I get out of bed and walk out of his room, flipping him the finger without turning around. Screw him and screw Tolka. Screw his goddamn grandfather (sorry, God) and the unpredictable Ashton Richards and Jeff Ryner himself.

I head to the living room, unzipping my suitcase and rummaging through my stuff for an appropriate flight outfit.

After a moment I see Mal sauntering into the living room, lazy and confident and OH MY GOD, WHY CAN’T YOU BE UGLY?

“You might want to reconsider that.” He picks up his cigarette-holed Joy Division white tee from the floor, but doesn’t put it on.

“Oh, yeah?” I park a fist on my waist. “Why?”

“Because you’re naked, and although I’d personally pay good money to keep you in that state, there are rules to abide by in this wonderful country.”

I look down at my naked body, then up at him, frowning. I pick up the first thing in my vicinity—the triangle sandwich I never ate—and throw it at him. He catches it in one hand, cracks it open, and takes a bite. Dammit.

“You kept the napkin and you didn’t tell me!” I ignore my stomach, which at this stage is glued to my inner organs, screaming for food. Guess that’s what happens when you’re too busy having three internal meltdowns and an anxiety attack due to emotional overflow. You forget to eat.

Mal shrugs, putting his shirt on and taking another bite, talking with his mouth full. “You wouldn’t have come here if I had.”

“Because I wanted out of our contract!” I yell, throwing my chocolate bar at him.

I should really stop doing that. I really am hungry, and the electricity is still down, and I don’t trust any of the glitzy, organic, gluten-free, sugar-free, taste-free stuff Richards’ people crammed the fridge with anyway.

Mal catches the chocolate bar in his spare hand, tearing the wrapper with his straight, white teeth and biting off a chunk.

“That’s not how contracts work, darlin’,” he notes, chewing vigorously.

“Where have you been?” I ask again. “Whose birthday did you go to?”

He tilts his chin down and stares at me seriously. “You’ll find out when you’re ready.”

“Fine. Next question. Why are you screwing Maeve? She’s a married woman.”

“Same answer. There’s a reason, but I need to ease you back into my life. A lot has changed, and I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I don’t want to be in your life!” Only I do, and I hate the discourse between my heart and my brain. “And even if I did, you screwing Maeve didn’t earn you any brownie points.”