The Negotiator

by Gadziala, Jessica

  "Hey! How come you get to get away with only one course?" I asked, shooting small eyes at him as he turned back, lips curved up.

  "Because I give Adonis a run for his money," he informed me. And, well, there was no arguing with that, was there? "Cora, you know... some of her ribs show," he told her in a grave voice, getting a look of outrage from Cora.

  "You'll pay for that," I promised him, getting nothing but a smirk in return.

  "I'll make a big lunch," Cora told me, nodding. "I will go to the market now. Then I will make a big lunch."

  "A big lunch? Cora, it is already ten." There was no way I was going to be able to eat a big lunch in two hours. "I won't be hungry."

  "You'll eat. You'll eat. Maybe, if you are not busy with Christopher, you help. I show you how to make good, Greek food. You and Christopher. Do you have plans?"

  "We have a... call. But later. This evening, I think." I should have gotten a time from him. Though it wasn't like he wouldn't be able to find me when he needed to.

  "Good. So you have time. We'll cook. You'll tell me about your life. Your family. Then you'll eat. I have to get going," she said, making her way toward the back door. "Finish," she added, giving me a firm look as I poked at my salad.

  I contemplated hiding the rest of it under something in the garbage, but had this irrational feeling that she would know exactly what I was up to.

  So I shoveled the food into my body until my stomach ached. I washed my dishes. I watched TV. Then I went back to my room to look through the rest of the contents of the boxes and bags. And finding enough clothing to last two weeks. If not more.

  Two weeks.

  Sure, yes, negotiations could sometimes go that long. But this was not an overly complicated case. I had a feeling an agreement could be achieved somewhat easily. I certainly didn't think it would take two weeks.

  Maybe Christopher Adamos was the sort of man who over-prepared for everything. But if he was going to over-prepare, couldn't he have at least thrown in one casual outfit?

  Don't get me wrong, badass job aside, I liked girly stuff as much as the next woman. My luggage for my trips always included full face makeup, perfume, hair products and stylers, and way, way more shoes than was necessary.

  But even I could accept that very little in life felt as nice as a good, comfortable, lounging around outfit.

  Eventually, tired of waiting for Cora to return, I ventured outside where I was promptly ignored by all of the guards there.

  "Did Mr. Adamos say when he was going to be back?" I asked the tall, strong man sweltering in a suit in the sun by the garden gate. "Do you speak English?" I asked, trying to catch his gaze which he seemed to pointedly be keeping off of me. Which wasn't very, you know, guardly. "Mr. Adamos," I said, enunciating carefully as I lifted my arm, tapping the invisible watch on my wrist. "Home?"

  "He said he'd be home at three," the guard told me, making me immediately feel foolish for pantomiming, and also a little bad for assuming he didn't speak English.

  "Oh. I, ah, you didn't answer me the first time."

  "We have orders," he said, gaze out over the ocean, down the steps, anywhere but on me.

  "You have orders. Not to speak to me? Or to look at me?" I added.

  "Yes."

  "But why?" To that, I got no answer. "Are you allowed to talk to guests normally? I asked, brows lowering a bit when he gave me a small nod as an answer. "So this is a weird order?" To that, another nod. "Am I allowed to leave?" I asked. His gaze slid to mine for a short second, just long enough to shake his head, then move away again. "Were you the one to get me the clothes?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting confirmation. I got the head shake. "Did Mr. Adamos do it himself?" A nod. "Is that strange?"

  "I don't know if Mr. Adamos has ever seen the inside of a store before," the guard informed me, a small hint of humor in his voice.

  "Can I ask your name? Don't worry. I will say Cora told me."

  "Niko."

  "Niko. I'm Miller."

  To that, I got another nod.

  A moment later, a second guard moved out into the garden talking in Greek on his phone, gaze moving toward me, talking some more, then again.

  "Uh oh. Sounds like I'm in trouble for distracting the guards," I mumbled under my breath as the second guard moved back inside.

  "He was checking in on you. And, yes, before you ask," Niko said, lips curving up even as he avoided eye-contact. "Yes, that is unusual."

  "Niko, I feel like we are going to be fast friends. Between you and me," I said, turning away from the house so that the other guard couldn't see me talking, "Cora is trying to make my stomach burst. How about I sneak some of that stuff out to you? I hear that Greek men love to eat."

  "That's not a lie," he agreed, nodding. "So, we're friends."

  "I'm here to protect you," he corrected.

  "We're just going to skim over the little 'and keep me prisoner' part for now, I guess. But, anyway, I'm not above bribing a person to be my friend. I will wear you down, Niko," I promised, and I could swear there was a ghost of a smile on his handsome face as I made my way back inside to straighten up the kitchen for Cora.

  The rest of the afternoon, I spent being stuffed with Greek sweet treats, gyros that I helped make but were still somehow edible, (slipping an extra bit of goodness to Niko to keep him in my favor), then sitting in the living room waiting for Christopher to get home.

  At three o'clock on the dot, he was there.

  What did I feel at seeing him, you might be wondering?

  It should have been anxiousness.

  Or distaste.

  Even anticipation of the job to come.

  But it was none of those things.

  Nope.

  What I felt was something very suspiciously similar to happiness.

  That was going to be a big, big problem.

  I needed to get the deal done and get Alexander home before the lines of professionalism became too blurry.

  If for no other reason than that the guys back in Navesink Bank wouldn't have a reason to rib me for getting another bad guy under my belt.

  So, I was just going to get the job done, and get back on a plane to the States in the next few days.

  Or, at least, that was the plan.

  But you know what they say about plans...

  FIVE

  Christopher

  I didn't need to leave the house to handle my business.

  The fact of the matter was, I had to go because I had to get away from her for a little while.

  Cora was right.

  I never had guests.

