Untied: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

  He didn’t want the gesture to go to his head. He wasn’t doing it for any sort of recognition. He was simply doing it because she took care of him like he was on his deathbed yesterday and he wanted to do something nice for her in return.

  Plus, he knew what it was like to lose a parent. She obviously loved this aunt very much. It was only right she got to say a proper goodbye.

  “She’s nice. I wanted to help her. I don’t expect anything in return.”

  Asher held up his hands. “Hey, I’ve known Nadia a while now. She’s a very sweet person. From what Steve says she’s really tight with her family. It has to be difficult for her with half of them on the other side of the world.”

  He frowned. “Steve, your trainer? How do they know each other?”

  “I think they used to date. Sometimes she teaches Zumba at his gym.”

  “Nadia dated Steve?” His mind filled with images of the other man, a total contrast to himself. The guy was cut from granite, towering, and—from what Elliot could recall—a decent person. “Why did they break up?”

  “I’m not even sure I have the facts straight. Maybe they were just friends—”

  “Well, you should really know the difference before you go spouting off accusations,” he snapped.

  The thought of Steve touching Nadia was a lot more threatening than a guy like Ian. Steve was … smart enough to own his own business, good looking, and successful.

  Jesus, his tie was choking him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he barked. “Scarlet likes Steve, doesn’t she?”

  “I think you’re missing the point here, Elliot.”

  “Does she like him or not, Asher?”

  “Yeah, but why does that matter? She met Steve during the whole Mr. Stone debacle and he was good to her when I … wasn’t.”

  “Can you find out why he and Nadia broke up?”

  “Elliot, I think you’re focusing too much on the irrelevant. Who cares if they have a past? Nadia’s beautiful. I’m sure there are lots of men—”

  “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “Get out. I’m not discussing this. Forget what I told you and don’t mention it to Jet or Hunter. I’ll schedule my own meetings and handle everything myself.”

  “Why are you suddenly pissed off?”

  He didn’t have a clue, but at the moment he wanted to throw something. “I just have a lot of work to do and I’m going to miss next week dealing with this.”

  Easing out of the chair, Asher held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t.” More lies. Fuck! “I just have a lot on my mind.” Like Nadia with other men. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  “Okay. Well, why don’t you come to the house tomorrow night and grab dinner? Anakin would love to see his uncle.”

  He should. He hadn’t been there for a while, but what about Nadia? He didn’t want to miss her at home and he wasn’t ready to let Asher know she was staying with him. “Maybe after our trip.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yeah. I’ll bring Anakin back a souvenir.”

  “He’d love that. And whatever happens, Elliot, I’m glad you’re finally putting yourself out there.”

  Elliot exhaled when the door closed. Sweeping up his phone he found five texts, each one gushing with gratitude for his assistance with her mother. She used those stupid emojis he hated. Only now they didn’t seem so stupid. He especially liked the one with the yellow face blowing a kiss.

  Texting back a quick you’re welcome, he got to work, scheduling a meeting with their contacts across seas. Once that was handled, he downloaded a book on common Hungarian phrases and studied it as if he had the final of a lifetime in a few hours. The airport was a solid forty-five-minute drive and he couldn’t fill it in silence.

  Chapter Eight

  Ocimum Bacilicum: A common herb comprised of endothelial and other healing properties. Also, that which makes Nadia smile.

  ~Musings of Elliot P. Garnet

  Knocking on the door, Elliot drew in a bracing breath and smiled as a petite woman peeked through the crack under a chain lock. She looked like Nadia, but with a wider nose and lighter hair. She was also shorter by a foot.

  Keeping his voice friendly, he said, “Helló. Én vagyok Elliot. Nadia barátja.”

  The woman’s brows twitched, but she opened the door for him. Turning, she pointed to her luggage on the floor and rattled off words faster than he could translate. She waved her hands at the three suitcases.

  “Ez minden?” he asked, wondering if that was everything.

