The Negotiator (Professionals 7)

“I had early business,” he told her, voice still rather formal despite her warmness, making me figure he simply wasn’t capable of that kind of soft and sweet. Despite carrying me up the stairs.

He’d simply been taking care of his asset.

It hadn’t been sweet.

“And you bring home a woman,” she said, and I could hear a hint of disapproval in her tone as her gaze moved to me, looking me over like a cow at market.

“Miss Miller will be helping me bring Alexander home,” he explained.

Sadness crossed Cora’s face for a moment before her gaze went to me again, showing hope.

“She’s good, yes?”

“She’s the best,” Christopher corrected. “But she’s been on a long journey. And is thirsty and hungry and in want of a bed. Can you make her something to eat while I talk to my men?”

“Yes, yes of course. Miss Miller is in good hands, you know that,” she said, waving him away.

“I’ll see you to your room in an hour.”

That sounded a lot like a threat.

As though I would attempt to overpower poor Cora and escape.

Like my legs would even get on board with such an idea.

“I will be counting down the moments,” I told him with an eye roll, getting rewarded with one of those lip twitches of his.

“Miss Miller,” Cora said as I watched Christopher’s retreating form. “You are hungry, yes?” she asked, drawing my attention back to her.

“Yes,” I agreed, putting a hand to my grumbling stomach. “Can I have some water?” I asked. “I would get it myself, but my legs took objection to all the stairs to get here. I think I would fall over if I tried to get it myself,” I admitted.

“Of course, of course. Water. Then food. You’re very thin,” she told me, clucking her tongue.

My lips curved up at that. “I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before. But I will take it as a compliment.”

“You have a husband?” she asked, filling a glass with water, passing it to me over the counter.

“Nope. No man.”

“No? Why not?”

“I work a lot,” I admitted.

“Work. Work is good. So is family. A husband. Children. Also very important.”

“I’m still young,” I defended, not sure why I even felt defensive. I guess because I had no practice against judgmental maternal figures. I didn’t have a mother. Or aunts. No one to lecture me about my clock ticking.

“Eh, not so young,” she said, shrugging as she went to the fridge, pulling out ingredients. “Pretty, though. Good hips.”

Oh, goodness.

Good hips.

I knew what that meant.

Good childbearing hips.

What a strange day I was having.

Just a few short minutes later, a small bowl was in front of me.

Lettuce, olives, tomatoes, cucumbers, feta crumbles.

I knew Greece just well enough to know Choriatiki when it was in front of me.

I have to admit, I was not, as a whole, a salad person. But knowing that this was simply an appetizer to hold me over to a bigger meal, I dug into it, watching as Cora moved around the space with the calm efficiency of a woman who had been cooking and providing meals with love for a very long time.

Which was an odd thing for me even to think since I had absolutely no experience with such things. But, hey, I’d seen TV and movies. I had cinematic experience. It could almost count as real. You know, if you lied to yourself well enough.

A short while later, my bowl was taken away, replaced with a white plate.

“Dolmadakia,” she said. “Eat,” she added, turning away, cleaning up after herself.

Dolmadakia.

Which appeared to be grape leaves stuffed with beef and rice and maybe some vegetables.

Very healthy.

Very unlike me.

But it smelled good.

My stomach, half full from the salad, grumbled, demanding I dig in.

Already, my head was feeling clearer, the final traces of the drugs seeming to leave my system, even if I still had a giant black hole of the events of the day before.

“That’s good, yes?” she asked, clearly not needing to ask since I had cleared my plate, just barely stopping myself from licking it clean.

“Very good,” I corrected, watching as she put leftovers onto a plate, then placing it into the fridge. Likely for Christopher. “Thank you,” I told her, offering a genuine smile as she took my plate.

“You’ll bring Alexander back, yes?”

“I will do everything in my power to,” I told her, not comfortable with promises. I’d been on too many jobs, had seen too many things go sideways, to ever hand those out willy-nilly again.

“He’s a good boy.”

“He’s a terror, and you know it, Cora,” Christopher corrected, coming in at my side.

“Reminds me of someone,” she added, wiggling her brows at him, daring him to contradict her.

“I’ve never denied being that,” he agreed, eyes warm.

“Remember to eat,” Cora told him, giving him another sweet smile, then making her way out of the kitchen.