Even from across the room, Micah could see a muscle in the man’s jaw tick. Damon took a deep breath in through his nose, and muttered something to himself. (Probably begging the Lord above for patience, which, rude.) Then, more loudly… “Considering it’s the day we agreed to meet so that you can effectively do the job I hired you to do, yes, I think it should.”

Micah blinked. “Oh.”

While he certainly hadn’t forgotten Damon, the exact details of their arrangement may have slipped his mind with Nico’s case taking up the majority of his brain power.

“Yes, oh,” Damon all but hissed, suddenly shooting up off the bed, all pretense of calm gone. (Apparently that prayer for patience hadn’t gotten through the queue.) It only took a handful of long strides for the man to invade Micah’s space – although he left a foot or so of distance between them. He stuck his hand in his pocket, and Micah’s shoulders tensed in preparation for… well, he didn’t know for sure, but all the man pulled out was a familiar-looking iPhone. “Of course, you would have known that if you have bothered to check your phone – you know, the one I gave you and specifically told you to have on your person at all times. I sent you multiple reminders.”

The man sounded nearly as worried as he did angry, and Micah was disturbed to find himself actually feeling guilty. Which was stupid, he told himself firmly. Damon was a mobster. He shoved that feeling as deep down as he could.

“I’ve been busy,” Micah said after a minute, doing his best to keep his tone breezy despite the sick feeling in his stomach.

The way Damon’s expression twisted made it clear what he thought of that explanation. “You’ve been… busy?” he repeated incredulously, taking another step closer to Micah – it wasn’t threatening, exactly, but it only left inches between them. Which was unfortunate, because up close Damon was even more stunning. Micah swore he could count the man’s eyelashes if he wanted to.

He tried to swallow, but found his throat was dry. “Um, yes?”

What was the question again?

“With what?” Damon demanded, his entire countenance darkening. Micah swore that even his eyes blackened a shade. “Work?”

Yes, actually, but definitely not how Damon thought.

“No,” Micah shot down quickly, before the man got ideas in his head. “Just, you know, some stuff I had to take care of.”

Damon’s eyes roamed his face, clearly trying to judge if Micah was being truthful. Micah thought for sure he’d insist on knowing what he meant by “stuff”. Instead, after an intense inspection…

“Are you on drugs?”

Micah’s throat must not have been that dry, after all. How else would he have been able to choke on his own spit? “What? No!” he managed to communicate through the embarrassing coughing fit. “Of course not!”