  I certainly never had female guests.

  When it came to the fairer sex, I kept things fun and casual and out of my space. The woman's house or hotels; never my own home.

  There was a tactical reason for that, since you never truly knew who you could trust. You never knew who you had on the payroll that you thought was loyal, but wanted to take you down. Enough even to hire a woman to loan out her body, so they could get research about the inside of my house, it's strengths and weaknesses.

  On top of that, I was trying to be a good role model to my little brother. I'd seen far too many women in and out of my father's life. I remembered many early morning meals at the breakfast table with some random, beautiful woman who told me how cute I was, how much she was looking forward to being my new mother. And then a few weeks later, just when I had started to grow attached, they were gone, and I was crushed.

  I refused to do that to Alexander.

  And after many women breaking car windows and screaming outside my childhood home, I learned that some women—despite being explicitly told otherwise—would start to picture a future with you when you let them too much into your life.

  So, I never brought women into mine.

  Much to Cora's disappointment.

  For the most part, she had done surprisingly little nagging me to settle down, to find a good woman who would cook for me and give me half a doze
n babies.

  I think she understood that my focus had been my business, then raising my brother after our father passed.

  It wasn't that I didn't want those things. The wife. The children. There had always been a traditional streak to the men in my family. It was simply that it never felt like the time. And the women? Well, they never felt like the woman.

  I had no plans to turn a side dish into a main course. That was a recipe for years of my father's mistakes when it came to women. Thinking with his dick instead of his brain.

  If I was going to have a woman in my world, she was going to be the one I wanted to come home to, to wake up to, to give children to.

  And until it was her, I had no interest in having one in my space.

  Or so I thought.

  I'd needed to leave the house because I liked having a woman there more than I should. There was something unexpectedly comforting to come in from my morning workout to see a woman—soft and bed-tossed, wearing nothing but a robe—sitting there waiting for me.

  There was something right about sharing a meal beside someone for a change, to banter with them, to start a day with something other than concerns about work.

  I was enjoying her presence too much.

  Especially for such a short span of time.

  So distance was imperative.

  Even if all I did while I was gone was wonder what outfit she'd chosen to wear, if she was curled up on the couch watching her baking shows, what she was learning to cook from Cora, or if there would be any left for me when I got home.

  "Anything to report?" I asked Niko, who greeted me as I walked through the gate.

  "She talks a lot," he told me, barely holding back a grin. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who enjoyed her presence.

  "Part of her job, I'd imagine."

  "She's a halfway decent cook," he added.

  "What'd they make?"

  "Gyros."

  "Where are they now?"

  "Cora is in the kitchen. Miss Miller is in the living room watching TV. She seems antsy."

  "Thanks, Niko," I told him, moving inside, going in through the kitchen to grab some coffee. I was handed a tray, instead, with two coffees and a plate overflowing with Loukoumades—golden puffs of dough much like an American donut hole, but with honey and cinnamon and sugar.

  "Go go. Take them to her," Cora demanded, waving a dishrag at me.

  "Cora," I said, taking the tray, but feeling like I needed to clarify. "Miller is just here for work."

  "Sure sure. So you say. She's a good woman."

  "I'm sure she is. She is also a busy woman. With friends and family and work. In America."

  To that, she just clucked her tongue, not willing to admit when she was wrong. And since it was a quality I sometimes shared with her, I went ahead and let it slide, taking the tray through the house to the sitting room Miller seemed most comfortable with.

  "Oh, God," she grumbled, eyes falling on the plate in horror.

  "They're good," I told her, placing the tray down on the coffee table, taking one of the donuts, and popping it into my mouth.

  "That's the worst part!"

  "That they are good?" I asked.

  "Yes. Everything she makes is amazing. Do you have any idea how hard it is to turn down such good food?"

  "Why turn it down then?"

  "Mr. Adamos, I am pretty sure I have gained seven pounds since breakfast," she said, eyes round, lips parted.

  "Cora thinks women need to be soft," I said, shrugging.

  "I think everyone thinks women should be soft. In the boobs and butt. And thin everywhere else. And that is just not how it works. All this food is going straight to my hips, I swear."

  "Soft hips aren't a bad thing either. Something to hold onto," I added, even if I definitely didn't need the mental image in my head.

  She'd picked the red dress.

  And with her darker coloring and the way it skimmed her in all the right places? Yeah, it was fucking hard to not let my head go there already.

  "Well, I've already eaten so much crap," she said, folding forward to grab a donut, taking a sniff, then plopping it in her mouth.

  Then she had to go ahead and moan.

  Because that was what I really needed.

  "Oh, my God. This is just. Oh, my God," she said, grabbing another. "Cora, you kitchen witch, you," she called, getting a chuckle from my housekeeper. "You don't pay her enough," she declared.

  "You don't know what I pay her."

  "No, but whatever it is, it's not enough. Not when she can make things like this," she told me, going back for more, something that made my lips quirk up slightly.

  There were a lot of sexy things a woman could do. But enjoying her food, that was pretty high on the list for me.

  "I heard you made gyro."

  "Well, at least Niko talks to you," she said, shooting me an eye roll for my demand that they not engage her.

  Really, it had mostly been a safety concern. Her job was to negotiate for things she wanted. I imagined she could do so by being very charming. And my men—as well trained as they were—always had a soft spot for a beautiful and charming woman. I didn't want her getting a cell out of them, calling her team, and fucking up my plan.

  I knew Chernev.

  He didn't trust strangers.

  If he knew I had brought some of the world's best fixers in, he would be pissed. And I didn't want to contemplate what that might mean for my brother.

  Alright, maybe there was a small part of me that didn't want them talking to her in general. For reasons I didn't understand. Reasons I didn't want to understand either.

  "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?

  I
f 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.