Tony had been helping her with getting all those papers and things, and had shown her how to search for stuff on the internet. But she’d never used a computer before and didn’t much like having the depth of her ignorance on show, so she’d only shaken her head when he’d tried to make her do it, getting him to do the searches for her instead.
Wrinkling her nose at the TV, Mia decided to ignore it, moving down the hallway toward the kitchen instead, since food was far more important than TV. She only hoped she didn’t have to cook anything. Using an oven was okay and she could operate a microwave, but putting stuff together that wasn’t a sandwich? Not so much.
Yet when she got there, she had to stop in the doorway, an odd, tight feeling in her chest. Because some bread and butter had already been put out on the counter, with various other spreads lined up next to them. There was also a glass of milk and a glass of what had to be orange juice standing next to the breadboard.
He’d done that for her. It could only have been him.
The tight feeling moved from her chest up into her throat and she didn’t know where it had come from, but she didn’t like it. Trying to ignore it, she went over to the counter and set about making herself a sandwich.
There were all kinds of spreads, but she settled on the familiar—some strawberry jelly—slathering the bread thickly just because she could. Then she ate standing there at the counter, not bothering with a plate, sipping alternately from the milk and the orange juice. Part of her didn’t want to savor anything, in case she got too attached to the taste, but she decided to ignore that part of herself. She had the food now and not savoring it even a little seemed wrong.
It was delicious. So delicious she had to make herself a second sandwich and she ate that up quickly too, already thinking about a third. But then she knew from experience that she’d end up feeling sick if she ate too much, so she contented herself with licking the crumbs from her fingers instead.
She was just finishing up the orange juice when the sound of the elevator opening had her freezing into place.
Was that Xavier? Was he home?
A curious burst of some emotion that she didn’t quite understand went through her, and she found herself heading through the doorway of the kitchen before she’d even thought it through.
Sure enough, there was a man standing by the elevators, a tall man with black hair. He was dressed in a dark suit and she thought for a second it was Xavier. Then he turned around.
It wasn’t Xavier at all.
His face was similar. He had the same arrogant cheekbones and high forehead, the same straight nose and firm jaw. His mouth was harder though and there was no curve to it, his eyes the dark, dangerous gray of snow-heavy storm clouds, and just as cold.
He gave her the kind of look she expected, the kind of look men like him always gave women like her, sharp with contempt and dismissal. And she found herself drawing Xavier’s robe tighter around her, a chill creeping into her bones.
“Of course,” the man said, cold contempt dripping from each word. “It’s not Xavier’s house without a naked woman wandering around it.”
Every muscle in Mia’s body tightened in response to threat. And not the strange kind that she’d felt around Xavier, the kind that involved excitement. No, this was all danger and fear.
She took a step back, trying to remember where the doorway to the bedroom was, so she could dart in there, find the knife Xavier had given her. Or maybe she could run to one side of the man and head to the elevators. Get out that way.
“Where is he?” the man demanded, beginning to walk toward her. “Tell him to get his sorry ass out here. I’ve got something I want to say to him.”
She took another step back, her heart slamming against her ribs, not taking her eyes off the threat in front of her.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, impatiently. “I haven’t got all day. Where the fuck is Xavier?”
“He’s here, asshole.” A familiar, deep voice said from the elevators.
The other man turned sharply.
Mia went still.
Xavier was stepping out of the elevator and coming down the hallway, long strides closing the distance between him and the other man. He didn’t stop and he didn’t slow, coming straight for the other guy, getting right up in his face.
The man didn’t back away, but she could see him stiffen. He was a little taller than Xavier, but Xavier seemed wider somehow, more powerfully built. Or maybe that was the aggression and hostility radiating from his tall form.
“Mia?” Xavier’s voice was sharp, and he didn’t take his gaze off the other man. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”