The Negotiator (Professionals 7)

“She’s very nice. She thinks I’m too skinny,” I added. “I’ve never had a maternal figure cluck over me like that. It was sweet.

Why was I telling him private details about my life? Yes, that was a good question. For which I had no satisfactory answers. I was just going to keep blaming Bellamy for it.

“Are you tired?” he asked, side-stepping my little reveal. Which I was grateful for.

“Unbelievably,” I admitted, gritting my teeth as I planted my hands on the counter, pushing the chair back, getting to my feet.

“Come,” he demanded, smooth voice softer than I had been anticipating, something that sent a little ripple of desire through my system. Further proving how tired I was.

I fell into step with him, following him back out toward the living area, down a hallway that opened up a bit in the back like a mudroom, clearly what was meant to be the exit. Only it wasn’t. It was the start of a massive addition built off of the back of the cave house; a little more modern with its clean lines and abundance of gleaming windows.

We stepped into a lounge area, colors in darker blues than the front of the house, just a little more masculine, seeming to suit their owner better. There was a bathroom, an office, and then a hallway of doors. Bedrooms, one could imagine. More of them than seemed necessary unless Cora and some of his security people needed places to crash aside from him and his brother.

I was led to the end of the hall, across from what was clearly the master, based on the size compared to the others.

“You can stay here,” he told me, pushing open the door to yet another white room with cream and light blue accents on the full bed. “There is a bathroom through here,” he told me, walking over to the doorway, flicking on a light. “Feel free to roam around inside the house if you can not sleep,” he told me. On the surface, it sounded like a nice thing to say. Except I was reading below that, hearing that while I could roam the house, maybe get myself a cold drink or a snack should I need it, I was not allowed to go outside. I imagined that if I tried, a guard would be all too happy to escort me back inside.

It was okay, though.

It was a short time.

I was being taken care of.

I was going to get paid.

If nothing else, Bellamy knew where I was. The perfect ally, he was not. But if Quin and the guys really got on his ass about where I was, he would lead them to me.

It was okay.

I had been in much stickier situations in my life than locked inside a mansion of a crime lord in Santorini.

“Got it,” I agreed, nodding.

“We will talk more in the morning about negotiations.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I agreed, nodding. “But let me know if you hear from him at any point before then.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” he assured me, making his way to the door, stepping into the hall. “Goodnight, Miss Miller.”

I had the sudden—and wholly irrational—urge to blurt out my first name, to hear the way it would roll off his smooth tongue, the way it would shiver into me.

But that was ridiculous.

So I let him close the door.

I listened for footsteps to move away and disappear.

Then I went ahead and locked the door.

Taking a deep breath, I moved to the closet. Finding nothing inside but a spare, fluffy white robe, I grabbed it as I moved into the bathroom to run the water for a shower.

I climbed out of my dress and my bra and panties, filling the sink with water and liquid hand soap. Luxury it was not, but I had gotten very used to hand washing my intimates in sinks over the years when I found myself without spare pairs to wear.

Finally, freshly cleaned, wrapped in the towel as a makeshift night dress, I climbed into bed, figuring I would stare at the ceiling until it got darker out, but passing out almost immediately.

—

I woke up disoriented, which wasn’t an altogether new sensation for me. When you lived most of your life on the road, you got used to waking up in strange places, having that moment of panic and uncertainty until your brain let all the pieces fall back together again.

They trickled back.

The yacht.

Bellamy and Fenway, who were both going to hear it from me in the near future.

Christopher Adamos.

His brother, Alexander.

The job.

The money.

The house.

Which was where I was, settled in the guest room.

One look out the window said it was still dark, but with a lack of any electronics in the room, and my missing phone, it was impossible to tell if it was in the middle of the night, or simply the very pre-dawn hours.