"Okay. I am going to clean this up, then freshen up. Any chance you can make the coffee? I tried to watch Cora, but she moves like lightning when she's doing rote tasks."
"I can manage that. Hot or frappe?"
"Can I convince you to slip some of this into the frappe?" she asked, producing chocolate syrup that Cora occasionally used to drizzle on desserts.
"I can be persuaded," I agreed, watching as her smile went bright.
"Thanks," she said, then the smile fell as she made her way toward the sink. "Mr. Adamos?"
"Yes?"
"We're going to get your brother back."
It wasn't a promise. Of course, she could not give me that. And I appreciated it. But she was offering me comfort of sorts. Something I also appreciated. A tight grip of worry that had been crushing my chest and stomach loosened just a little with that small reassurance.
"One way or another," I agreed, moving away from the kitchen, to let her clean up in peace.
When I heard her go back into her room, I made my way out to throw together the frappes, meeting her in the hall as she re-emerged, this time with a small bit of makeup on, making her eyes more dramatic, and drawing a lot of attention to her lips. Where my gaze did not need to be drawn more than it already was.
"That looks amazing,"she told me, reaching out with both hands to take her drink, her delicate-boned fingers brushing my much larger ones, creating an electric shock that moved through my whole system. Her gaze shot up. Like maybe she felt it too. "Thank you," she told me, grabbing the drink, and moving a solid three feet away before taking a sip.
Then she had to do the low moaning thing again, making my cock stir, making me need to take a few slow, deep breaths to calm the chaos in my system, as I berated myself for feeling something decidedly personal in a very professional situation.
"Now we wait," I told her, moving over toward the monitor situated over the fireplace. I'd moved two of my chairs there so we could sit until the call came in. I moved over to the monitor, hitting the record button.
"It's going to be okay," she told me a few moments of tense silence later, making my head turn over my shoulder to find her steady gaze on my face. "Take a breath, she suggested.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're agitated," she corrected, voice gaining an edge. Her professional voice, I decided. "And the last thing I need is a loose cannon beside me when I am navigating a tricky situation. So take a couple deep breaths, Mr. Adamos, and put a little more trust in me. There's a reason you came to me for this. Remember that."
Not many people spoke to me like that. Those who did certainly didn't work for me. They valued their lives too much.
It took balls to do it.
I should have been pissed.
But all I could feel was impressed.
So I went ahead and took a few deep breaths.
"Here we go," she said, taking a deep breath of her own as the call screen appeared on the monitor.
We both stood in unison as I hit the answer button.
There was Atanas Chernev.
He was young to control an empire like he had. Then again, it was easy to get money and power when you made your fortune off the addictions of others, banking on their misery.
He was short and stocky without being fat, his black hair short, his face a somewhat gaunt and pinched with a sparse beard, hooked nose, and bushy brows.
He wore a suit with one button open; a hint of a gold chain could be seen in the space.
His keen gaze moved immediately to Miller, his face showing a hint of surprise, and—if I wasn't mistaken—a small amount of pleasure.
"Atanas, this is Miss Miller. Miller, Atanas Chernev."
"Mr. Chernev," Miller started, not quite giving him a smile, but something on her face managed to display warmth regardless. It was impressive how quickly she could put a mask over her features I found readable most of the time. "I have heard many things about you."
"From this one?" he asked, jerking his head to me. "All lies, surely," he added.
Flirting.
He was flirting.
I wondered how often that was a reality for Miller, how many of these men she'd worked with saw her as a body without brains. And, well, that would have worked in her favor.
"That is probably true," she agreed, giving him a small smirk. "But I believe one thing he has told me is true. Which is why I am here."
"It is a shame when reasonable men must resort to such measures, but here we are," he said, shrugging. "What can you do?" he asked, waving an arm outward.
"Well, I am here so that we can all come to an agreement that everyone involved is satisfied with."
"He knows what I want," Atanas said, eyes going steely as they slipped to me. I had to grit my teeth to keep from snapping at him.
"Yes, I've heard. Everything," she said, rolling her eyes a bit, gaining his attention once again. "Surely, Mr. Chernev, you remember when you were a little boy and you wanted everything in the sweets store. But those older and wiser than you advised you that gluttony was not a virtue."
"You're calling me a kid in a candy store?" Chernev shot back, making me tense.
"Well, aren't we all, Atanas, when we really want something?" Miller asked, shooting him an almost sultry smile that made most of the tension leave his shoulders.
"Eh, that's fair," he agreed.
"So, Greece is the candy store. I am asking you to pick out the top three things you want most?"
"Mykonos. Athens. Santorini."
"And if I told you Santorini was out of stock, Atanas? Would you have a back-up in mind?"
"No."
"That isn't wise now, is it? Greece has many fine cities to choose from. Most of them, as you can imagine, are tourist attractions. Plenty of people to offer your services to."
"Santorini is non-negotiable."
