Page 26 of Mr. Wrong
“Excuse me?” I force myself to swallow the bark of laughter that pushes its way up my throat at her curse.
“Sorry.” Her apology floats up from under the kitchen table. “I mean, oh,shitake mushrooms,she saw me.”
Shitake mushrooms.
That’s a new one.
She and Killian spend more time than what would probably be considered appropriate, discussing alternative curse words.
Before I can tell her that’s what she gets for spying, the knob on the back door jiggles and twists. A second later, someone knocks.
“It’s her.” Cassie’s head pops out from under the table. “Don’t let her in.”
Now I do laugh. Can’t help it. “I have to let her in, Cass,” I tell her, wiping my hands on a dish towel on my way to the back door. “But I’ll stall her—take your plate to the sink and then go upstairs and wash your face.”
I hear the mad scramble of kitchen chairs and clattering dishes as Cassie scurries from her hiding place to follow directions.
Opening the door, I wedge myself into the crack, barring Ellenore from entry. “What’s the password?” I intone in my deep monster voice that always makes Cassie laugh. Behind me I hear her giggle, her plate hitting the bottom of the sink with asharpthwackthat almost certainly means something chipped or cracked.
“First, you get your niece to spy on me andthenyou lock me out,” Ellenore says, glaring at me, her hands stacked on her hips. “Can you be any more childish?”
Her tone sets my teeth on edge and oddly enough, turns me on. “I didn’t—”
“He told me not to spy on you, but I don’t listen very well,” Cassie shouts on her way up the stairs. “You can let her in now.”
“I didn’t lock the door either.” Stepping away from the door, I make a sweeping gesture with my hand, inviting her inside. “Just in case you’re wondering.”
She stomps across the threshold and stops in the middle of the kitchen to cross her arms over her chest, watching while I shut the door and make my way back to the stove where I’m making the last of the pancakes. “Then why was the door locked?”
Because Cassie lives in a goddamned prison.
“All the doors and gates auto lock from the inside,” I tell her, pouring a portion of batter onto the griddle. “You’ll need a passcode and your thumbprint to get in.” When I aim a quick look in her direction she looks slightly troubled by the prospect. “Like Landon said, his head of security will get you set up.”
She drops her arms and looks around the kitchen like he might be hiding somewhere. “Killian?”
I nod, refocusing on the pancakes I’m cooking. “Killian Davis. Officially, he’s Cassie’s bodyguard but he’s really in charge of everything that has to do with security around here. He lives over the garage.” He’s also been Landon’s best friend since they were toddlers but I don’t tell her that. Instead, I flip the line of pancakes over in rapid succession. “My brother likes to keep his circle small. And close.”
“I’ve noticed. Who’s Greta?”
Either I’m losing my mind or she sounds a bit jealous. Swallowing another laugh, and the urge to tell her that Greta is a member of the Swedish Bikini Team who also happens to be Cassie’s nanny, I tell her the truth. “Greta is Cassie’s overnight nanny. She’ll be here tonight at eight and stay until tomorrow at 8AM.”
“Seven days a week?”
“She takes Sundays off.” I shake my head at the griddle. “She makes six-figures a year, with full benefits, to listen to Cassie snore and do some light housekeeping. She’s not complaining.”
“Your brother doesn’t make her live here too?”
Now I do laugh. “Nobody makes Greta do anything. Landon tried and he’s still scrubbing the boot marks off his ass.”
She seems to be all out of questions because the room falls silent between us. Not like last night when the two of us were lying next to each other in the dark, her hand in mine. That silence was easy. Soft.
This silence is charged. Heavy. Like she expects me to attack her at any moment.
“What are you doing?” She sounds suspicious, like I might be making pipe bombs instead of pancakes.
“I told you last night that I’d make you breakfast, Ellenore.” I shoot her a smirk over my shoulder. She’s still standing in the middle of the kitchen, where I left her. “Sit down.”
She doesn’t answer me but when I turn around again, she’s sitting on the stool she’d been perched on before my brother left.
