Page 57 of Himbo Hitman
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
PERRY
It feelsstrange that I only saw Margot this morning, and for some reason, when I get to Elle’s place and spot her front door, I have the strongest urge to cry.
Over a door.
Someone help me.
The sushi I picked up is heavier than usual, and I’m relieved St. Clare got the bill for this one because apparently Lars eats a fuckload more than any normal human should. I tried to convince the two of them to wait in the car, but they’re both standing behind me when I knock like some kind of bodyguard. Technically, I said I’d help Lars out with protecting St. Clare, but that was a total lie. If he’s right that I’m the one in danger, I need Lars’s protection just as much as St. Clare does.
That man is going to have his work cut out for him.
The door opens, and it’s Elle’s smiling face I’m greeted by. With her blond pixie cut, septum piercing, and sweet face, she reminds me of a fairy. A very mouthy, fun-loving fairy.
“Food!” she all but screams in my face before pulling me into a hug. Then she freezes, and when she slowly eases away from me, her gaze is skipping between St. Clare and Lars.
“Ahh, these are my friends.”
“You have friends?”
“I have lots of friends, actually.”
Elle eyes me suspiciously. “Are these friends in the room with us?”
Is she going blind? I hook my thumb back over my shoulder. “Well, yes. They’re literally right there.”
She looks them over, and her gaze settles on Lars. “You guys don’t look like friends?”
“We’re … in our trial period,” he answers.
Because of course he does. “You should’ve asked the other one,” I point out.
Elle turns to St. Clare instead. “Same question.”
“Same answer.” It’s like I can hear his smirk as he says it.
“Where’s Margot?” I step around Elle. “I’m feeling very outnumbered right now.”
“Given she’s been cursing your name since you got off the phone, I don’t think she’s going to help you.”
Okay, so I really, really shouldn’t have called her ranty. Though on the flip side, you could argue that if shewasn’tranty, I never would have called her that. This is on her. Which are words I will never utter aloud.
“Sushi’s here,” I call, hoping to distract her with food, but she mustn’t be hangry because when I join her in the living room, which has been painted to look like a rainbow threw up in here, she’s straight up glaring at me.
“Ah … food?” I hold up the bags, and Margot scoffs.
“Stop trying to distract me.”
“I’m not. I’m …” I reach into the bag and pull out the spicy tuna rolls. “Bringing a peace offering.” I shake the container her way.
“I’m not hangry, asshole.”
“Spicy, spicy tuna …”
“Perry.”
I slump and slide the container onto the coffee table instead. “I’m sorry, Margy.”
