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When I made my way out to the main room, the guys were standing around the kitchen bar. A bottle of whiskey and several shot glasses sat between. When Hayes saw me, he reached behind him, grabbed another shot, and poured it, shifting it to the end of the table.
“Did you get your phone call squared away?” Sterling asked pointedly.
“I did. Let’s just say I have a contact, I won’t say who or what, but I told them about the heat and the drugging. They’re going to be looking into it too. It couldn’t hurt to have an extra source checking it out.”
“We’ve done the same,” Cyrus promised. I nodded at him as I picked up my glass, clinking it to theirs before shooting it back. The whiskey was smoother than I expected, which probably meant it was expensive or some vintage I’d never buy for myself.
I didn’t protest when Hayes poured another round, but I needed food.
A thundering knock on the door startled me. I nearly dropped my glass, but Weston saved it at the last moment. Sterling and Hayes moved, putting themselves between us, while Weston pulled out his gun and aimed it at the door.
Cyrus held up a hand to calm us.
“I sent some of my men for food,” he reassured us, heading over to the door and looking through the peephole. He opened it to reveal two men in suits. They walked in, their arms loaded with grocery bags. The men didn’t speak or even look at us as they unloaded and put everything away, and they promptly walked right back out when they were finished.
The door closed behind them, and I raised my eyebrows. “That was the most awkward and strange delivery experience of my life,” I noted.
The others laughed, but Weston just shrugged. “You get used to them.”
“So what are we having?” I asked, walking over to peek into the cabinets, taking inventory. I must have been right about the whiskey because even the groceries were high-end brands, no expenses spared.
“Maybe we should just hire a private chef,” Hayes muttered, “then we wouldn’t have to cook for ourselves.”
“Guys, I can cook,” I said, rolling my eyes at his dramatics. I’d already started pulling out ingredients.
“So can we,” Hayes said. “Knowing how to do something and wanting to are very different things.”
Weston rolled up his sleeves and stood next to me. “Tell me what to do, boss.”
“Oh,boss, I like that,” I joked as I handed him a large pot. “Fill this with water and salt it. We’re making spaghetti.”
“Then I’m making garlic bread,” Cyrus said. He dropped his suit jacket on the couch before pulling out a loaf of bread and fresh garlic to make his own herb-infused butter.
“You know, I’m a little surprised you can actually cook,” I teased my silver fox. “You didn’t have a nanny raise them?”
He gave me a sad smile. “Nah, they had to eat, so I had to learn. It’s the way life goes, right?”
“Bailey can probably relate,” Sterling said, but I wasn’t upset about him sharing. We all had to get to know each other eventually.
“Yeah, my uncle raised me. As soon as I could safely use the stove, it became my job. I’m not a fancy cook, but I got better as the years went on. Sometimes I convince myself that I can recreate those fancy cooking videos that go viral, but I’m wrong every time.”
“You just didn’t have the right sous chef,” Weston teased.
When I tried to grab a jar of ready-made sauce, he put it away and took out tomato paste and a plethora of herbs and spices instead. Apparently, I had completely underestimated them.
The smell of garlic and herbs filled the air, and my stomach rumbled loudly. It was so strange to do something this simple with the men who had started as my bodyguards. We didn’t know or truly trust each other on the deep level mates should, but it was a start.
Was this a glimpse of what our future could be, or would all of our secrets tear us apart?
ChapterSixteen
Bailey
The guys and I had fallen into a routine of sorts. After the heat ended, we would spend our days at work, then we’d come home and make dinner together. It was domestic and simple—eating at the table, watching shows, ordering groceries.
Honestly, the whole thing felt as fragile as glass, as if something could come along at any moment and shatter it. I lived in constant worry that someone or something would take away the men that I was starting to care for.
Every moment I spent working felt like a ticking time bomb. It was too mundane and pointless for the intensity of everything we’d uncovered.
