Tac had made his way into the neighbor’s house. No one knows yet if he managed to woo his target, but the tufts of hair missing from his snout say he made contact.
I’m just glad that seems to be his only wound, and he now sits under the table, gnawing on a frozen rump roast with far more energy than he’s displayed all week.
The way Emil tells the story, Fuyumi was not pleased to have one of her precious babies come into contact with such a low-breed demon.
I’m planning to take arsenic-laced cupcakes to her house. How dare she call Tac low-breed. She should have her precious nekomatas lining up at the door to carry his offspring.
“At least you got a meatball.” Tobias glares at his bowl of noodles and sauce.
“Did you see the cannoli?” I lean across the table to add more parmesan to Emil’s plate. “Lots of cream-filled cannoli, all for you.”
Tobias’s fork clatters on his plate. “Now, I don’t get cannoli, either?”
“You don’t even like dessert,” I hiss at him before turning a winning smile on Emil. “They’re chocolate. Your favorite. Do you want me to feed them to you?”
With a grunt of disgust, Tobias grabs the bread basket and rips off a chunk of garlic bread to swipe through his sauce.
Emil pushes my hand away from his plate, where a pile of white cheese now covers his meatball. When his blue eyes meet mine, they shimmer with the heat of a hot spring. “Perhaps you can show me how sorry you are tonight, Ms. Pond. Bring the cannoli to my room so we may negotiate.”
I cringe as I settle back in my chair. “About that…”
His eyes narrow on me.
“Adie’s going to club Fulcrum tonight,” Tobias drops into the silence of the room.
Emil’s gaze freezes over. “Cancel.”
This was the other reason I planned a romantic dinner for Emil tonight. While he’s been controlling his jealousy well, I knew he’d get grumpy about my date with Kellen later. But it’s a long overdue one, as life keeps interfering with our plans for dancing and breakfast. I promised Kellen I’d come tonight, and I won’t break my word, no matter how much it annoys Emil.
“You know I won’t.” I keep my tone gentle to soften the blow, but by the way his lips tighten, it doesn’t work, so I try a different tactic. “How about I bring you coffee and a snack tomorrow at the bank? I can take a long lunch.”
“A visit at the bank is hardly a date,” he sniffs.
“That actually works out well,” Tobias says, and Emil stiffens. “Remember when we asked you to come in to test out your ability to read desires? We have a client we’d like you to read tomorrow.”
My eyes narrow on Emil as he focuses on excavating his meatball from the cheese mountain. “And when did you plan to bring this up?”
He mumbles something before popping the meatball into his mouth.
I cup a hand around my ear. “Sorry? I didn’t catch that.”
“After dessert,” Tobias supplies with relish.
I swing on him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
His dark eyes dance. “Immensely.”
“You know, the way I see it, the broken latch on my window is your fault.” I point my fork at Tobias.
His thick brows pinch together. “Explain that logic.”
“Obviously, your catalyst power loosened the hinge, making it easy for Tac to escape.” I nod to affirm my logic. “It probably happened when you shook the pictures off the walls last week.”
Now, he arches his brows. “Which wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t riled me up.”
Heat flushes my cheeks at the memory of how riled he got. That was a fun Halloween.
Emil twirls pasta around his fork. “Still your fault, Ms. Pond. Do see to the repairs so it doesn’t happen again.”
I cross my arms under my breasts. “I don’t know how to fix a window.”
“I do,” Tobias purrs.
“Of course, you do.” I grab my plate and walk it toward the sink, scarfing down the last of my pasta as I go. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I’m willing to bargain for it,” Tobias offers.
My toes curl at what he might ask for it. “Not interested.”
“Liar.”
I am a liar, but it’s not in me to give in to Tobias. That’s not how our relationship works. It’s a constant tug-of-war between us, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.
I turn back to the table. “What time at the office tomorrow?”
“Three o’clock.” Emil leisurely swirls bread through the sauce left on his plate. “Come early to get