I realize why when I try to access his messages. “What’s your password?”
“It’s top-secret.”
“Bullshit. Cough it up, Savoy.”
“No.” He thumbs the buttons on the remote, eyes fixed on the TV.
“No more lap dances for you, then.” I toss the phone on the bed and walk toward the door.
If he wants to hide shit from me, he can sleep by himself.
“Where are you going?” His tone is casual, unconcerned.
I flip him off over my shoulder and keep walking. Childish, I know, but I’m determined to win. The last time I gave him the middle finger, he sneaked up behind me and—
An arm hooks around my waist, and he lifts me off the floor. Before a yelp leaves my lips, he slams a stinging hand against my butt, shooting fiery pain across my skin. I cry out, shocked and squirming in his hold as he hauls me across the room and drops me on the bed.
“Brat.” He tosses the phone on my lap and rattles off a series of numbers.
I shoot him a glare, betrayed by my triumphant grin as I unlock the screen and open the text window.
He returns to his reclined position, eyes fixed on the TV. He isn’t fooling me. The ridiculous Ancient Aliens episode about Nazi UFOs that’s playing isn’t holding his attention.
I find his messages to Cole and scroll to the first one, timestamped around the time I took a shower last night.
Trace: She’s staying with me tonight.
Cole: Why isn’t she answering her phone?
Trace: She left it in the dressing room. She doesn’t feel well.
Cole: Let me talk to her.
Trace didn’t respond until two hours later, long after I passed out.
Trace: She’s asleep.
“You left the bed after I fell asleep last night?” I squint at him.
“Yes.” He folds an arm beneath his head and watches me out of the corner of his eye.
“Why did you get up?”
“To send that text.”
I guess I should be grateful, but it seems strange. “But why? I mean, I’m glad you did, but I question your motivation.”
“I didn’t want him showing up downstairs and raising hell.”
“Oh.” I blow out a breath.
Cole would totally do that. My stomach clenches as I return to the thread of messages. The next one came this morning.
Cole: I want to talk to her. Answer your fucking phone!
Trace: She’s still asleep.
The messages go back and forth like that all day. The more frustrated Cole became, the more exclamation points he used. I don’t blame him. Trace’s texts are as warm and forthcoming as his stony personality.
I slow my scrolling when I come to the one Trace sent before he walked in here.
Trace: She’s still in bed and not going to work. I’ll have her call you in the morning.
Cole: Let me talk to her, you motherfucker!
Cole: I’m calling. Pick up!!
Cole: Answer the fucking phone!!!
Cole: If you don’t answer the phone, I’m coming for you.
Trace: Security has been notified.
Cole: You know damn well your security can’t stop me. I’ll be inside that penthouse in two hours. You have my word.
My pulse races. “Is that true? Can he get past your security team? And the cameras?” My eyes widen. “And the access codes?”
“Probably.” Trace lifts a shoulder.
Cole’s threat came an hour and half ago. That means he’ll be here in thirty minutes.
“What the fuck?” I smack Trace’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? I would’ve talked to him.”
“I’ve been a little distracted.” His blue eyes burn into mine. “With your mouth on my cock.”
“Don’t give me that shit. You’re sitting here, pretending to watch Nazi UFOs. Because you have a plan.”
“My plan is to let it happen. I’m curious to see if he can break my security. I’m the one who trained him, so…”
He lets the rest of that thought linger in the space between us, like I’m supposed to nod my head and smile in understanding.
“If he breaks in to your penthouse…” I grind my teeth, irritated with these fucking games. “What comes next?”
“His unmanageable temper, followed by some bruised knuckles and blood.” He slides me a humorless smile. “His blood.”
Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I lurch off the bed and race toward the bathroom while quickly typing out a text. Trace chases me, but I manage to lock the door and finish the message before he starts banging on the other side.
“Open the damn door,” he says calmly. Too calm.
I press send on the text.
Trace: I know why Danni is so tired. We’re too overbearing and angry and it’s messing with her harmony. We just need to hug it out and make up. I want to hang out with you again. And get matching tattoos. What’s the symbol for BFF?