“Just say it,” I urge.
; “I think you know,” he says, but then his phone rings before I can get any more out of him. If he knows, I should know. Right? Scowling when he whispers he has to go, I’m interrupted myself.
“What?” I snap, not even bothering to check caller ID.
“Err, Liv?” It’s Scott.
“Yes, Scott. What is it?”
“Harlow’s files. I need them back and signed by 9 AM.”
Shit! I had completely forgotten them after my adventure yesterday.
“Crap, sorry. I have them here. I’ll be with you in an hour,” I say, glancing at the clock.
“Okay, see you in a bit.”
I hang up and ‘Teleport’ – really, there just isn’t another word for it – back upstairs, my dream forgotten.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
C ole wakes as I bustle around the room getting ready. “What time is it?” he asks groggily.
“7:30. I have to go, baby. Duty calls. Don’t forget the Feeder will be here soon. Esther will come and find you and either she or Devon will supervise, okay?”
“I don’t need supervision,” he sulks at me.
I smile gently at him. “Just humor me, please.”
“Okay,” he says grudgingly. I kiss him swiftly.
“Call me later. I love you,” he calls as I dash out.
“I love you,” I call back and disappear downstairs grabbing my briefcase from where I left it by the door.
Grayson is waiting with the car so I can work on my way in.
A bout twenty minutes later, my phone rings. It’s Devon. Before I can even say hello, he says, “If I wanted to babysit a charge, I would have made one of my own.”
“Oh, Devon. Don’t sulk. Just help him,” I wheedle.
“No need. He’s got the hang of it just fine,” Devon responds.
“Then what’s the problem?” I growl impatiently.
“Just making my stand. A teacher, I am not,” he says firmly.
“Fine. Position clear. I must go, busy, busy!” I hang up. It has always struck me as odd that he has never sired a charge. Not that I’m complaining. I love having him all to myself, but it is most definitely a rare situation.
Handing Scott the completed files, I sink into my chair and call CK. He answers on the first ring.
“Everything okay?” he asks quickly.
“Yes, fine. What about you?” I ask pointedly.
He exhales loudly. “I want to rip his dick off for daring to go anywhere near you with it, then his hands for daring to even touch you and finally tear his head from his shoulders,” he growls, and I quake. CK threatens beheading quite frequently, but so rarely gets the opportunity to follow through these days, much to his disappointment, I think. There was a time, however, when he wouldn’t have even bothered with a warning. He can be terrifying when he wants to be.