“I don’t suppose you had a chance to pick up Pop-Tarts?”
He chuckles. “There’s a yogurt parfait with fresh berries and some granola in the refrigerator. The granola is made in house. It’s sweet, but the kitchen sent up some honey in case you prefer it sweeter.”
I open the sparkling-clean refrigerator with its blindingly white interior and spotless glass shelves. Aside from the parfait, there’s nothing in there but water and a jar of brandied cherries. Luxardo cherries, but not a single egg or a bottle of ketchup. I’ve opened empty refrigerators before, plenty of times, but it’s not like Gray can’t afford to keep his stocked.
I shake my head and take out the tall, stemmed parfait glass. While it’s not exactly the kind of sweet I like with my morning coffee, it does look good. I refuse to admit that to Gray, though.
“There’s no food in the refrigerator.” I snatch a long-handled spoon from the coffee cart. “Does the kitchen prepare all your meals?”
“Pretty much. Unless I’m meeting someone at a restaurant, I normally eat in my office or at the bar downstairs.”
I take a bite of the yogurt concoction, while Gray watches. “I’d like to have supper in the apartment,” I tell him. Like a normal person. “If you don’t want to join me, that’s fine. But what’s the sense of having a nice kitchen if you never use it?”
“We’ll be eating out a lot. But you can talk to Renaud and plan menus for the evenings we’re in.”
“I don’t need to discuss menus with the chef,” I say emphatically. “I’m talking about simple meals that I can prepare from staples most people keep in the house.”
Gray looks like that swamp juice is repeating on him.
“Your schedule is busy—the last thing you need to think about is cooking. I don’t normally eat fancy. Renaud doesn’t like it, but he’s capable of having one of his minions make a burger or roast a chicken. Work it out with him. And count on me joining you,” he adds. “It’s a good time to catch up from the day and spend a little time together. I don’t want to short-change that part of the preparation.”
“Preparation? That’s so disappointing. I thought you were talking about playing house.”
He ignores the cheeky comment. “Most nights, I’ll have to go back to the club when we’re done.”
Maybe I can go with you and help out. This isn’t the time to bring it up—maybe tonight over supper. “Besides swamp grass, what do you like to eat?”
“I have a protein shake in the morning,” Gray says a tad too defensively, “but I’ll eat anything after that. Not big on toaster pastries or foie gras, though.” He squeezes my arm as I reach around him for the honey.
I’m sure he intended it to be just a playful squeeze, but it becomes another one of those intimate moments that we can’t seem to avoid. The ones that pulsate with live sparks and electricity.
Gray’s eyes darken and for several seconds I’m convinced he won’t be wearing that suit for much longer, and I’m more than ready for whatever he’s thinking. But something shifts before we’ve taken off a single article of clothing, before our lips even meet. He pulls away, physically and emotionally. It’s a small physical movement, with a powerful message that’s enough to send us both spiraling into retreat.
The hot and cold with him makes me crazy. There are so many mixed signals, half the time my head is spinning.
I drizzle honey on my yogurt like I’m conducting brain surgery, and he pours hot coffee into an insulated travel mug. We don’t talk.
That’s when it hits me. This is what I’ll be eating for breakfast in Amidane. Yogurt and fruit with honey, and maybe, because there’s probably a pastry chef at the palace, a croissant or other delicate pastry. Gray Wilder, you need to stop being so damn obtuse.
In college, with my heart set on the CIA, I learned to speak several languages, and studied numerous cultures from around the globe. I studied the Saudi and Iranian cultures, but I don’t know much about the Amadis. I glance at Gray. He wants me to get accustomed to the food I’ll be served so that the change isn’t too disruptive. The less disruption, the easier it is to maintain a high level of focus.
Would it be too much to expect you to just read me in, instead of manipulating and controlling everything like a sneaky bastard?
“I’ll speak to Renaud,” I say, between bites. “Maybe he can prepare a few typical Amadi dishes for us. That way our palates will begin to adjust.”
There’s a ghost of a smile on Gray’s lips, and he visibly relaxes. I’m right. “Did you see what I just did?” I ask.
He glances at me with a blank look on his face.
“I didn’t plan exotic meals behind your back. I was up front about it. I clearly stated, I’m going to do this, so that we get that result. It’s not rocket science. You could have done that with the yogurt instead of making me feel that my food choices were not worthy of your fancy apartment.”
His jaw is clenched. And it’s not clear that he’s taking my little lesson to heart. “It’s not just about the food,” he explains in his I’m the boss voice. “It’s about you doing what I ask, without questioning me. It’s about learning to trust that I’ll make good decisions for you, and for the entire team.”
Nice try, Captain America. “Your best chance of winning my trust quickly is by including me in the decision-making process. I might look like Covert Agent Barbie, but I have a brain and I understand how to get from point A to point C without a map. You can be in charge. I don’t need to be the boss. It’s not how I’m built. But you might be surprised at how amenable I can be when I’m included in the planning.”
I pour another coffee, letting him think about what I’ve said—what I’ve offered.
“I’m accustomed to working alone,” he says without any real emotion. “And your clearance is limited. But your concerns are duly noted.”
“Duly noted?” Someone needs to put him on his ass. “The correct response was, I’ll work on it.”
Gray pulls out a card from his wallet, and hands it to me. “It’s a last-minute change to the schedule that we haven’t discussed. Mira will be coming by at ten. She’s a professor of Amadi studies at the University of South Carolina and speaks the language fluently. She’s not read in at all. As far as she knows, this is a business—mostly pleasure—trip we’re taking.”
“I understand. I won’t divulge anything.”
“I’m not worried,” he says, without hesitating. It’s a huge boost of confidence. “You can practice your conversational skills with her,” he continues, “and she can also answer any questions regarding the culture. She has some limited knowledge of the royal family, but I’m probably a better resource in that regard. Mira is at your disposal for the next two weeks—or until we leave. She’s an invaluable resource, and I would schedule her every day.”
I haven’t met Mira, so I shouldn’t start celebrating yet, but this feels like an enormous gift. It’s how any operative would be briefed before a mission, if time provided, but I didn’t expect to have an Amadi expert at my disposal. I thought my knowledge would be limited to the briefing books and to information Gray shares with me. “This is great. Thank you.”