“That’s very considerate of you, sir.” With the phone in the crook of my neck and shoulder, I tug my pants over my hips. “How should I proceed?”
“I considered giving you a new partner but really I think it may be best for you to work independently for now. Hopefully Anita can return after a short break and you can get back on track. I’d love for you to consider spending a little bit of your former critique time visiting with her.”
I doubt that’s what Anita wants
. I got the explicit feeling she blamed me, rightly so, for Xavier’s illness. But that’s between the two of us, no need to involve the professor, who, frankly, is already nosy enough. “I’ll do that. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to let me know all this.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll still expect weekly updates on your progress and I’ll have my secretary make an appointment for our next review.”
“Sounds great.” I grit my teeth and pull my boot on over my heel. “Talk to you soon!”
I hang up before he can say more.
Taking one last look in the mirror I assess my outfit. Black jeans with a tie instead of buttons or a zipper, black tank with thin straps at the shoulder. My bra criss-crosses dramatically over my back. My boots are also black leather, with thick, chunky heels. I grab my bag and head to the door, thinking how I have no idea what I’m getting into but at least I look like a badass.
*
Damien meets me in the foyer. He’s wearing dark jeans and a tight, gray T-shirt covered with a black, leather vest. The tattoos that mark his biceps peek from under his sleeves just like the ones at his collar. The hoops in his ears glint from the chandelier. When he walks toward me his heavy boots echo off the marble floors, and he looks me up and down appraisingly.
“I see you got the memo about what to wear.”
“You sent me a memo?” I blink dumbly. He raises his eyebrows and it clicks that he’s joking. “Duh. Yeah, I didn’t know what to wear to go to a magic shop.”
“I don’t think there are any formal requirements, but you nailed it anyway.” He offers me his hand. “Got everything?”
“Yeah. Are we taking a cab?”
He smiles and directs me down the hallway, away from the kitchen. “No. I’ve got my own transportation.”
The Nead is full of wonders. I know that. The historic mansion has a rooftop garden, a magnificent porch, and a lush yard. Add that to the various studios and suites we live in, the dining room with its historically accurate mural, and the vast library. There’s a training room and gym in the basement as well as other doors that lead to rooms I haven’t been in yet. I didn’t even know the hallway Damien takes me down existed. But soon enough we’re going down a new flight of stairs and at the bottom he opens a basic door and flips on a row of lights.
The fluorescents brighten one section at a time with a loud, echoing click. The lights reveal a row of sleek vehicles. Cars and trucks shine with a glow. While I take each one in with a sense of wonder and delight, Damien passes them all and stops in front of something smaller but possibly even more powerful.
A motorcycle. The glossy, black paint gleamed under the lights, showcasing the perfectly curved and understated pinstriping on the gas tank. Chrome polished to a high shine punctuated the beauty of the entire package, and it automatically made me hear the roar of the engine in my head, feel the vibrations between my legs, and I had a sudden desire to wrap my arms around Damien’s waist, hugging his back in a mixture of fear and exhilaration. It terrified me.
My lunges into my throat because I have no doubt Damien wants me to get me on that thing. I stop in the middle of the garage, frozen in terror while Damien unhooks two helmets and turns to hand me one.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t get on that.”
A small smile tugs at his lips. “You’ve never ridden one before.”
“No and I don’t plan on starting.” I glance over my shoulder at the sports cars and luxury sedans. “Can’t we take one of those?”
He takes a step closer and runs his hand through my hair. His lips are close to mine and the fear is replaced with something else entirely. “I don’t like to drive. I like to fly. It’s all I dream about. It’s all I crave. I’d give almost anything to have my wings back.” He looks down at the cycle with soulful, violet eyes. “This is the closest I get. Come experience that with me.”
How can a girl say no to something like that? I’m not a dream crusher.
I nod. “But you’ll be safe. Like, nothing crazy.”
“Nothing crazy, I promise.” He lowers the helmet over my head. He swings his leg over the bike and gestures for me to do the same right behind him. The leather seat is soft and I instinctively wrap my arms around his waist, even though we haven’t moved an inch.
He clasps his hand over mine and squeezes them tight against his rock-hard abs. “You hold on, okay?”
“Yeah, no problem. Got it.”
He turns and smiles at me. “Relax. You’ll have more fun.”