The Muse's Undoing

He lifts his brows, giving me a man of mystery look, which quickly dissolves into, “You don’t want to know. But I told her she needed to be out of here by nine, so you’ll get the gist.”

I check my watch, but before I can even register the time, Ravenna Gallo—#907—emerges from Fischer’s bedroom in one of his button-down shirts and walks over to stand behind the couch. She drops her sex-mussed blonde hair like a curtain between Fischer and me, and I hear the distinct sound of a kiss. “Coffee?” she asks.

Fischer makes a show of checking the time on his phone. “Kitchen,” he says when he sees she’s got half an hour.

She makes a pouty noise and stands upright, glancing down at me while I try to remain expressionless. “I know you.”

“This is Matthew. The doorman,” Fischer says. “My brother.”

“Your brother? I had no idea. Good morning. Matthew.”

I nod at her before she struts to the kitchen on the balls of her feet like she’s wearing heels.

I give Fischer a look.

He leans toward me and says in a low voice, “I ran into her the other day. Then she came up last night…”

“Is this gonna be your thing now?” I ask.

His silver eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t have been able to say no either…”

I wave my hand between us. “I don’t need the details.”

“You weren’t gonna get the details.”

As Ravenna rattles around in the kitchen in search of a mug, something like disappointment creeps in, but it’s quickly replaced by an unwelcome wave of exhaustion. My schedule takes a toll, even on my twenty-eight-year old body. I yawn and rub my eyes before I take another sip of tea and try to rally.

“Is this a good idea?” I ask. “She’s friends with Nicole.”

“Assuming you have sex more often than a few times every four months, I feel like you can give me a little latitude here.”

“I’m just saying, I can come back another time if you?—”

He clamps a hand on my thigh. “You’re not going anywhere.”

My quad tenses beneath his hand, and my heart rate picks up. I should have expected this. Not the hand on my leg, but my reaction to him being strong. He’s always seemed to have direct access to my limbic system.

He starts talking about whether we should take Vaughn to the zoo or something, but I’m not listening. Splitting my attention between his hand on me, his voice, and the hot blonde in his shirt is too much for my ADD. Especially now that she’s coming right for us.

“What are we chatting about?” she asks, literally wedging herself between me and Fischer on the cushion and snuggling into his side with her cup of black coffee.

She crosses her pale legs in his direction and runs her foot up his shin. I scoot back, not interested in being part of the Ravenna sandwich.

Glancing at Fischer, I gather he’s not a fan of it, either. There’s a telltale stiffening in his upper body I recognize from my childhood. It happens anytime anyone tries to touch him.

Anyone but me.

“I was just asking Fischer how he was settling into his new job,” I pull out of my ass.

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “You like being in prime time?”

“I’ll get used to it,” he says.

“I can’t imagine it’s any harder than interviewing the head of a terrorist organization,” I say.

He comes back with, “Have you met any of our current U.S. senators?”

I smile faintly. “You’re such a fucking badass.”