The Collector | 18+

【10】Blowing Off Steam

The next day wasn't much better productivity-wise. I wasn't getting anywhere in my search for mentions of Haakon and his swords, so I'd dismissed it to focus on the exhibit I was curating instead. It was clear to me that a lot of what I'd planned had to change. The miraculous find we'd stumbled upon now had to be in the center of it. The display would revolve around the blade, so I had to rethink everything. And because the exhibit was to open in January, I didn't have that much time to rework it all.

In the meantime, Henry kept doing tests and digging to find out more about the sword and its numerous secrets. Every time I met with him, he seemed a little more perplexed, confounded by the artifact. He still couldn't explain its impeccable state or the presence of the sapphires. But he was brilliant at his job, so I had no doubt he would eventually crack it.

Of course, since Mr. Westergaard had only promised to leave me alone for the remainder of the previous day, I expected to see him again at some point. It may have sounded like a threat back then, but as the day progressed, I found myself hoping it had been a promise.

Whenever someone knocked on our door, or when I heard a noise outside, I tensed in anticipation, preparing for his dashing face to enter the office. Ian even noticed how jittery I was, joking that I must have been chewing on coffee grounds to be this excitable.

In the end, the day went by without a trace of Mr. Westergaard, and it left me bitter and disillusioned. It seemed the chemistry I'd thought we had might have been a figment of my imagination. If he wasn't back to tease me or bicker with me about the sword, maybe he wasn't that eager to see me again. At least, not as eager as I was.

Since Gigi worked the evening shift, I got home to an empty apartment, except for the cats. It was too early to feed them, so I ignored their pleas—which went against my cat mom instincts. When I entered my room, the sneakers I used for running taunted me. Maybe an hour of this would be more efficient at blowing off some steam than the purple vibrator in my nightstand. I'd run until my thighs ached and my lungs burned, and by then, all thoughts of Ulrik Westergaard would be dismissed. I'd be too busy recuperating for that.

It was warm enough to avoid long leggings but cold enough for a long-sleeved shirt. So, I changed into skin-tight black shorts, slipped on a good sports bra so my boobs wouldn't bounce painfully with each step, and then covered myself with a tight turtleneck. Once my hair was tied, my shoes were on, and my phone was in the holder wrapped around my arm, I paired my earbuds, grabbed my keys, and exited the apartment.

Ten minutes into it, with my workout playlist blasting in my ears, I knew I'd been right. This was much, much better than masturbation. I'd struggled to fall asleep the evening before, but this time, I'd tire myself enough to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I ran like a madwoman, pushing myself harder than I normally did. I followed my usual path, careful not to be hit by a bus or a bike. The rush hour had been slowly ending when I'd exited my building, and it was completely over an hour later. Which was around when I was making my way back home. I realized I might have done a little too much as I waited for a light to turn green, jumping up and down to keep the cardio going. I'd have cotton candy legs for the rest of the evening. But it didn't matter much, since it wouldn't prevent how I intended to spend it—some actual Netflix™ and chill.

Just as the light turned green, allowing me to continue my return home, the music in my ears stopped, replaced by a series of beeps. Someone was calling me.

I answered with a touch on the earbud, thinking it might be Gigi. "Hello?" I asked, breathless.

There was a moment of silence on the other side, and I wondered if it would be a scam call. "Am I interrupting something?" The low, sensuous, and familiar voice hit me like a freight train. I stopped halfway through the crosswalk as suddenly as if I'd hit a wall.