I gripped the phone tightly in my right hand as it rang. Once, twice, three times.
“Hello?”
Deep breath.
“Hello, is someone there?” Bash repeated.
Fae whacked me on the arm violently. “Say something,” she hissed.
“Hi,” I mumbled into the receiver, rubbing my smarting arm with my free hand. “It’s Lux.”
There was a beat of silence over the line. “Can’t say I was expecting your call,Freckles.” I could hear a teasing smile in his voice. “Does this mean you’re giving in already? I have to admit, I was expecting a bit more of a challenge…”
“Don’t be an ass,” I muttered. “This isn’t about us.”
He laughed. “Oh, so you agree there’s an ‘us’ now?”
“You’re impossible,” I complained, rolling my eyes. “Can you meet me tonight? I have something to ask you. And, before you get yourself all worked up, you should know — it’s for the story I’m working on. The one about the missing girls.”
“Where?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious.
“A coffee shop in the East Village. I’ll text you the address.”
“I’ll be there. What time?”
I glanced at my watch. “Seven?”
“See you then.”
I clicked off.
***
“I must say, you’re looking remarkably healthy for someone with the flu.” Bash stared at me with raised brows as I approached him. He was standing on the sidewalk, just below the café awning.
“The wonders of modern medicine,” I drawled, coming to a stop by his side. “Thanks for coming.”
He grinned at me. “Your wish, my command.” I rolled my eyes as he pulled open the glass door and ushered me inside. “After you.”
I made my way to the counter and ordered a chai tea. I looked around for the tattooed, eyeliner-wearing barista who’d given me Miri’s note, but she didn’t appear to be working today. Before I could pay, Bash placed his own order for a cappuccino and a croissant, handed a sleek black AMEX credit card to the cashier, and grinned down at me infuriatingly.
“What are you doing?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. “This isn’t a date. You’re not supposed to pay.”
He laughed at me and shook his head, the bastard.
I turned to the cashier. “Can you refund that chai? I have cash.”
Bash looked from me to the cashier, who was watching us with wide eyes. “Don’t listen to her,” he whispered conspiratorially, nodding his head in my direction as he retrieved his credit card from her outstretched palm. “Her money’s counterfeit.”
“Wha— Are you serious right now—Bash!” I spluttered as he led me away with one hand at the small of my back.
“Just sit,Freckles.” He steered me toward a table and pulled out my chair. “I’ll get our drinks.”
“I can get my own—”
He cast a dismissive frown in my direction, before heading back to the counter to accept our drinks from the barista. I sat, tongue-tied, watching him and feeling spectacularly off balance as I took in the sight of his broad shoulders and well-toned arm muscles from behind. He was too gorgeous for his own good — mine weren’t the only set of female eyes on him at the moment – but he didn’t seem to notice the attention his looks drew. He tossed a quick smile over his shoulder at me when he reached the counter, and I heard two appreciative girls at a nearby table sigh in unison. Somehow, it was a comfort to know I wasn’t the only one left dumbstruck in his presence.
Balancing two mugs and the small plate holding his croissant, Bash made his way back to our table and sat down across from me.