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“Good morning, Alicia,” he said, dipping what appeared to be thick-cut brioche bread in an egg mixture.
“I take it we’re having French toast?” asked Brock.
“Alicia likes it, and considering she doesn’t really want to be here, I figured it was the least I could do. Brock, why don’t you look after the bacon, and Alicia, see what kind of accompaniments you can find—stuff like juice, butter, syrup, berries.”
Both Brock and King looked at home in the kitchen. In addition to the bacon, Brock cut off slices of Iberico ham, adding it to a pan to warm and sear it. The smells in the kitchen made her belly rumble with hunger.
“You do know the chef is going to have your head for using the Iberico again, don’t you?” laughed King.
“I don’t think he’ll be nearly as mad as when Miley and I made ham and cheese sandwiches.”
“You made ham and cheese sandwiches with Iberico ham?” said Alicia in an astonished voice. “That’s sacrilegious.”
“No it isn’t, it’s delicious,” said Brock, with a devilish grin.
Why was it so many people thought him dour or angry looking? Alicia didn’t think he was at all. He had a gorgeous symmetrical face and when he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and he had the cutest dimples. They seemed childish and out of place on the hard planes of his masculine face.
She couldn’t decide if she was relieved or sad that he hadn’t called her ‘baby girl’ again. She knew he didn’t think about her like that, but it had been lovely to fantasize. Then again, she had felt his hard length against her back when he’d pulled her up next to him. In response to his pulsing cock, her pussy had responded by getting wet, warm, and soft. He’d have had no trouble bending her over the conference room table and pounding away in her.
Sitting down to breakfast, she could almost pretend like this was just a regular day and they were having a breakfast meeting. It had happened before, but usually they called in the chef to prepare their meal.
“Want to tell us about your psycho ex-boyfriend stalker?” asked King without preliminaries.
Feeling as though she’d been lured in and taken completely by surprise, Alicia blurted out, “Did Brock tell you that? It simply isn’t true. We broke up, and he didn’t take it well.”
“Who didn’t take it well?” asked Brock, taking a bite of the French toast. “This is amazing, King, what did you do differently?”
“I added a little bourbon to the egg mixture.”
“Damn, that’s good. Alicia?”
“What?” she asked, suddenly understanding how a rabbit must feel when two lethal predators were circling.
“Your psycho-stalker,” answered King. “What’s his name? It’ll be easier to track him down and put the fear of God into him if we know his name.”
“You don’t need to know his name,” she stammered.
“Technically,” drawled Brock, “she is correct. I can identify the creep. We can start hunting him down and when we find him, we can beat the shit out of him and then ask him his name.”
King nodded. “That’s not a half-bad plan.”
“That is not a good plan by any stretch of the imagination,” protested Alicia. “Seth and Fitzwallace would never approve.”
Both men laughed. “Baby girl,” started Brock, drawing an intrigued look from King, “if you really believe that, you haven’t been paying attention.”
“Brock’s right. You’re a member of the Cerberus team—the Cerberus family, if you will—and we don’t let psycho ex-boyfriends frighten or hurt a member of our team. This bastard is going down, and he’s going down before he gets a chance to hurt you.”
“I didn’t expect to see him last night. It spooked me, but I’m fine now. I can deal with him.”
“Who?” asked Brock.
“Don’t do that,” she said. “I am not going to be so easily tricked into giving you his name. I’ve got it covered.”
“Do you believe her?” asked King.
“Nope,” came the answer from Brock.
“Neither do I. She’s not a particularly good liar, is she?”
