The Negotiator (Professionals 7)

I found Christopher and a few of his men scattered around his common room.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just hoping Cora has some coffee for me,” I said when he paused in the middle of his conversation.

He looked tired.

It never ceased to fascinate me when men such as Christopher—men with wealth and power—looked so worn out. Illogically, we tended to think that if someone was rich enough, if they had enough influence, then they could afford to delegate, to shrug off some burdens so that they could get a full night of rest.

I had the sudden, wholly unexpected, urge to tell him to go back to bed, to offer to tuck him in.

“Miss Miller,” he said, nodding at me. “I need to speak to you.”

“Okay. Well you finish speaking to them while I get some coffee. Then you can speak to me,” I said, rushing off to the kitchen.

“Oh, there you are,” Cora greeted, piling olives into a small bowl on a giant serving board. “Help me arrange this,” she demanded, moving to grab me a coffee.

“What is this?” I asked, seeing an odd mismatch of breads, fruits, and yogurt.

“A breakfast board,” she said, grabbing some grapes. “It is easier to serve. These men. In and out, in and out. They never sit down.”

“I think they are ramping up security. Have you seen Alexander yet this morning?”

“He stumbled in, yes. He looked tired. I think he went back to bed. Christopher tells me you saved him.”

“No. I mean… I just figured out where he was. I didn’t do any of the actual saving,” I told her, arranging the peach slices into a bowl on the board.

“You saved him,” she corrected, giving my wrist a squeeze. “Christopher says so,” she added, moving away, leaving me with my thoughts, ones stubbornly stuck on the fact that I was going to leave now, to go back to my old life.

No more Cora cooking for me.

No half-naked sweaty men at four a.m.

It had only been a few days, but I found myself oddly at home here, despite not having any of my things around.

Regardless, I had to go home.

If for no other reason than I owed Bellamy a thorough ass-kicking.

He wouldn’t learn from it, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Here, you bring this in, yes?” Cora asked, picking up the board, practically shoving it at me, giving me no choice but to grab it or she would drop it on the floor.

“You did all the work. You should bring it in,” I insisted, trying to give it back.

“No no. Don’t be silly. You go,” she said, turning her back to start to tackle the dishes, leaving me no option but to take the giant tray back through the house and into the study.

“Hey guys,” I called in the doorway, grabbing their attention. Something strange crossed Christopher’s face, something that seemed like a mix of surprise and, I don’t know, pleasure of some sort? Or maybe that was just my imagination running away with me. “Cora threw together something for you to eat,” I told them, feeling oddly uncertain with all their gazes on me. Like they were, I don’t know, sizing up my wifely potential or something. “Um, can I put this down somewhere? It’s getting heavy,” I added when everyone just stood there dumbly, staring at me.

I was ready to check that I didn’t have a boob out or something when Christopher finally spoke. “Niko, take the tray out to the sitting room. I need to talk to Miss Miller,” he said, dismissing his men.

Niko lifted the tray from my hands, giving me a sweet smile before moving into the hall. Laird closed the door behind him, closing the two of us in.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, moving to lean against the front of his desk.

“Did you sleep at all?” I shot back.

“No,” he admitted, letting out a sigh. “There is a lot to be done.”

“To shore up?” I asked. “Because Chernev got away.”

“Yes, exactly,” he agreed, nodding, raising a hand to rake it over the scruff on his face.

“Well, ah, I will get out of your hair in a little while. So you can get back to your plans.”

“No.”

“No? No, what?”

“No, you are not leaving in a little while.”

“Of course I am.”

“No.”

“The job is done, Mr. Adamos.”

“I watched the video back when we got in this morning,” he told me. “He threatened you? Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“There was nothing to tell you.”

“A threat isn’t nothing.”

“I’ve been threatened hundreds of times over the years, Mr. Adamos. I honestly already forgot about it.”

“I haven’t.”

“Really, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is.”

“All the more reason for me to get home then. He might be interested in making me pay, but I doubt he is interested enough to follow me back to the States.”