the living room watching TV. She seems antsy."
"Thanks, Niko," I told him, moving inside, going in through the kitchen to grab some coffee. I was handed a tray, instead, with two coffees and a plate overflowing with Loukoumades—golden puffs of dough much like an American donut hole, but with honey and cinnamon and sugar.
"Go go. Take them to her," Cora demanded, waving a dishrag at me.
"Cora," I said, taking the tray, but feeling like I needed to clarify. "Miller is just here for work."
"Sure sure. So you say. She's a good woman."
"I'm sure she is. She is also a busy woman. With friends and family and work. In America."
To that, she just clucked her tongue, not willing to admit when she was wrong. And since it was a quality I sometimes shared with her, I went ahead and let it slide, taking the tray through the house to the sitting room Miller seemed most comfortable with.
"Oh, God," she grumbled, eyes falling on the plate in horror.
"They're good," I told her, placing the tray down on the coffee table, taking one of the donuts, and popping it into my mouth.
"That's the worst part!"
"That they are good?" I asked.
"Yes. Everything she makes is amazing. Do you have any idea how hard it is to turn down such good food?"
"Why turn it down then?"
"Mr. Adamos, I am pretty sure I have gained seven pounds since breakfast," she said, eyes round, lips parted.
"Cora thinks women need to be soft," I said, shrugging.
"I think everyone thinks women should be soft. In the boobs and butt. And thin everywhere else. And that is just not how it works. All this food is going straight to my hips, I swear."
"Soft hips aren't a bad thing either. Something to hold onto," I added, even if I definitely didn't need the mental image in my head.
She'd picked the red dress.
And with her darker coloring and the way it skimmed her in all the right places? Yeah, it was fucking hard to not let my head go there already.
"Well, I've already eaten so much crap," she said, folding forward to grab a donut, taking a sniff, then plopping it in her mouth.
Then she had to go ahead and moan.
Because that was what I really needed.
"Oh, my God. This is just. Oh, my God," she said, grabbing another. "Cora, you kitchen witch, you," she called, getting a chuckle from my housekeeper. "You don't pay her enough," she declared.
"You don't know what I pay her."
"No, but whatever it is, it's not enough. Not when she can make things like this," she told me, going back for more, something that made my lips quirk up slightly.
There were a lot of sexy things a woman could do. But enjoying her food, that was pretty high on the list for me.
"I heard you made gyro."
"Well, at least Niko talks to you," she said, shooting me an eye roll for my demand that they not engage her.
Really, it had mostly been a safety concern. Her job was to negotiate for things she wanted. I imagined she could do so by being very charming. And my men—as well trained as they were—always had a soft spot for a beautiful and charming woman. I didn't want her getting a cell out of them, calling her team, and fucking up my plan.
I knew Chernev.
He didn't trust strangers.
If he knew I had brought some of the world's best fixers in, he would be pissed. And I didn't want to contemplate what that might mean for my brother.
Alright, maybe there was a small part of me that didn't want them talking to her in general. For reasons I didn't understand. Reasons I didn't want to understand either.
"Did he say they were any good?"
This woman, for someone who otherwise seemed incredibly confident, had a hint of uncertainty, of vulnerability in her tone.
I guess that made sense.
She had been raised by a man; had surrounded herself with men in her professional setting. She was incredibly confident in herself when it came to work, when it came to taking care of herself.
But being without a mom or many female coworkers had likely made her feel more insecure about traditionally feminine things. Like cooking. Like keeping house.
I could understand that.
I could very much relate to not feeling secure with softer things. Like feelings as a whole. Like the concepts of home and family.
My brother and I loved each other, of course, but he'd made it clear that I was not his father. And I wasn't.
"He