Page 36 of Brutal King

“He has staff,” I say to myself. Either people live on site and I haven’t seen them, or they are coming in. That means, there must be another way into the house besides a helicopter. If there’s a way in, there’s a way out.

I tuck that information aside for another day. For now, I focus on the mission at hand. Make Gideon fall in love with me. Or at least, pretend to.

After slipping into fresh clothes,— why did I fight this so long?— I walk down to the dining room.

Gideon is there, seated in the same spot we were in last night. He lifts his gaze from his phone, eyes glittering as he takes me in. “Good morning, Sofia. You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” I fight the urge to sit as far away from him just to piss him off. “You look nice, also.”

His mouth curves into a devilish grin. “More than nice, I hope.”

“Yes.” I clear my throat and go to sit beside him. “I didn’t expect breakfast would already be served. The chef comes in early.” I scan the serving dishes within reach in front of us— eggs, bacon, hash and an assortment of fruits.

“I do get up early, yes.”

My face snaps to his. “You’re the chef?”

“Indeed.” He winks, then places a white cloth napkin on his lap and begins to serve himself.

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed. I take it you were hoping you could ask for help escaping.”

Not exactly, but close. “I just didn’t realize you cooked so well.”

“You’ll find I do many things well,” he says, teasing.

“What other secret talents do you have?” I serve myself a healthy portion of everything. No point being hungry now. I’ve not only eaten, but it was food he cooked himself. “Besides that of killing people.”

Chuckling, he says, “You just can’t help yourself.”

“Sorry. I meant, do you play instruments?”

“Piano. Violin.” He ticks off on his fingers.

“Nice.”

“Guitar. Ukulele,” he continues. “Cello. Banjo. Flute. Oboe.”

“You don’t have to brag.”

“I dabbled in the harp, but someone told me I reminded her of a cherub, so I quit.”

“Her?” The question is out before I can stop myself, and to my horror I add, “A girlfriend?”

He’s quick to lock onto that. A thick brow arched, he asks, “Jealous?”

“No.”

“Too bad. I wouldn’t mind it if you were.”

“Why the hell—” I bite my tongue.Make him love you, Sofe. Fucking flirt back!Slapping a sweet smile on my face, I say, “Maybe I am a little.”

“Hmm.”

“Perhaps you could teach me to play something. I’ve always wanted to learn piano.” Big fat lie. Pop’s desperately tried to get me to learn, but gave up when I’d hide from the teacher.

“I could do that. There’s a piano in the second-floor parlor.”

---