The Negotiator (Professionals, #7) - Jessica Gadziala Page 0,29
and making a short stop in the kitchen to grab more of those donut ball things off the counter, then taking the plate to my room.
I should have been pissed.
To be kept prisoner.
To be ordered around.
I couldn't seem to muster those feelings though.
I decided to blame the events of the night, the worry, the excitement.
And not to analyze it any further than that. I heard Christopher's men shuffling in about an hour later, then another group two hours from then, including Niko, who gave me a small smile as I made my way to the kitchen for a slice of that baklava that was left over. I mean, it would have been a shame for it to go to waste.
Eventually, sleep crept in.
I woke up to loud male voices, dragging me out of a perfectly nice dream that involved those donut ball things, my bed, and a warm male body beside me.
We were just going to pretend we didn't all know what warm male body that belonged to. And all the dirty things I did with it before consciousness ruined it all.
With a grumble, I climbed out of bed, picked an outfit—or, rather, a dress because that was all Christopher had picked out for me—showered, then made my way out into the main space of the house.
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.