Page 16 of Double Mager

CHAPTER 7

Comforting warmth seeped into my skin, the gentle smell of citrus and sandalwood wafting toward me as I stepped into the lobby of the Grand Harrington Hotel. The soles of my boots squeaked against the genuine marble flooring, its interiors classic in polished wood, the scarlet carpet and drapes, the brassy fixtures.

This felt like the type of place where people only wore pricy shoes that left a satisfying click on the marble, the type of place where even the bellboys looked down their noses at you. The fact that they had bellboys alone — I’d never stayed in a place as swanky as this. My budget was more offramp motel with paper-thin walls adjacent.

But the bellboys were friendly enough, nodding and smiling as I passed. Bunch of cuties, too. I felt the compulsion not to look too hard — but why? It wasn’t as if I was dating anyone, right? No man to handle, as it were.

This was where Xavi told us to meet our contact. Xavi, who had very rudely called Morrow first to tell him about successfully setting up our meeting. No wonder Morrow texted me about what I was wearing tonight.

Time was when the Harrington Hotel dynasty was as omnipresent as a coffee chain. You couldn’t turn a corner without running into one of their properties, whether it was a four-star business hotel or a cheaper two-star for family getaways.

The Harringtons had fallen on hard times, but the Grand Harrington Hotel was just as grand as ever. I followed the sound of jazz music to the bar at the far end of the lobby — a misleading label for a sprawling lounge that could seat several dozen guests — and found a live jazz quartet strumming away. Only a smattering of guests in the lounge that evening, but I only had eyes for one, naturally.

Ew. Too romantic. Too delusional. But it was hard to look at Theodore Morrow without thinking sappy, slightly impure thoughts.

He looked like he’d been poured into his suit, even more of an agent than ever as he sat alone at a table, taking a delicate sip of his martini. What was so different about him tonight? It looked like he was wearing the same old suit he loved so much, the same style he had several copies of in his closet. You know, like a serial killer.

Maybe it was the silver watch he kept checking to see whether I was going to make it on time, or those little cufflinks that gleamed from his sleeve. Or was it the slimmer fit of his jacket that made his muscles strain each time he glanced at his wrist?

Was it only the setting and the music that made him a little sexier, a little more smoldery? And was he wearing something in his hair? It was pushed back, slicked back, even, across his scalp. Some sort of product had brought out new tones in his hair, streaks of amber and honey amid the gold.

Oh, crap. Maybe this was Morrow’s version of dressing up for the evening. All because we were meeting Xavi’s contact in a lobby? And here I was, dressed in my usual semi-slobby threads: a T-shirt, jeans, boots, and a leather jacket thrown over everything.

Hey, at least the T-shirt was clean, and the boots were sort of shiny. Sort of. Also, I ran my fingers under a tap and through my hair to style it a little. Surely that counted for something.

Morrow turned his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as he saw me approaching. I almost stumbled over my feet, my ankles threatening to tangle with each other as my legs turned to jelly. He looked happy to see me. This was a little unusual, to say the least.

“Right on time,” Morrow said, gesturing to the seat across him.

Far be it for me to ever consciously pay the man a compliment, but I couldn’t help myself.

“You’re looking especially snazzy tonight, Morrow. What’s the occasion?”

“To make up for wearing all that other stuff earlier. I don’t know.” He pinched his sleeve. “It just feels like this stuff really suits me.”

He grinned out of the corner of his mouth when he realized he’d made a little pun.

Stop it, I told myself, resisting the urge to reach out and feel his jacket, or the trousers that seemed to strain against the thickness of his quads. The suit only resembled the others that I’d seen him wear. The material was definitely more expensive, the tailoring even more precise.

I held my arms out to either side and gave a nervous huff. “Well, now I feel even more underdressed.”

“You look fine. I just felt like taking things up a notch for the evening. We never come to a place this nice.” Morrow pouted. “Speaking of which — you didn’t reply to my text earlier. I thought it would have been fun to coordinate.”

Well, that just made me feel a little worse. I wanted to play dress up, too. But then I thought about what I actually had in my wardrobe — nothing fancy enough, really — and felt a little better about not actually trying. Only way I’d fit in was if I begged Xavi to lend me something nice, which I’d definitely done a few times before.

Okay, several times before. Ohhh. So that was what he meant about panhandling.

“You wanted to coordinate outfits?” I asked, incredulous.

Morrow shrugged. “Why not? Matchy-matchy. We’re partners, after all.”

I swallowed hard. Work partners. That was what he meant. Either way, he needed to stop doing whatever it was he kept doing, my stomach twisting and fluttering and everything.

“Anyway,” I said, “I didn’t reply because — you know what? We might need a little extra privacy to discuss that.” I leaned in to whisper. “Remember the goddess distribution system? Yeah. This one’s being kinda clingy.”

Thank god Freyja didn’t show up in Old Betsy’s mirrors, or I might have crashed into a lamppost on the way.

Morrow raised his eyebrows. “Maybe we should head to our table, then. I requested something secluded, just like Xavi told us to.”