Page 22 of Muerte

The worst he’d done so far was spike a glass of wine and bring me here.

Compared to the crime dramas and Criminal Mind episodes I frequently binged, things could be much worse. I had no way of knowing when that would change, but I wasn’t willing to test the limits of his patience to find out. I began to eat and noticed he didn’t have a dish in front of him.

“You’re not eating?”

“I usually don’t until I get to the office.”

Office. Did he do something corporate then? I didn’t get that vibe. He seemed more like a man who owned a company or two, not who ran one.

I continued to eat, hoping he couldn’t tell how unnerved I was by the way he was watching me. Despite my unease, the food tasted better than anything I’d had in a long time.

“Good?”

I nodded and reached for my glass of orange juice, contemplating how to get him to open up.

The two most important things for me to figure out were where I was, and what he planned to do with me. That mattered more than the reason why. I’d never been great at small talk outside of work settings, but I had to at least try.

“Who made all of this? I assume not you.”

“Are you implying I can’t cook?” His tone was light—I dared say playful.

Seeing as I didn’t know who he was or anything about him, I couldn’t be sure. Something told me he was good at most things that required at least some level of skill. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. I made it seem as if I was thinking about it before answering.

“I think you know the difference between a spatula and a colander.”

He laughed lightly. “I do. My mother made sure of that. Unfortunately, I can’t take credit for this. After last night, I made a few changes for the better. You’ll meet the cooks soon.”

If his mom taught him his way around the kitchen, that implied they were close. And it sounded like there was more than one person that cooked his meals. I had heard a woman talking to someone a little bit ago.

Suddenly remembering he’d been wearing a ring, I scooped up some hashbrowns and subtly glanced at his hands. The band was gone. What did that mean? Was he a divorcee? Maybe a widow? I felt irrationally compelled to know. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like his relationship status changed the fact that he’d kidnapped me.

“Curious?”

“What?”

“You were looking for my ring.”

I blinked, caught off guard by how easily he’d just read me, and how casually he brought it up. I didn’t think I’d been that obvious.

“Are you married? Or divorced? Maybe…widowed?”

His brow rose the slightest bit. “From your perspective, I suppose I would be all three.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“I’m not single,” he replied calmly.

I didn’t know what to make of that. Had he removed the ring because I was here?

“Does your partner live with you?” I glanced around the room as if his admission would summon her.

“Would that bother you?”

“I knew you were married when I saw you in your suite. I wasn’t surprised then and I’m still not now. I just don’t understand why I’m here.”

“You say you weren’t surprised.” He sat back and regarded me with a look on his face I couldn’t decipher. “What kind of man do you think I am, Lolita?”

“I don’t think I should answer that.”

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