In the mornings, he ran. After one hundred laps around the room, he moved to push-ups. When breakfast came, he ate deliberately slow; afterward he showered and brushed his teeth. In the afternoons, he took up reading.
The routine worked so well that when the door opened with the evening’s dinner, he barely looked up from his book. “Just leave it on the table.”
When there was no accompanied sound of food being left, he glanced up.
Eric loomed in the doorway.
That man had a presence. Something about hisunyielding determination made Bryson irritated. What did Eric have that made him so committed?
“Miss Federov requests your presence for dinner,” Eric said, his Southern drawl grating on Bryson’s already fractured nerves.
A smart remark came to mind, but he swallowed it.Seth and Kaydon.
Bryson had sworn to keep them together, and currently he didn’t even know where they were. So instead of being his traditional pain-in-the-ass self, he said, “Lead the way, chief.”
Eric’s hand was firm on his left bicep as he led him down the hall. Left, then right, through the main foyer and then right into a large two-story room. Sheets covered a few pieces of furniture, and colorful paintings lined the walls.
“You guys have a party?” Bryson asked, trying to make conversation.
Eric didn’t say anything and continued to lead him further into the space. When it was clear they were not headed towards the kitchen, Bryson stopped walking.
But Eric didn’t miss a step and handily forced him forward. Bryson tripped, but Eric’s brawny hand steadied him. No, practically carried him. The man forcibly was moving him with one arm.
“Must do this a lot, huh?” Bryson joked, gaining his footing.
Eric’s lips pressed together.
“Just saying you’re good at it.”
Eric opened a door to a dimly lit room and tossed Bryson inside.
He lay on the floor, listening to the door click shut behind him. There were windows in here, but large black shades blocked the outside. Bryson gave himself a moment to allow his eyes to adjust.
To his left was the underside of a large boardroomtable. At the far end were a pair of red, leather, pointed shoes. Adria’s long bare legs were crossed at the knee.
Too bad, he would have liked to see if hell was made of fire or ice.
“You sure know how to make a guy feel welcome,” he said, still lying on the floor, dramatically.
When she didn’t answer, he stood, making a show of brushing his knees and hands off. “You really should fire whoever cleans your floors.”
There was a twinkle in her emerald eyes and a hint of a smile on her crimson lips, but she said nothing.
Sitting in the chair across from her, Bryson said, “Thought this was a dinner invitation?”
She shifted in her seat, her back straight, and said, “We need to get a few things settled.”
He leaned forward, mirroring her posture. This should be good.
“Seth and Kaydon have chosen to stay,” Adria continued, “despite my repeated attempts to convince them otherwise.”
They were still here.
Bryson kept his relief locked down, buried beneath irritation. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing it. He could tell it confused her—the idea that his brothers would choose him over their own freedom. Of course, it did. She didn’t have a family. She wouldn’t understand.
Bryson smirked. “It’s calledloyalty, princess. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
Her gaze sharpened, cool and unflinching.