"Damn it, Kel, watch where you're driving!"
"Relax, Neal, it was just a Spidren, not an important car, like a Mushroom or whatever."
"A what?!"
"You know…those nice cars. Mushrooms."
"Kel…you dumb ass…they're called Mustangs, not Mushrooms!"
Joren rubbed his temple wearily, trying hard to block out their ridiculous argument. He had his seat belt strap in a death grip, his knuckles like white pearly buttons. Keladry Mindelan could either not drive, or she was smoking something. Neal must have seen his helpless expression, for he said with a sigh,
"My poor brainless roommate had sugar today. She has some kind of hyperactive reaction to it. Don't mind her."
Truth be told, it was difficult not to. Joren, spending just ten minutes alone with the roommates in their Jeep, found that he rather detested them. Queenscove was a sarcastic man, and Mindelan was a woman who was damn well near perfect at everything (when, he figured, she was not sugar-high).
Although, he figured he needed to at least try to get along with Queenscove. His father was one of the best medical doctors Tortall has ever known, and was, in fact, highly regarded in the eyes of the president and very capable. If he wanted to move up in the world, he figured the best way to do it would be to befriend a national celebrity's eldest son.
Mindelan, however, was of no importance to him, except that she was his client. Joren made it a rule not to get close to a client, for it distracted him, and had never been known to lose a client to ransom or even something so ugly as death, as others in his office are. When he was hired, he committed his soul to the task, but not his heart. And if his commander instructed him to put on a lover's façade - then so mote it be.
His stomach flew up into his throat as the woman in question turned sharply, the tires squealing like butchered pigs, and flew up into the carport underneath the apartment complex. The sour, vile taste of vomit slipped up his throat, and he swallowed it back with a grimace of disgust. Looking closely, one could spot the faintest tinge of light green underneath the fair of his skin. He made a mental note not to permit his client to drive anymore, high or not.
Joren grabbed his two duffel bags, swinging them over his shoulder, and trotted up to Mindelan and Queenscove. They headed for an elevator, his client blissfully silent, her roommate whistling an off-key song. He recognized it as "Wild Girl", a song sung by the soulful country singer, Numair Salmalin. Joren was actually a big fan of country, though everyone seemed to take him for the rock and roll type, or the heavy metal music.
"What floor are you on?" he asked indifferently, joining them on the mechanical device seconds before the silver doors clamped on the space where he had briefly stalled.
"Fifth," Mindelan said, as emotionless as her expression. "Room 720."
Queenscove suddenly stopped whistling, as though he had abruptly come across a significant thought. "We haven't purchased that sofa-bed yet, and our current couch is lumpy and covered with cats. You'll have to bunk with one of us."
Joren blinked.
"He'd have to, anyway," Mindelan murmured glumly, her face turning sullen. "The letter said he was watching me all the time, so I assume that means even when I'm sleeping. If we're going to be together, then we're going to have to act like it all the time. Even while we sleep."
Joren blinked again. So the woman had brains, even when her blood was fueled with ninety-eight percent sugar. Good. It helped to have an intelligent client, instead of some ditzy blond. This way, he would be able to relax a little more.
"Do you like cats?" Mindelan asked as the elevator stopped to accompany more passengers, two men dressed in suits, and a woman just as smart in her more feminine but just as businesslike ensemble.
Spotting his chance, Joren discreetly draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She blinked in confusion before comprehending, then leaned against him casually. One of the men - a gray-eyed redhead - stared at them curiously, especially the blond. Apparently he did not like what he saw, because he looked away with a frown.
"Hate them," he said pleasantly, tucking away the gesture for future use.
He noticed how the roommates exchanged sorrowful glances, and he felt his heart sink.
The elevator halted at the fifth floor, and Queenscove, Mindelan, Joren, and the woman stepped out. She flashed them polite smiles before walking down the corridor, dark hair bouncing on her shoulders, probably trotting off to screw her boss for a bonus or a promotion. He knew the type.
A man was leaning against Room 720, a forlorn expression fixed on his face. He had the morning stubble over his chin, and his dark hair was a mess. He saw them, and his eyes brightened.
"Dom," Mindelan said wearily. "Don't tell me you left your keys in your apartment again."
Dom shuffled his feet sheepishly, his expression boyishly guilty. She sighed, shaking her head in exasperation while Queenscove shoved the silver key in the lock. Immediately a chorus of mews and purrs greeted them.
Joren groaned. What the hell did he get himself into?
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He sat on top of the rooftop, blending in with the hedges grown there, peering through the binoculars. His woman was in the arms of another man - someone who was tall and beautiful with bright pale hair. He narrowed his eyes angrily as he ushered her inside; nobody told his woman what to do.
The grip he had on the rifle tightened. He watched as the brown-haired man - her best friend and roommate - and the dark-haired man - an old flame and nothing more - followed them inside, the latter pausing to coax a fluffy white cat back inside. They were unthreatening, simply his subconscious helpers who would defend his woman from other men.
Then why weren't they protecting her from the new man's wily charms?
He withdrew into the bushes, his glare cold and spiteful. Damn it all…he had given the letter to her, if indirectly. And suddenly she appeared with a man he had never heard her speak of. And he would know - he had recorders fixed on every wall, every phone call tapped.
Something was up, and if it was the last thing he did he was going to find out what.
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Short, I know. But still, it's an update.