He sits down, and this time, I follow suit. I watch as he holds the side button to turn it on and then begins typing. He’s so focused on filling in whatever information he wants to that he doesn’t see me swipe his phone and take a quick selfie of half my face and him staring down at the phone. He looks like a total idiot.
I do, too, kind of.
His eyes flick up at me, and I quickly hide my hands under the desk. He lets out an irritated sigh. Erik holds out the phone, and I reach to grab it with my free hand when he snatches it away. “You get this on one condition: stop the attacks.”
I nod enthusiastically. He seems placated.
“All right, this is a piece of shit. But it’s yours.” He hands it back to me and starts cleaning up the boxes. I stealthily punch my new number into his phone and attach the stupid picture of us as the contact photo. I put his phone back on the desk and stand.
“Are you happy?” he asks, barely able to keep the irritation out of his voice.
I flash him a grin, open the door, and run out.
“Madeline! You left your damned bloody rag!” His muffled shouts follow me through the door, but I’m already halfway to the bar where Jean Luc is. I open my crappy phone and find his number.
My steps stop abruptly. His contact info reads, “Not-an-asshole Erik.” I roll my eyes.
Me: No. It’s your fault. You clean it up.
Now I’m at the bar. I set the phone down next to the glasses when it buzzes again. Jean Luc is still talking to one of the other crew members, so I check the phone.
Not-an-asshole Erik: I thought you agreed to stop the attacks??
Me: I refuse to be held accountable for promises made under coercion.
Another loud crash sounds, and I’m starting to get tired of the captain's dramatics. I am mustering up the courage to tell him when his office door opens.
“I didnotcoerce you,” he shouts across the room.
The following moments are deathly silent as the whole crew stops what they are doing to stare at him. He clears his throat, his cheeks turning pink. “What I meant to say is I don’t coerce you all to be here. Get back to work.”
He slams the door behind him. One of the sailors, I don’t know his name, says, “What the hell is wrong with him?”
A chuckle comes from behind me, and I turn to see Jean Luc. I scowl at him as I shove the phone in his direction.
“Must be something about the recent upgrades to the boat,” he says through his laughter as he reads the text.
I get my phone back from Jean Luc and decide to send one last text.
Me: Only assholes slam doors like that every two seconds.
13
Breakfast and True Crime
ERIK
“Six years ago on the Summer Solstice, Melinda Johnson, a twenty-seven-year-old Were was in the small kitchen of her first-story apartment in Port City. She was washing the dishes when her FaePhone went off with an alert of an escaped prisoner nearby.
“By all accounts, she sent a screenshot of the alert to her wife with the caption “check this out” before returning to the kitchen. Two minutes after the text was sent, records show that the alarm system in her home was tripped when—”
When what?
My phone starts vibrating in short bursts on my desk right before a loudpingbreaks through the final remnants of my concentration. As if that wasn’t enough, it’s followed by two morepingsin rapid succession.
Instantly, I know who is to blame for interrupting my true crime binge.
My nostrils flare as I slam down the ledger I had been working.