something considering Magnus wants to kill their father.
“He is?”
“Yeah. He told me we were going to his fancy hotel with an indoor pool and stuff until Mom could get out of the hospital, but then he took me to the Virgin Islands. I was scared. I wanted to get off the plane when we were still on the runway, but he wouldn’t let me.”
Oh, God. My heart climbs into my throat and I’m shaking my head.
“He said I had to leave it all behind. Chicago, school, Mom...he said it was always meant to happen, and if I wanted to be rich like him, I had to let go,” he continues. “Dude kept me under lock and key with bodyguards. Freaked me the hell out.”
Inside the cafe, I spot my laptop still sitting on the table I was at with the messenger bag dangling beside it. A few pounds lift off my chest.
“I’m sorry, Jordan. That must’ve been awful. You were always in good hands. Your brother had some kick-ass people watching out for you. I knew he’d make sure you’re safe.” Whatever else he is, Mag isn’t the kind of man who gives up on saving his kid brother.
“Yeah! I was asleep one night when they came charging in. These dudes who looked like a whole SEAL Team with guns and tactical gear. Baxter’s guys backed down without a gun fight, and this dude I thought was one more SEAL...it was Mag!” Jordan grins at the memory. “He said they filed a legal order Baxter ignored, and he wasn’t waiting around playing nice anymore.”
I’m frozen, torn between empathy for him and the annoying thought of how hot Magnus Heron must’ve looked decked out for a rumble.
“That’s wild! I can’t even imagine,” I say as I rush to the table, grab my laptop, shove it in the bag, and sling it over my shoulder.
We head back outside.
“I know. Mom’s gonna sue Baxter Heron’s balls off,” he says with a lopsided grin. “She said she’s taking everything, and Mag’s paying like four attorneys. He’s definitely going to prison for kidnapping. Mag came through for us big-time.”
I look at Jordan’s crystal blue eyes. I’ve only seen one other set of eyes with a similar shade in my life, and the thought of them tortures me.
“I’m sure he did. He’d do anything for you guys.”
Jordan shifts his weight, his giddy smile melting.
“He’d do anything for you, too. You know that, right? He’s really sorry for—you know. It was my fault that night. I’m the one who wouldn’t listen to shit and triggered him.”
My jaw tightens, but I’m not glaring at the kid.
Oh, Magnus freaking Heron, you’re using a teenager now?
A flustered sigh escapes my lips. “Jordan, you’re a sweet kid. I’ll always be here for you, and I’ll help you any way I can, but I...I can’t work for your brother again. Ever. I’m sorry if that’s what you’re asking. I’m glad he’s helping you and your mom. You have a great family.”
“Not what I’m asking.” The firm baritone voice behind me sends goosebumps down my arms.
I take a deep breath and dig my feet into the ground.
I can’t turn around and face him.
If I do, any strength I have left will be gone.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and fire one word like a gunshot.
“What?”
“I’m not asking you to work for me, Sabrina. I agree it’s a horrible idea. Just talk to me, please,” Mag says.
“Brina?” Jordan asks, then grabs my hand.
Before I can answer the kid, he’s spun me around, and I’m face-to-face with jerk-tastic billionaire heart-stomper of the year.
“We made a deal, remember?” Jordan whispers under his breath, slowly walking away. “Even if she dumps you, you’re taking me to Pizza Shack, dude.”
Mag smiles—his blue eyes dancing. “Fine, little bro, but there’ll be no dumping.”
Damn his confidence.
Jordan takes off, his feet hitting the pavement as he races back to the town car.
I roll my eyes and cross my arms, refusing to look at him, eyes leveled at the ground.
“You seem so sure of yourself. Did you forget? I already said we’re over.”
“I know, but you’re torturing yourself too. I see it in your eyes.” He traces a line under my eye with the tip of his finger. “Are you eating, Brina? You’ve lost weight.”
For a second, I seriously consider biting his finger off.
But of course—of freaking course—one touch melts me, turns me to stone, and a hundred more contradictory things. He’s always been an evil magician like that.
“No. I haven’t eaten right since you chased me home from the hospital that night,” I say slowly. “It’s a miracle I’m surviving, but I am.”
I expect some retort, but he just veers his head to the empty patio table in arm’s reach.
“Sit down and talk to me.”
I do. I might as well. My legs have turned to mush, and standing isn’t going to work much longer.
He drops an envelope on the table between us.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Open it.”
“It’s from you. It could be anthrax.”
He closes his eyes tightly and then opens them, a smirk so gorgeous I hate it pulling at his lips.