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“It’s the pushy little bitch part, the ‘I want my own place, my own purpose’ part. She, from what I know and the dots I connect from that, let all that right out. I mostly kept it under wraps.”
“She was in a safe place, Eve, or what should have been. You rarely were.”
“But I hated it, safe or otherwise. Hated all of it. I think she did, too—or am I projecting? I think she hated it, resented it, thought it was all bullshit. Even Sebastian’s club. None of it was hers, and that’s how it was going to be. Someone she knew used that. She thought—I’m probably projecting—she thought she was using him, but she was a child, and easily strung along. Figured she knew the score, but she was still just a kid.”
“How does that help you?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m trying to get a clear picture of all of them, and she’s pretty clear at this point. Anyway, you should do your Emperor of the Known Universe thing. I think I’ll get in a workout before I start all this.”
“I’ll be about an hour. I’ll meet you back here for breakfast.”
“That’ll work.”
They rolled out of bed, he to go to his closet for a suit, she to grab some sweats.
As she pulled on a tank, she frowned over at him. “It’s not really Pluto, right?”
“Not yet.” He smiled at her. “The day may come.”
• • •
She let her mind roll around possibilities, speculations, avenues while she pushed her body into a good, muscling-pinging sweat. Satisfied, she took the elevator from the gym back to the bedroom, and straight into the shower.
Roarke hadn’t come back by the time she got out, so she amused herself by hunting up the financial reports he habitually scanned in the mornings before she even opened her eyes.
She glanced down at the cat bumping his head against her leg. Suspicious, she hunkered down, sniffed.
“I know Summerset fed you. I can smell your kibble breath.”
He merely stared at her with his bicolored eyes, then butted his head lightly to hers.
Okay, so she was a sucker. Rising, she ordered up a saucer of milk—a small one—and set it out for him. While the cat happily lapped, she grabbed pants, a sweater, a jacket she was reasonably sure she’d never seen before. But she liked the dark chocolate leather trim at the pockets, and the cloud-soft rest of it.
She started to swing it on over her sweater and weapon harness, caught the label.
“Cashmere. Jesus, Jesus, why does he do that?” she demanded of the cat, who merely continued fastidiously washing himself. “Watch, just watch. I’ll get in a fight with some psycho and ruin in. Just watch.”
With those dark thoughts she put it on because, damn it, she liked it—and it was his own fault if she destroyed it on the job.
As he was still with Pluto or whoever, she considered the AutoChef, then made her choices for breakfast for two.
She was sitting, as he usually was, the financials on mute, as she went over her notes and drank coffee when he came in.
“It took longer than I thought it would,” he began, then stopped to smile at her, and the two plates, covered with warming domes, on the table in the sitting area. “You’ve done breakfast for me. What do we have?”
He lifted the dome. “Omelets, berries, toast, and jam. Nicely done.”
“I figured you’d stick me with oatmeal. Beat you to it.”
“An omelet does very well.” He sat beside her.
“How are things in Roarke World?”
“Satisfying at the moment. I’ve some meetings later—”
“My shocked face.” She opened her mouth and eyes wide.
Amused, he popped a berry in her mouth. “I can and will make time if you can use me for anything.”
