Playing You (Omega's Luck #3) - Claire Cullen Page 0,13
plate. He wondered if they’d say grace. One of the foster families he’d lived with had been big on that.
Mrs. O’Brien arrived and sat down.
“Eat up, dears. It’s best eaten hot.”
Riley picked up his fork and gathered up some mashed potato, carrot and lamb smothered in gravy, and took a bite. He had to put his fork down a second later as taste exploded across his tongue. Warm and comforting and just… yummy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a dinner that hadn’t tasted like or resembled cardboard in some manner. From rubbery meat to watery potato to vegetables boiled to death and back again. This… this was good cooking. He’d missed that.
“Is it okay?” Mrs. O’Brien asked, sounding concerned. Her hand found his, patting him gently. “Don’t make yourself eat it if it’s not for you. There’s plenty of leftovers in the fridge.”
“No,” Riley rushed to assure her, feeling silly for his reaction. “It’s wonderful.”
The whole house was wonderful. This couldn’t be real, could it?
Chapter Seven
Riley took to Mrs. O’Brien’s house like a duck to water. After dinner that first night, Brendan had escorted him back to the hostel to collect his things, drawing a firm line under that part of the omega’s life. He would never have to go back there if Brendan had any say in the matter. Maybe it was a little awkward both living and working in close quarters, but Brendan could live with that. He hadn’t planned to stay at Mrs. O’Brien’s forever, just until his place was habitable again.
Work picked up the pace the next week, leaving Brendan little time to think of anything else. While he appreciated Riley’s diligence in providing him with coffee, he was less enthusiastic about the omega’s insistence on controlling the supply.
“Riley, can you grab me another cup when you have a minute?”
The omega appeared in his office doorway a moment later.
“No.”
“No?” Brendan looked up from the credit card statement he was checking. “Have we run out? I’m sure I bought another bag last week.”
“We haven’t run out. You’re just not getting any more.”
Brendan set down the papers he was holding, giving Riley a look of bemusement. “I’m sorry?”
“You’ve had three cups already this morning. It’s not even noon yet.”
“I was up half the night on a stakeout. I need something to keep my eyes propped open this morning. Coffee, Riley. Please.”
He kept his tone even but firm, amused by the omega’s forthrightness, and turned his attention back to his work.
“No.”
Groaning internally, Brendan glanced up again. “What?”
“I’m not going to be the one held responsible if your heart gives out from all the caffeine you’re drinking. If you want to kill yourself with coffee, brew your own.”
Brendan folded his arms, unsure whether he should be irritated or pleased by the omega’s audacity. “Another cup of coffee isn’t going to kill me.”
“Are you telling me your heart isn’t already racing?”
To prove the point, Riley stepped up to his desk, reached across, and snagged Brendan’s wrist. Brendan moved to pull away but relented, realizing he wasn’t getting out of the argument that easily. Riley’s eyes were trained on the clock on the wall, counting silently.
“Ninety-two.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“You’re an alpha who keeps in shape and exercises daily. There’s no way your heart rate should be that high just sitting at your desk. Another cup of coffee and you might keel over.”
A notation on the credit card statement caught Brendan’s eye. He knew that place. With a distracted wave, he ushered Riley out and pushed to his feet. “Never mind, I have to head out and check something. I promise to do my level best not to keel over—damn it.”
“What?” Riley asked, giving him a look of alarm.
“Todd doesn’t work Wednesdays.”
“Who’s Todd?”
“He works hotel reception at the Bailey. Now and then, I slip him a few bills and he gets me copies of customer receipts or takes a look at pictures of people who might be patrons of the hotel.”
But he wouldn’t be back at work until Friday at the earliest. Brendan would have to wait until then to get the information he needed. He groaned again, audibly this time. He’d been hoping to close the case by end of day, to get a difficult client off his back.
“Whose information are you trying to get?”
“Businessman who’s cheating on his wife with his business partner’s girlfriend. Looks like he’s planning on screwing both of them over—taking the company, his personal assets, and his partner’s girlfriend, and moving somewhere tropical.