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TWENTY-SEVEN
THAT EVENING, C.P.went downstairs to dinner in sweatpants. No tight-fitting skirt or slacks. No fucking stilettos that were giving her a bunion. No curled and sprayed hair, or tasteful makeup, or diamond studs. She had thick socks in lieu of shoes, and she told herself she’d kept Gus’s fleece on just because she didn’t really have anything else to wear.
That was a lie.
She wanted him around her.
It was precisely the kind of sentimentality she’d sneered at over the course of her life—but who knew there was a place for that kind of sap? Then again, she was dying, and that sure as shit made you toss rules that didn’t work for you.
Gus’s fleece worked for her.
She got the first of the surprised looks as she hit the foyer and passed the pair of guards who were stationed by the front entrance. She ignored them. The next set of double takescame as she entered the kitchen, but Chef recovered quickly and barked an order to his second-in-command to get back to work.
“How many tonight, boss?” Chef asked.
“I don’t know. Could be five. Could be a dozen.”
“Good thing I planned for a buffet. Time?”
“Thirty minutes from now.”
“Roger.”
And that was that. The fact that he didn’t need anything else from her was usually a good thing, but tonight, she wanted to talk to him. Make some decisions about simple stuff like chicken or fish, rice or potatoes, ice cream with the pie for dessert?
Instead, she turned away. God, how much longer did she have to wait? Gus had texted and canceled the tests he’d scheduled for the morning, saying that he had the data he needed after all and that he’d reconvene with her at midnight to move forward. When she’d sent back a response suggesting they just move forward, he’d replied that he was leaving the lab for the day to get some clothes from his house.
And that was that. No more communication—
Daniel Joseph stepped into her path and she jumped back.
“Sorry,” he said as he put out his hands. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. “I’m okay.”
She wasn’t okay. Daniel, on the other hand, waslooking much better. He was freshly showered, and smelling of the shampoo, conditioner, and soap she stocked the house with. He hadn’t put his knit hat on, for once, and she could see how his hair was growing back in evenly, the dark shadow tinting his scalp. He was also bundled up, the sweater and cardigan on top of his thick pants adding some weight to his narrow frame.
His eyes were particularly bright, she thought. And though he wasn’t using words, he was communicating with them, loud and clear.
She nodded over his shoulder.
Together, they went wordlessly down the front of the house, passing by those guards, entering her study. As she closed them in together, she hit a button on the wall, her fingerprint the code to activate the lockdown: All at once, panels descended over the bulletproof windows and a locking mechanism dead-bolted the steel-reinforced door.
“Fancy,” he murmured as he went over to the chair on the other side of her desk. As she sat down across from him, he nodded at her fleece. “Nice clothes.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
Daniel tilted his head. “I’m serious. You look younger. You know, less like a battle-ax.”
C.P. opened her mouth. Closed it. Then laughed a little. “I wasn’t aware that was the impression I made.”
“Bullshit.” The guy smiled back. “And it’s a successful set of armor. You could totally be on theGame of Thronesprequel.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“So you know a guy named Gunnar Rhobes.”
Ah, yes, C.P. thought.Here we are.
