“You want us to do your laundry now? We aren’t your slaves, chief.”
“I’m not asking you to be, but I can’t exactly have the house staff wash them. My mother left instructions for them to throw away any unmarked clothing, just to make my extracurricular activities more difficult. I’d use the cleaners I normally do, except that they reek of smoke and gasoline.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Isn’t it? I thought you wanted my help. You have machines for this, don’t you? Just get one of your people to toss them in.”
“These people aren’t my slaves either.” Tristan tossed the satchel back to her. The flap came loose in midair, and her clothes scattered across the floor. The smell of gasoline rose up from the sooty mess. “I’m not yours, either.”
“Why must everything be a fight with you? Why do you take everything so personally?”
“How am I supposed to take it?”
“It’s just business.”
“Business? I forgot. You’re a highborn heir. Everything is always business for you,” he said. “While we’re on the subject again, stop shooting down my orders in front of the others. It subverts my leadership and makes everyone confused. It’s also annoying.”
“I’m not going to apologize for having better plans. Here’s some advice: if you want to be a better leader, think before you blurt out your thoughts and stop being so sensitive.”
“Would you say that to another chief? To one of your commanders? Do you undercut them all the time?”
“My commanders think before they act.”
“Of course, because everyone is so perfect on your highborn—”
Dixon held up his notepad. Relax. She hacked Liberté for us.
“You’re taking her side?”
Dixon shook his head.
“Good. She didn’t do it for us, and you know it. She doesn’t do anything if there’s not something in it for her. Don’t ever forget that.”
Dixon stood and returned Lila’s clothes to the satchel. He pointed to himself, winked at Lila, and hung her satchel on his doorknob.
Tristan shook his head. “Tread carefully, Dixon.” He retreated to the window and took a long pull on his whiskey.
Dixon pulled Lila up from the couch with a laugh and put his hand around her waist. He twirled her around the room until she giggled alongside him, dancing to imaginary music, still hobbling on her ankle but not caring one bit. They seemed to hear the same tune, and she leaned back perfectly when he dipped her. She might have been at the Closing Ball, dancing with a highborn senator.
“Stop fooling around, Dixon. We need to talk about tomorrow.”
Dixon ignored Tristan. Instead, he scooped up Lila, a still giggling Lila, and pushed her against him, holding her close. All at once, he tilted her chin and pressed his mouth to hers.
Lila closed her eyes this time, sliding her fingers around Dixon’s neck, letting out a little moan when he sucked on her lip and bit down, just enough to make her gasp.
She smelled…nothing. Nothing but La Sangre de Las Flores.
When she opened her eyes, Dixon pulled away, twirling her once more around the room.
Their dancing didn’t seem as lively as before. The steps weren’t as fluid. She hadn’t even been thinking of Dixon as they kissed.
She was mostly thinking about getting laid.
“What did you mean about—” Lila said, turning, but Tristan had already gone into his bedroom and closed the door.
Dixon chuckled at his absence and plucked Lila’s riding jacket off the back of the couch, helping her put it on. He then grabbed her hand and led her out the window in the corridor and onto the fire escape, checking first that no one was around to glimpse her face.
He motioned for her to sit beside him and put his arm around her shoulders, warming them both up. His breath heated her cheek and came out in smoky wisps from the chill. His stubble brushed against her skin.