“No.” She doesn’t quite manage to open her eyes all the way. “Just goofy.”
We’ll see if that holds once we get into my car, but I can always crack a window and hopefully the cold night air will combat any motion sickness. I carefully adjust my grip on her as she sways. “Did you have fun?”
“Yes?” She shakes her head. “Gods, I’m drunk. I haven’t been this drunk since my twenty-first birthday. And that was only because Persephone and Callisto tricked me.” She frowns. “I’m sorry. I was so nervous and then Helen was so bubbly, my drinks got away from me.”
“They tend to do that at Helen’s parties.”
Psyche’s spilling truth messily around, and there’s a part of me that wants to press her for information. No, not information. I can’t pretend it’s anything but wanting to know what she really thinks of me. To find out if she’s slipping closer and closer to falling for me the same way I’ve tossed myself past the point of no return while I wasn’t paying attention. I manage to resist grilling her, but only barely.
She feels good in my arms, soft and sweet. She looks even better. I study our reflections in the mirrored elevator doors. We look…good together. Not just in the way that two attractive people do when they stand side by side. Psyche lays her head against my shoulder and closes her eyes. As if we’re a real couple. The casual intimacy makes my chest ache with a longing so fierce, I can barely breathe past it.
If we can figure out a way around my mother’s threat, if we can learn to live together… This could be us. All the time.
A real couple.
The ache in my chest gets stronger. I want this, want it so badly, I can’t help pulling Psyche closer to me. Between the two of us, we’ll find a way forward. We’ve already proven we’re an outstanding team when we put our heads together.
My mother doesn’t stand a chance.
Then the elevator doors open into the parking garage and my fledgling hope drains away.
Helen’s building is very similar to mine when it comes to security. There are guards stationed both at the elevator entrances and the parking garage entrance itself. When we arrived, there was a woman in the booth next to the elevator.
It’s empty now.
There might be a reasonable explanation for that, but I’m not willing to bet Psyche’s life on it. I shift her to between me and the elevator, thinking fast. My car is three rows down. I can’t see it from here. I certainly can’t reach it, do a sweep to ensure it’s safe, and get us out of here without letting Psyche out of my sight. If she were sober, maybe, but that ship has long since sailed.
Going back up to Helen’s apartment might work, but it’s a risk in a number of ways. Either I’m bringing trouble right to her or she’s already nose-dived into her bed and she won’t hear us even if I try to kick the damn door down. Neither is a good idea.
That leaves one option.
I muscle Psyche to the guard booth. The door hangs slightly open, yet another sign that something’s gone terribly wrong. I push her inside and cup her face in my hands. “Psyche, I need you to sober up and I need you to do it now.”
She blinks those big eyes at me and nods. “I’ll try.”
It’s a lost cause, but if I can get her to focus for a few minutes, it will all work out. I take the phone and press it into her hands. “I need you to call the security desk and tell them there’s been a breach. We don’t know where the guard is. Can you do that?”
“Yes?”
Shit, I’m not certain, but it will have to do. I release her and move to the door. “Do not open this for anyone but me. Do you understand? Not a guard, not the head of security, not even Zeus himself.”
“I wouldn’t open it for Zeus. He seems like kind of an asshole.”
I nod. “Definitely an asshole.” Then there’s nothing to do but leave her here and hope for the best. I step out of the booth and shut the door behind me. It automatically locks, a small relief. The glass is also bulletproof and the base is solid concrete, so even if someone rammed it with a car, it would do more damage to the vehicle than the booth itself. She’s as safe as I can make her right now.
I knew I should have brought a gun. I rarely go anywhere without one, but hosts tend to frown on that sort of thing. With a few exceptions, Olympus parties like to keep the violence confined to words and power plays. The Thirteen and their inner circles like to pretend they’re the pinnacle of class; they save the dirty work for the shadows in the darkest part of night.