House Rules - Chloe Neill Page 0,41

Bentley,” Ethan absently added. “It was an extravagance, and certainly something I can do without.” He looked at me. “I may need to borrow your car until we can replace it with something more . . . suitable.”

“How ’bout a Schwinn with a saddle pack?” Luc asked.

“Denied,” Ethan said.

“Hey,” Luc said with a chuckle that was still tinged with insecurity. “We can do this. We’ve been through hard times before. The Great Depression? The ’seventy-three oil crisis? Capone’s reign of terror?”

Ethan nodded. “We will survive and be stronger as a result. We merely have to get through this bit first.” He picked up the folio again and passed it to Malik. “Have these materials messengered to the lawyers. I want them reviewing the documents first thing in the morning.”

Malik nodded. “Liege.”

“Is there any chance they can fix this?” Luc quietly asked.

“Not without a court battle, and the last thing we need is protracted litigation on a contract issue American courts don’t have the precedent to deal with.”

In the silence that followed that statement, he looked up at us and smiled mirthlessly. “Sorry. I’ve already talked to the lawyers tonight. It means there’s no other law on the issue, so the courts would have to interpret a contract between vampires that was written centuries ago. The effort would be expensive, and the results unpredictable.”

Ethan looked at Malik, and they shared a long, silent look. Perhaps they were communicating telepathically.

Malik nodded, and headed for the door, folio in hand. Whatever they’d discussed was a done deal.

Ethan looked at his watch. “I’m speaking to the House in an hour. We’ll address it then. You’re dismissed,” he said, and the vampires filed out.

Cashing in my “girlfriend’s prerogative” chip, I stayed behind, waiting until we were alone again before looking at him.

“You’re all right?”

He ran his hands through his hair, which fell in a halo of golden blond around his face. “I will manage. We all will.” He crooked a finger at me. “Come here, Sentinel.”

I walked into his arms, and he embraced me with relief, as if the act of touching me removed the weight from his shoulders. That might have been the most flattering compliment I’d ever received from him, nonverbal as it was.

We stood there in his office for a long moment, until a loud grumble echoed across the room.

I stood back and grinned at him. “That was your stomach growling, wasn’t it?”

He put a hand against his abdomen. “I have Merititis. Gnawing hunger,” he clarified, which made me roll my eyes. “We’ve a bit of time before I speak to the House. Perhaps a bite to eat?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

He glanced around the shambles of his office—normally pristine, now covered in boxes, binders, and stacks of paper. “In these humble surroundings, yes.”

“For you, I can manage ‘humble.’”

“You actually meant ‘for food,’ of course, but I’ll take what I can get.” This time, his back was turned when I rolled my eyes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

EGGSACTLY

As usual, Margot outdid herself. Ethan had asked for comfort food, and Margot decided on a full diner-style breakfast: eggs, toast, potatoes, and sausage. Wearing her chef’s whites, she rolled in a cart, silver domes covering the food and a glass pitcher of orange juice on the side.

“That smells delicious,” Ethan said, clearing space at the conference table for Margot to place the trays.

“We aim to please here at Cadogan House,” she said with a smile, winking at me as she uncovered the plates and lit a silver candle in the middle of the table. “Ambience.”

“Appreciated,” Ethan said.

Margot made a small bow, then rolled the cart back out again and closed the door behind her.

Grandiosely, Ethan pulled out a chair for me and gestured toward it. “Madam.”

“Thank you, sir,” I meekly said, taking a seat.

Ethan took the seat at the head of the table, perpendicular to mine, and poured juice into our glasses. “A toast,” he said, holding up his glass. “To Cadogan House. May she stand strong, financially and otherwise.”

We clinked our glasses together and I took a sip. The juice was delicious, with the fresh bite and lingering umami of freshly squeezed oranges.

“So Michael knew Celina,” I said, digging into scrambled eggs.

“He did. Not all Masters are fortunate enough to have relationships like I did with Peter. Some are more like the relationship I had with Balthasar,” he ominously said.

Ethan met Peter Cadogan, the House’s namesake, after Ethan had traveled Europe with his sire, a vampire named Balthasar who’d rescued him from a battlefield.