seats around the stone patio table. I barely notice any of them are there as I dig into my meal. I only look up when I’m grabbing my third omelet from the tray and stuffing the last of my second cinnamon roll into my mouth. When I do, they’re all staring at me, but they quickly look away.
I cringe, telling myself to slow the fuck down. These assholes must eat like this all the time, so it’s not that big of a deal to them. I don’t need to stuff myself for days. My stomach clenches, and I decide I really do need to slow down. I eat my last omelet slowly. Then, I take one more cinnamon roll, picking it apart piece by piece while the rest of the guys finish their breakfasts. I finish the roll off with the remainder of my orange juice, sighing when I feel how full I am. It’s been a long time since that’s happened.
“Want more?” Stone asks. He lifts the orange juice pitcher, and I nod. He tops me off. When he settles back into his seat, he says, “We should probably talk about how we’re going to move forward.”
I eye the guys suspiciously. They’ve been alarmingly civil this morning, and I’m just waiting for the shoe to drop. There’s no talk of owning me or making sure I stay away from other people. In fact, it’s been almost nice. “Thanks for letting me sleep here last night,” I say tentatively. I was raised with fucking manners, and if someone lets you stay at their house because some weirdo walked into your dorm and left you a creepy message, you say thanks. Regardless of your feelings about said person. Or whether you trust them fully.
“That about killed you, didn’t it?” Stone asks.
I let out a breath. “Damn near. I think I feel a stroke coming on.”
“You know, our families don’t have to hate each other.” He pins me with a look that I know is just a trap waiting to spring.
“We’re just wired that way,” I tell him, shrugging like I can’t stop it, just like I couldn’t stop the world from turning if I wanted to.
“I’ve always thought it was dumb.”
“I’ve always thought it necessary,” I counter.
He narrows his gaze, and I find I actually do like talking to people. Who knew?
“Now that we’re working together, I hope you’ll open your mind a little more.”
I wipe my face with a napkin. “We’ll see,” I say. I stare around at the mess that’s left. We wiped out the omelets and the bacon. There are two cinnamon rolls left, and I have to tell myself that I don’t need to stuff them in my bag. I stand, taking my empty plate and starting to gather theirs as well.
“What are you doing?” Stone asks.
Lucas chuckles. “She’s cleaning up after herself.”
“Oh,” Stone says, a line forming between his eyes. “You can stop that.”
“Um, what?” The perplexed look on his face is, dare I say, adorable.
“We have a housekeeper who comes in every day.”
I drop my plate back to the stone table, and it rattles. “Of course, you do.”
“I told you it’s weird,” Wyatt says, sniping at his friend.
“We were ten,” Stone groans.
Wyatt turns toward me. “This guy has never cleaned up after himself in his life. He’s lucky he can afford to keep the help. Otherwise, he’d be fucking screwed.”
I glare at Stone. “Not ever?”
“I can,” he says defensively.
“But you just don’t?”
Crimson rushes to Stone’s cheeks. “I can pick up after myself. I do it on occasion,” he says, glaring at his friend. “I was brought up with the idea that everyone has their jobs to do.”
“And yours is to watch the help clean up after you?” Anger laces my voice. I just can’t help it. How fucking ridiculous? How is that teaching anybody anything?
“No,” Stone growls. “My family is run like a business. Our jobs were to work on more complex problems. It’s why you see people hiring housekeepers or gardeners or mechanics,” he says. “We could all, theoretically, do the work ourselves, but that would take away from the time needed for more important things. If my father cleaned the house or did the dishes, do you think he’d be as well off as he is right now? Think about how many hours you waste doing things you need to do rather than focusing on school. Or when you get older, a job. Doing those things only takes away a precious, limited commodity: