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But it’s not as if Katiya is a guest in my house. Yet, I’m traditional. I like order. I like things my way.
Could she just eat in her room and give me some peace and quiet? Yes. But that would throw my routine out, and the latter makes me far more nervous.
I like things how I like them, and I’m not about to start switching tactics now.
She might think my inviting her to dinner is some kind of reward, but it’s not. This is for my benefit, not hers, and aside from eating, she will hopefully keep her mouth shut for five minutes. Still, I find that very hard to imagine after what just happened.
Katiya trying to keep quiet would be like trying to draw water out of wine.
My chef has made fettuccine with salmon and capers, and unlike Angelo and his famous carbonara, which is literally all he knows how to cook, I don’t want the fresh pasta drowned in too much gravy.
I don’t cook.
I have people to do that for me.
My life is far too busy for such menial tasks.
I suddenly remember Katiya saying that she liked to bake. I don’t know why, but imagining her in an apron, covered in flour, kneading dough just about sends me into a physical meltdown.
I’m always attracted to difficult women, it’s like an impasse I can’t seem to get past.
The dire situation and her smart mouth may have a lot to do with it.
The trouble is, if she keeps poking the bear, eventually, the bear will wake up and devour her.
I’ve enough time to hit the gym before dinner. Usually, I work out in the morning, but with staying at Fortress and escorting Miss High and Mighty plus having a treacherously long day at work, time didn’t permit.
I run on the treadmill for almost forty-five minutes, then murder the punching bag to let out all my frustrations.
I try not to bring work home, but I often fail at that.
There’s a lot going on.
Deadlines.
Delays.
Dip-shit construction crews.
I’m glad I’ve got Dante running things at Fortress Realty, so at least I don’t have that to worry about that.
He runs anything important by me, but since he’s very smart and knows the business, he rarely makes a decision that I would disagree with. He acts aloof, but that’s all part of the charm, or so he tells me. He flirts a lot, but not as much as Fynn. The two of them together? I shake my head.
They are trouble.
After I’ve passed an hour, and I’m sweating like a pig, I hit the shower. I don’t bother going all the way back up to my room to do that; I have enough bathrooms down here to suffice.
I change into a pair of gray sweats and a long-sleeved Henley. My evening wear of choice.
I wear a suit religiously so I enjoy keeping it casual at home.
A glance at my watch shows me it’s almost dinner time.
I pad across the main room, noticing the dining room is empty.
I don’t know why Clary lit candles, this isn’t a fucking date. I go over and blow them out.
She’s also put out the fine china and fancy placemats.