  The apartment was vacant of personal items, aside from tattered old furniture. Nadia had said much of what her family owned was already shipped back to Hungary.

  The woman spoke again, her rapid words flinging across the room as her little finger poked in the direction of other rooms. Aside from a few verbs and the random mention of Nadia, he was at a loss. Perhaps after their twenty-four-hour flight, which he intended to use for studying he’d be better equipped to decipher the language.

  “I’ll carry your bags,” he said slowly, raising his voice like dimwitted people often did when faced with a language barrier. She’s not deaf. “I’ll be right back.”

  Lugging the baggage down to the parking lot, he popped the trunk and stowed the suitcases in his car. When he returned, the woman continued to watch him.

  “Do you have anything else? Van még?”

  “Ez az,” she said and shrugged.

  Giving each room a quick inspection, in case she left anything personal behind, he checked to make sure all the windows were locked and—he paused as he stepped into the kitchen. There, on the sill, was an old wooden box with various herbs growing out the top. Examining the box, he noted the hooks that allowed it to hang from both sides of the window.

  Opening drawers, finding them all empty, he searched for a screwdriver. Nadia’s mother came into the kitchen and frowned, rambling accusing words he didn’t understand.

  “Screwdriver?” He gestured, twisting his hand in a poor charade. “I was going to take this to Nadia.” And he was shouting again. Like that helped.

  “Nadia?”

  “Yes, Nadia. She wanted these herbs. The plants.” He pointed.

  The woman frowned and shoved him aside. Using both hands, she lifted the window box off the hooks and held it out to him. “Adj Nadia.”

  He took the box, which was rather heavy, and placed it on the counter. Pointing at the hardware that let the hooks hang from the wall, he said, “Tools?”

  “Ah!” She left the room and returned a moment later with an old Swiss Army knife and smiled.

  “Perfect. Thank you.”

  He had the hardware removed and in his pocket within two minutes and Nadia’s mother held the door as he carried the herbs out of the apartment. Dirt sifted from the bottom and soiled his shirt, but he was more worried about the seat of his car.

  Flipping over a floor mat, he covered as much of the leather seat as he could and placed the herb box on top, holding it in place with the seat belt for good measure. Nadia’s mother watched him from the passenger seat.

  As he slid behind the steering wheel, he checked his watch. They had plenty of time. “Ready?”

  She frowned and shrugged.

  “Okay,” he said to himself, backing out of the parking lot.

  As he backed out she pressed her open palm to the glass as if waving goodbye to the apartment. Though it wasn’t much, they all seemed rather attached to the place.

  It was a shame Nadia said it was already leased to new tenants. He would have helped her keep it. What he should do was offer her a loan to put a deposit on a new place—a better place. However, he was coming to appreciate their current living situation, so he didn’t dwell on the thought too much.

  There was very little talking on the ride to the airport. Though he’d studied many words that afternoon, only a few common phrases stuck with him. When h
e tried to use English, it was clear she understood very little. Perhaps if he met Nadia’s aunt it would be different, depending if she had the strength to speak. Elliot didn’t know how terminal the woman’s health was.

  When they reached the airport, he unloaded her luggage and put it on a cart. After directing her to the right door, he pointed out which terminal she should use, showing her both the directory signs and the matching words on her ticket.

  She smiled. “Köszönöm, feleségül veszi Nadia házat?” She pointed to his car. “Te gazdag vagy, nem?”

  He laughed nervously and shrugged. “Sure.” Not a clue what she just said, but she seemed happy. “Have a safe trip.”

  She patted his cheek and wheeled the cart toward the terminal, taking some of his tension with her. A forty-five-minute drive home turned out to be a two-hour experience in rush hour traffic.

  When he walked through his front door, leaving a trail of soil behind him, Nadia still wasn’t home. He carried the herbs to the kitchen and considered his windows. They were much larger than her little window and lower to the ground. Figuring which one would get the most sun he set the box on the floor and went to the garage to find a drill.

