"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."
"Miller, no."
"Mr. Adamos. You can't just keep me here."
"It's my job to keep you safe."
"Actually, it's not. At all. That is my job to do."
"You need help."
"I have a whole crew of people back home."
"And still, you will be accepting my hospitality for a little while still. At least until we handle Chernev."
"You can't be serious."
"I am very serious."
"You can't just keep me prisoner here, Mr. Adamos."
"I prefer the term 'guest,' but you are free to call it whatever you want."
"This is absurd," I told him, shaking my head. "Let me call Quin. They can keep me safe without keeping me against my will."
"Possibly, yes. But it is not safe for you to be traveling right now."
"I will have Fenway come back. Can't get safer than a private yacht."
"There is no guarantee of that."
"There's no guarantee that I am safe here either."
"Perhaps not. But I am here."
"And you think you are more capable than my crew full of ex-military personnel?"
He chose to ignore this. Because, well, it was hard to argue illogically against a logical statement.
"Please let me or Cora know if there is anything you need for your stay."
"Mr. Adamos—"
"My decision has been made, Miss Miller. Better to accept it than fight against it."
"Or what? You'll chain me to my bed?" I spat back, knowing they were the wrong words to say as soon as they were out of my mouth because a heat bloomed across my belly at the idea. And, if I wasn't completely mistaken, his eyes went a bit molten at the mention as well.
Great.
This was just great.
I was probably going to sleep with the client.
Or, worse yet, sleep with my captor. I'd never live that shit down. And Quin would probably insist I get counseling for freaking Stockholm Syndrome.
"If that is required to keep you safe, yes," he finally answered, voice a little rougher than usual.
There really was going to be no arguing with him. And with security ramping up, there was a very small chance for escape. Even if I got out of the house, what were the chances of getting anyone to agree to helping me? His reach was long. If he had put the word out that if anyone saw me, to call him, I would be screwed.
I had no choice.
I was going to be stuck here for the time being.
That didn't mean I didn't have to be easy going about it, though, did it?
"I need to write a list of things I need," I told him. "Do you have a pen and paper?"
If he suspected anything about the saccharine-sweet change to my voice, he said nothing, just stood, going around his desk, sliding open the drawer.
This man even had fancy paper.
He didn't hand me a pile of loose leaf or even a yellow-lined notepad. Nope. He had a leather-bound binder full of thick sheets of monogrammed paper. And a pen that probably cost a month's