"We will take that under advisement," she said, making my brows furrow. Since I had been pretty explicit about Santorini being off the table. "Before we go on, though, Atanas," she continued, voice going honey-sweet. "Would it be possible for me to see the boy?" she asked. "I'm sure you understand how this works," she added, shrugging, like this was a pesky formality instead of an imperative.
"Of course, of course," he agreed, turning the camera on the tablet he was using to scan the room, settling on a figure strapped to a chair, a gag in his mouth.
Alexander looked exhausted, worried, younger than I remembered, but otherwise healthy.
"Perfect. Thanks, Atanas. If you don't mind, would it be alright if I called you back in the morning?" she asked, making my head snap in her direction once again.
"The morning?"
"Well," she said, sighing, shaking her head. I'm sure you understand who I am working with here," she said, utter disgust slipping into her voice. "He's... is there a nice way to say 'bull-headed'?" she asked, making Atanas let out a humorless laugh. "He wants his cake and to eat it too. It is going to take me a little while to convince him that this is going to be the best situation for us all."
"You get three hours," he said, abruptly ending the call.
"What the fuck was that?" I exploded as the screen went dark.
She ignored me, though, as she moved over to the screen, ending the recording.
"Miller, I am going to need an explanation. We had an agreement," I added, getting closer, getting louder, because she seemed to be completely ignoring me. "This was not the fucking plan," I growled.
"If you're done puffing your chest," she said, rolling her eyes at me even as her lips tipped up a bit as she brought up the video footage, fast forwarding a bit. "I need to show you something."
"What am I looking at? I saw this," I added as she played the video from where Atanas panned away from himself and toward my brother.
"Yes, but were you paying attention?" she asked, shaking her head as she rewound it again, hitting play.
"Tell me what you see," I demanded, hearing a plea in my voice.
"This," she said
, running her hand over the headboard on the bed, the art above it, the sliding doors draped in tacky light blue curtains.
"Miller..." I pleaded when I simply couldn't figure it out.
"I've stayed in a room just like this," she told me. "Exactly like this," she added. When I was on a job in Mykonos. In the Grand Princess Hotel. The suites have this exact decor. And here," she added, pausing the screen on my brother, making a gut-punch of guilt steal my breath. "Clearly, he's been beaten and bound and drugged—"
"Drugged?"
"See his eyes? He's out of it. I, unfortunately, know that feeling quite well."
"Okay. I am sensing a but..."
"But look at his hands," she said, pointing. "Four fingers on one hand. The other five. I would imagine he was trying to send the only message he can. Room number forty-five."
I wasn't sure what else she may have said. Because as soon as those words were out of her mouth, I was rushing out of the room, barking out orders to the guards."
"Mr. Adamos," Miller called, following behind me as I talked to my men. "Mr. Adamos, you can't just go right now," she insisted. "Christopher!" she yelled, grabbing my arm, yanking me to a halt.
"What?" I asked, barely able to think straight with my swirling thoughts of getting my brother out of there.
"You can't go right now."
"I am going right now."
"Be reasonable. Niko," she called, getting his attention immediately. "How long does it take to get from here to Mykonos?"
"Two and a half hours, if we get to a boat immediately."
"He is calling back in three," she said, shaking her head. "And that is if he doesn't get impatient. If he calls and you aren't here, and he starts to suspect something, you are asking for a bullet in your brother's head."
"We're going. If he calls, you answer. Stall."
"Mr. Adamos..." she tried again as I yanked my arm away.
"Do your fucking job."
I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. I regretted them more when her head jerked back like I'd stuck her.
That was the problem with words in the heat of the moment. Not even regret could allow you to take them back.
There was no fixing this.
But I could fix the situation with my brother.
"Laird, you stay with Miller," I barked, turning and running down the stairs.
It wasn't until we were on a ship on our way to Mykonos that anyone spoke to me about anything other than the plan.
"She's never going to cook for you again," Niko told me, shaking his head.
"She is just here to do a job. Nothing more," I insisted.
"Then she is available," he concluded, and if I wasn't so consumed with the current moment, I would have heard the baiting in his tone.
"You stay the fuck away from her," I ground out.
"Yep. Just a job. Clearly," he agreed, turning to look out at the ocean.
SIX
Miller
Laird stood at the door of the office like a member of the Queen's Guard—stoic, steady, emotionless, reaction-less.
Even when I tried to shove him out of the way.
I wanted to go.
It was a silly, irrational reaction, but I just wanted to charge out the door, run down the steps, hop on the first boat back to the mainland so I could call someone to come get me since I had no money, no ID, no nothing thanks to Bellamy and Fenway bailing on me.
I was not, as a rule, someone who bailed under a little pressure. If that was my nature, I would have failed at my job years ago. I was good under pressure. That was why my reputation was what it was. I could deescalate most situations. I thought on my feet. I could talk myself out of anything.
So wanting to bolt felt foreign and unsettling.
I genuinely wasn't sure that, were Laird not there, I would have stuck around for the call.
