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“Did he say they were any good?”
This woman, for someone who otherwise seemed incredibly confident, had a hint of uncertainty, of vulnerability in her tone.
I guess that made sense.
She had been raised by a man; had surrounded herself with men in her professional setting. She was incredibly confident in herself when it came to work, when it came to taking care of herself.
But being without a mom or many female coworkers had likely made her feel more insecure about traditionally feminine things. Like cooking. Like keeping house.
I could understand that.
I could very much relate to not feeling secure with softer things. Like feelings as a whole. Like the concepts of home and family.
My brother and I loved each other, of course, but he’d made it clear that I was not his father. And I wasn’t.
“He said that you are a good cook,” I told her, elaborating a bit, but the half-truth was worth the look of complete joy on her face at the news.
“Cora said there is hope for me,” she admitted, gaze skittering away. “You will be able to judge for yourself.”
“How so?”
“We made extra gyro. We are having it for dinner as well.”
“And from the smells in the kitchen, I believe she’s making baklava too.”
“She isn’t,” Miller objected, popping another donut into her mouth, her cheeks puffing out like a hamster for a moment, making a laugh bubble up in my throat.
“She is,” I affirmed, watching as a mix of dread and anticipation cross her features.
“I’m going to need to run laps around the garden.”
I wouldn’t mind watching that.
“Might as well enjoy it now and plan to workout when you get home.”
“Yeah, that’s so not going to happen,” she said, shaking her head at herself, and grabbing her coffee, likely to keep herself from eating anymore. “Anyway, how is this call going to go tonight?”
“We will answer the call in my study. The monitor will be larger.”
“You want to see everything in the room, try to get an idea where he is.”
“Exactly.”
“And are you going to let me take the lead?”
“After I introduce you, yes.”
“Okay. And how much power are you going to give me? What can I offer him in exchange for your brother?”
That was the question, wasn’t it?
If I could get a pin on where he was, if I could line up my men to storm the place, I wouldn’t have to worry about that. I could promise him the world and simply have him killed.
But while he still had Alexander, he had a lot of power, and he knew it. If he was a smart businessman—he’d proven quite shrewd up to this point—he likely wouldn’t give me my brother back until he got his men into my city, and they put down roots, making it harder, if not downright impossible, to take back the agreement without risking too many lives.
“If he gets hostile, give him anything. I can deal with it all later.”
“But if he is being amicable, wheel and deal?”
“Yes. I trust your judgment. You have more experience with this than I do.”
“I appreciate that. You should set up your monitor to tape the call, so we can go over it after it is over. Sometimes the calls go so quickly, it is hard to remember the small details. In times like this, small details can save lives.”
“I will get that set up,” I said, getting to my feet, glad for an excuse to move away from her. The scent clinging to her hair each time she moved her neck was becoming damn near narcotic.
With that, I retreated to my study, dragging my feet through a few tasks to stretch them out, to give me an excuse to be alone.
Cora called for dinner.
Then promptly excused herself with some bullshit excuse that her husband had called saying he missed her. Sure, they had a long marriage, a successful one by all terms, but there was no way her husband had called her home for that reason.
She just wanted to leave the two of us alone, convinced if she did so, that something would spark and ignite between us.
I won’t lie. I’d obviously thought about it. But thinking about it and acting upon it were two completely different things. Especially given the situation.
“Niko was right. These are good, Miss Miller,” I told her after noting her gaze flicking over to me, eyes cautiously optimistic.
“Yeah?” she asked, eyes brightening.
“Yeah,” I agreed. They were, too. I’d had gyro from Cora countless times in my life. These were slightly different. Miller’s touch. I didn’t know what the difference was exactly, but she’d infused her own flavor palate that I decided I liked even better than Cora’s original recipe. Which was saying something because with an entire island for the taking, I would almost always choose to eat Cora’s cooking over any of the many restaurants.
