All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(14)

Another tiny shrug, as if to say, Really, what else could I do?

He tilted his head. “The Harpy Institute. For—”

“Crone Sciences,” she confirmed. “Sionna came up with the CroneGoals hashtag. I designed the T-shirts. We meet twice monthly to drink wine, binge-watch TV shows, and go over our progress in the Shrew Arts.”

She glanced toward his laptop screen, clearly impatient for him to restart the show, but nope. Not after that bombshell.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think Nanny Clegg occasionally had … fun?

No, that couldn’t be right.

But how could anyone who designed and wore a Big Harpy Energy tee be entirely devoid of humor?

“You designed the T-shirts,” he said slowly. “Plural.”

“Yes.”

He raised his brows. “Can I see the others?”

“Not right now, you can’t. They’re at my duplex.” She gestured impatiently at the screen. “Can we keep watching? I don’t think all the contestants will be done on time.”

Leaning back in his chair, he stacked his hands behind his head and smirked at her. “You realize a killjoy isn’t quite the same thing as a harpy, correct?”

Her fingertips massaged her temples. “I would imagine they’re somewhere along the same Crone Continuum.”

“Not necessarily. For instance, some killjoys are polite and restrained and rule-bound.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and stared hard at her. “While Big Harpy Energy implies a certain amount of freedom, yes? From rules and guilt and expectations?”

“I seem to recall someone in this room playing upon a killjoy’s guilt mere minutes ago.” She glared at him. “I didn’t hear any complaints then.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” he said airily. “Merely pointing out that the acquisition of BHE will require effort on your part. You have some latent harpy tendencies, true. You demonstrated that over by the sandwiches.” He nodded toward the buffet. “But it’s certainly not Big Harpy Energy. Not yet. We can work on that.”

He wanted to see it. Nanny Clegg unbound and unrestrained.

If she acted like a harpy, at least she would be present with him, not tangled in her own thoughts. A participant, not an observer.

Sure, she’d been civil and professional and upheld her end of their various bargains all week. But for the most part, having her as a companion had been like sharing a room with a ghost. He might be able to interact with her, but she was fundamentally untouchable.

Not that he intended to touch Lauren, a woman who was—in essence—his coworker. But he did intend to see her smile. Laugh, even.

He could make her do both.

He would make her do both.

“Whatever.” Stretching out her arm, she tapped the touchpad to unpause the show. “Time to find out who proofed their dough long enough.”

“You love the series already!” Oh, he adored being right. Gloating always felt amazing. “I knew it!”

Her expression remained serene. “It’s okay.”

He gaped at her, aghast. “Blasphemy.”

“Shhhh.” She raised an admonishing index finger to her lips. “I’m trying to listen.”

Despite the severity of her tone, the corners of her mouth had tucked inward again, just a tiny bit, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

Was she winding him up on purpose? Was she … was she playing with him?

Still pondering the matter, he settled down to watch the first round of judging. Only to stir some undetermined amount of time later, roused by gentle fingertips tapping his upper arm.

He blinked awake to find—Lauren. Bent over him, those incongruously beautiful eyes of hers kind and patient.

She spoke softly. “It’s time to get to our gate, Alex. I waited as long as I could.”

When he shifted, her cardigan fell to his lap. She’d covered him?

“Groggy, huh? Naps can do that to you.” Before he quite registered her words, her small, warm hand slid into his, and she was helping him to his feet. “All right. Up you go.”

Stupidly, all he could do was stare at her and think, This is the first time we’ve touched since we shook hands the day we met.

“Steady now?” When he nodded, unable to find words, her fingers slipped away.

Then they were gathering their belongings and walking down the long hall toward their gate, their luggage rolling along at their sides. About halfway there, he managed to find his wits and his tongue once more.

“I’d thank you for your help,” he said, “if I weren’t so disappointed by your insufficient harpy energy as you woke me.”

He could practically hear her eyes roll. “Next time, I’ll kick you awake.”

Her words were as dry as the air in the terminal, and he grinned.

“Much better.” He dipped his head in approval. “That would constitute Middling Harpy Energy, at the very least. Maybe even Substantial Harpy Energy.”

“How wonderful.” That deadpan tone was glorious, really. “I look forward to causing you pain in the future, then.”

He snorted at the sally, but not because he believed her. By now, even a man as self-absorbed and unobservant as him knew the truth.

She wouldn’t hurt him, even if he deserved it.