  Do I even own a drill?

  Luckily, he found his old tool set in the garden shed. When the hardware was secure and the box was hung, he stepped back. Well, it didn’t seem to have the same charm it had in her little kitchen, but it worked. The window sort of dominated the little flower box, but he was certain she’d get it. There wasn’t much she didn’t appreciate.

  Chapter Nine

  “A kiss can be even deadlier if you mean it.”

  ~Catwoman

  The cab dropped Nadia off well after dark. It was getting chillier at night and she needed to remember a sweater, unsure what happened to her warm clothes from last season. As she reached the door, she bit her lip. Another code.

  Opening her phone, she checked the texts that Elliot sent her with all the numbers she needed to know, smiling at his last one stating that her mother made it to the airport safe and sound. He even attached a smiley face.

  As she punched in the code the door beeped and unlocked. The house was quiet.

  “Elliot?”

  “In the kitchen,” he called.

  Placing her bag by the door, she toed off her sneakers and followed his voice. She found him sitting at the table looking at his iPad. Her heart skipped a beat. His hair was in perfect order as usual, but his tie was loose, hanging a few inches below the collar. Spotting the smudge of dirt on his crisp white shirt she frowned.

  “You’re dirty.”

  “I brought you something.” Smiling, he stood. “Go look at the window.”

  Rounding the counter, she sucked in a breath of surprise. “My herbs!” The sight of her basil and cilantro momentarily pushed all of her worries away. Turning, she beamed at him. “You brought my flowerbox!”

  His smile was tight, his cheeks slightly tinged. “I figured you wouldn’t want to leave it behind.”

  Touched by his thoughtfulness, she moved without thinking. Rising on her toes, she cupped his sweet face and pressed her lips to his. He stiffened briefly before his hands rested tentatively on her hips.

  Pulling back, she whispered, “You are very, very sweet.”

  He stared at her, his face blank and his eyes holding a bit of shock. He gradually leaned down and brushed his lips against hers again. She leaned into the kiss, pulling him close as her blood started to heat.

  She tried so hard not to think of him in a romantic sense, but he was always doing nice things for her like letting her stay there or explaining words she mixed up or letting her join him on his trip to Hungary. And now, bringing the one thing she missed from her apartment to his house. It was impossible to ignore how genuinely sweet he was.

  His palms burned through her thin dance clothing and she moaned softly. He shifted forward, deepening the kiss, surprising her with a glimpse of aggressiveness as he backed her against the counter.

  The spike of intensity charged her desire, driving it higher. She wasn’t sure feeling any higher around Elliot was a good idea. It would make the plummet back to earth that much more lethal.

  Breathless, she braced a hand on his chest and turned her cheek. She hadn’t meant to stir things up again, but somehow, not five minutes after walking through the front door, she landed herself right in his arms. She had to be careful, with him and with herself.

  “I need a shower,” she murmured, grasping at any excuse to escape and find her bearings. He had a way of undoing her before she realized she was coming undone.

  He stepped back, not meeting her gaze, and nodded. “Sorry. You probably didn’t want to be mauled the minute you walked through the door.”

  She stilled and frowned. She kissed him first. “You don’t have to apologize for kissing me.” If she gave in to her wants she’d have him naked by now, but she was really trying to keep her composure. Her gaze drifted back to the herb box he’d hung. It wasn’t easy. He was so damn sweet.

  Elliot took a step back. “I lost my head. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

  Why did he sound so disappointed in himself? It was her fault. She started the kiss. And she pulled away, because the minute he flashed that aggressive side he ramped her need into dangerous territory. She was the one who feared coming off too strong. “It’s fine, Elliot. Really.”

  “Did you eat dinner?”

  He obviously wasn’t comfortable discussing it. “Yes. Did you? I could make something.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Martha usually leaves something in the fridge.”

  Had he been waiting for her to eat? “I could heat it up for you.”

  He shook his head. “Go do what you have to do.”

