The Negotiator (Professionals 7)

“That’s true,” he agreed.

“Are you here to give me another non-update?”

“I am actually here to bring you home.”

“Wait? Really?” I asked, brightening a bit.

“We are all going to take turns sitting on the house. But we all agreed you’d be a lot more tolerable from a distance,” he told me, smile warm.

“If I knew being a pain in the ass would get me what I wanted, I would have ramped it up much earlier,” I told him, jumping off the couch, already rushing down the hall, ready to shove all my stuff back into the suitcases Christopher had lent me.

“Are you on first?” I asked, handing him a suitcase a few moments later.

“Yep.”

“You want to order a pizza?” I asked, leading him out of the door, down the stairs, each step making me feel more and more like an actual human being.

“I’m supposed to be on patrol.”

“I think it’s more that you’re on protection duty. And wouldn’t you be more protective if you were close by? I mean, there is a reason the Secret Service stands, you know, right by the president.”

“You’re comparing yourself to the president now?” he teased, taking the suitcase from me, tossing it into the trunk of his truck.

“I’m pretty damn important,” I insisted, climbing into the passenger side.

“Apparently, worth kidnapping. Twice,” he quipped, driving me back to my place.

It had been so long that the place felt oddly foreign to me. And after Santorini with all its stark whites, my house seemed a bit dark. Not in a bad way, but it was something I never noticed before.

My walls were a palette I had chosen out of a magazine I had pretended to read fifteen times over, staking out a client at a hotel. It was mostly browns and creams, with a small splash of sage green.

My living room was the darkest of the rooms. I had picked the swatch that was just a shade and a half too dark for the space that had only two small windows facing the wooded side yard. To be perfectly honest, I had been too lazy to go back to the store to get the paint lightened, and then go over the one wall I had already finished before I realized it wasn’t the best shade for the space.

The darkness was exacerbated by the oversize chocolate brown sectional that was covered by a mismatch of blankets that Finn had folded. Each of the blankets had been gifts from my friends who knew that, in my opinion, they were the best possible present. I felt it said something sweet when someone gifted you with comfort.

There was a plethora of pillows as well. I honestly didn’t even know where those had come from. If I had to place a guess, it would be that Jules had dropped them off while I was off on a job.

The whole room smelled like bleach, lemon, and the familiar lavender scent of the carpet shampoo I had bought a few months ago and promptly forgotten all about.

“I’m gonna crack a window,” Smith said immediately, nose wrinkling.

He was right, the scents were a bit overwhelming. I didn’t know how Finn tolerated it all the time. I guess it was a source of comfort to him, part of the ritual, part of his own personal therapy.

“Okay, you order the pizza. I am going to take a shower. In my own bathroom,” I said, realizing it for the luxury it was.

I managed to get through that ritual. Washing my hair. Shaving my legs. Doing a deep conditioning treatment. Slathering on buttery lotion. Brushing out my hair.

I walked on through to my room, finding the suitcases on the side of my bed, brought there by a helpful Smith. My gaze immediately went to one of the pajama sets Christopher had bought for me. My hand reached for the silky material, pulling it out of the suitcase.

And just like that, the pain sliced through me once again, stealing my breath, making a choked whimper work its way up my throat.

I managed to pull myself up to the top of my too big, too empty bed, slipping under the heavy blankets, curling onto my side, pulling a spare pillow in to snuggle into; mostly to muffle the sounds of my cries as they came on hard and fast.

I shouldn’t have felt so deeply for him in so short of a time. The rational side of me knew this.

The irrational side, though, didn’t give a shit about what was typical, about what society told us about how and when it was appropriate to give over yourself to someone completely.

It happened on its own time with its own rules. I was pretty sure the situation with Christopher and me was a prime example of that.

Neither of us was looking for it.

Neither of us really even wanted it.