And, well, I didn't like that.
I didn't want to be that person.
At the end of the day, Christopher was right; this was a job. I had to see it through.
Decision made, I sat back down on the seat in front of the monitor, taking deep breaths, trying to string my thoughts together, to create convincing arguments for any of the things he might say when he called and found Christopher missing.
Three hours, almost to the moment, later, the phone started ringing.
Which meant one thing.
Christopher and his men hadn't made it there yet.
My stomach tightened at the idea of him being intercepted, of them all being dead.
But no.
I couldn't psych myself out.
I answered the call, watching as Atanas pixelated for a moment before getting clear.
"Miss Miller," he greeted, glancing around. "Where is Adamos?"
"Throwing a hissy fit," I told him, rolling my eyes. He liked when I insulted Christopher. It was an immature, insecure reaction. But that was okay. I could work with immature and insecure. "He's not happy about giving up Santorini. It's his home. It will make him look weak."
"He's already weak."
"How so?"
"Having anyone that can be used against him. That is weak. Surely, you heard about my brothers."
"I haven't actually. What happened to your brothers?"
"I killed them," he said, making a slicing motion to his throat. "My older brother. And my little brother. Around the same age as this little shit over there," he said, gesturing.
He might have done it. He might have pretended to be proud of it, but there was shame there, maybe a hint of regret.
Something I learned along the way about people—no matter how big a monster they became, they had once been human, they had loved, lost, mourned. Just like the rest of us.
"That must have been a difficult decision," I said, knowing that the best way to keep people engaged was to encourage them to speak about themselves while you pretended it was the most riveting thing you'd ever heard in your life.
It could buy me time.
Buy Christopher time.
Because keeping Chernev distracted was the only way to ensure that a bullet didn't end up in that kid's forehead.
I didn't need that on my conscience.
I'd had it happen before.
And the memory still made me knife up in bed, gasping for breath, panic gripping my system, helplessness making my eyes well up.
It was hard enough when the victim was an adult. I wasn't sure I could handle it being a kid.
So this had to work.
"I grew up digging through trash for food, wearing too-small clothes to school. We had shit. We had less and less each time my mother had another child. I told myself I would never be poor again once I could control it. That is what I made happen. My brothers threatened that. They had to go. Better by me than a slow, torturous death by my enemies."
"That is true. A little mercy," I agreed, nodding.
"Do you have siblings, Miss Miller?"
Suddenly I was very, very thankful that I did not. Aside from the fact that my childhood had been hard enough all alone, and adding more kids would have only made it even more hellish, it made my professional life a lot less risky.
"I don't," I admitted, shrugging.
"And you're not married?"
"I'm not. I travel a lot for work. I am never in the same place long enough to get to know anyone."
"Women are too into their careers these days," he said, shaking his head. "My mother never worked."
I'd imagine there might have been more food for all of those kids if she had. But there was no arguing against an illogical statement about gender roles.
"It was the only way to make sure my stomach stayed full when I became an adult," I told him, shrugging. "Whether I liked it or not."
The clock told me that eight more minutes had passed. Christopher should have been getting close, barring no complications. And, seeing as he seemed pretty damn connected in this country, I imagined he had his people making sure there were no
ne while he made his way across the ocean.
"There had to have been men in your school."
"Boys, Mr. Chernev. There were boys in my school. Ones that couldn't figure out how to pull up their pants all the way, let alone know how to provide for a family."
"That's true. I was already making pocket change in my business venture by the time I was sixteen."
"But not many young men are that smart or entrepreneurial."
Another pro tip: men in powerful positions often had no goddamn idea when you were blowing smoke up their asses. They had such an inflated sense of self that they figured everyone else thought they were amazing as well.
It was obnoxious, but it worked in your favor when you were trying to schmooze them for some reason or another.
"I have done well for myself," he agreed, nodding, his chest puffing out a bit. "I plan to continue to do well. Which is why I need to expand my empire. Where is Mr. Adamos?" he asked, eyes moving across the screen, trying to spot him.
Good luck with that, buddy. The next time you see him, he'll be holding a gun to your head.
"Probably running the steps. Or bitching to his housekeeper," I said, rolling my eyes.
"You don't like him. Why do you work for him then?"
"Because he is paying me," I told him, leaving out the kidnapping part.
"I can pay you more."
"Maybe, but you don't have a job for me, Mr. Chernev."
"I can find a job for you," he said, voice getting thick, making my stomach roll.
It took about every ounce of self-control I had not to say 'ew' right then and there. There was not enough money in the world for that.
Five more minutes had passed.
Where the hell was Christopher?
"What kind of job is that?" I asked, letting my voice go a little sultry, a little teasing even.
When all else failed, coquettish worked wonders with most men.
"Oh, I can think of—" he started, then his brows furrowed at a dinging sound, his gaze moving to something out of sight.
My stomach knotted as he turned, went toward the sliding glass doors.
The Negotiator Page 7