  Feeling like an irritant, she drew back. He shouldn’t have waited for her. “I don’t mind—”

  “Go shower, Nadia.” The command in his voice took her off guard. He was clearly flustered by her presence.

  “Thank you again for helping with my mother.” She should have taken her herself.

  “No problem.” He still wouldn’t look at her.

  Nodding, she silently left the kitchen.

  She was so confused by him. Maybe she shouldn’t have cut off the kiss. Maybe he needed that and now he felt rejected. She was only trying to protect them both from muddying their relationship. She should have never touched him. All day she told herself she wouldn’t confuse their situation by sexualizing their interactions, but she’d done exactly what she wanted to avoid two minutes after walking through the door.

  Or maybe he wasn’t irritated about the kiss at all. Perhaps he had a bad day and asking him to take her mother to the airport was too much. She shouldn’t have imposed on him like that. From now on she’d only look to him as a last resort.

  Her shower was wonderful. Of course, Elliot had state of the art bathrooms complete with heating vents and radiant flooring. Brushing out her hair, she considered how strange her week had been and how much stranger it was bound to get. It still hadn’t registered that in two days she’d be home, a place she hadn’t been in years.

  Braiding her hair into pigtails, she reached for her glasses. She wanted to ask Elliot about his schedule over the next few days, but she didn’t want to be a pest. Still, she needed to double check if he would be staying in a hotel or with her family, so she could let them know.

  Slipping her cable knit cardigan over her arms, the one that belonged to her grandfather, she went in search of her housemate. He wasn’t in his bedroom or the kitchen or the den. Venturing back up the stairs, she surveyed the many doors, knocking quietly at each one. The house was silent and big enough to lose a person.

  Pursing her lips, she stared out the window and stilled when she spotted movement. In the distance, just beside the blue reflection of the pool, she saw him sitting in a lounge chair.

  Sliding the glass door open, it beeped, and then she took the patio steps toward the pool area. His yard looked l
ike a private resort, accented with well-placed landscape lights that made it colorful even at night.

  “I couldn’t find you,” she said as she approached so as not to startle him. He turned but didn’t smile or speak. “May I sit with you?”

  He nodded so she took the chair beside his, stretching out and looking up at the starry sky. “Wow. There are a lot more stars here than over the city.”

  Without looking at her, he said, “It’s the same sky, same amount of stars. Overpopulation causes light pollution, making it difficult to see nebulae or distant galaxies. Same sky. Different perspectives.”

  She smirked. “You’re a bit of a know-it-all, I think.”

  He faced her and arched a brow. “Did you really want to go on believing the stars favored one part of the sky over the other?”

  “Maybe they do, smarty pants.”

  “They don’t.”

  “Then why are they moving?”

  “It’s implied motion—the Earth’s rotating on its axis. And there’s turbulence in the atmosphere, which refracts the light, making them twinkle.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What about shooting stars, mister? They move.”

  “They’re not stars. They’re meteors—rocks. They only light up because they’re traveling so fast their heat glows as they pass through the atmosphere.”

  “You are ruining the sky for me, Elliot. Stargazing is supposed to be romantic.”

  He stopped talking and she split her attention between the sky and him. Maybe he didn’t have a romantic side. But how would he explain the window box? Perhaps he’d only meant to be kind or sweet and she was, once again, misinterpreting another man’s intentions.

  After a long bout of silence, he asked, “Do you see that strip of light sky there?”

  Her gaze followed his finger. “There?”

  “Yes. That’s the Milky Way. It’s actually quite tragic how it came to be, if you believe in fairytales.”

  “Oh, I do.” She shifted so she could look at him. “Will you tell me the story?”

  His gaze remained on the sky. “There was a daughter who wove beautiful fabric and her father loved how talented she was, but she was also lonely and would often cry. She couldn’t weave with tears in her eyes, so when she was sad her toiling stopped. He loved his daughter very much, so he introduced her to a cow herder and they fell madly in love.”