Page 64 of The Final Contract
He catches me, and I bump his shoulder with mine.
“Cookies sounding good?” I ask, already heading to the cabinet to pull the ingredients. I have a recipe memorized because Stasia and I make them all the time for the kids.
“I’m always ready to eat.”
His voice is deeper, and I blush at the double meaning—which he totally intended. If Eve caught it, she doesn’t let on.
“What was different about last night? Why hadn’t he been ready?” I ask, my voice cracking as I measure out flour and brown sugar while my heated skin cools.
“Hmm.” Eve taps a long red nail on her lip. “Nothing out of the usual.” She sits at one of the barstools as I begin scooping cookies onto baking pans. Killian steals a chocolate morsel from the edge of the bowl, and I smack his hand.
“I looked up a few places, made a few calls, and sent the details to Barrett.”
Killian bristles at the mention of last night’s date.
“Why didn’t you send it through the Ledger app?” Killian asks. That’s right: all the suitors are already Ledger clients. They have their own profiles, and all scheduling goes through the app.
“I was on the go, okay! Elena called and needed me to taste-test some cheesecake. It was an emergency.” Elena is Eve’s best friend and former Ledger companion—retired, snagged her billionaire, and now runs an up-and-coming cheesecakery. I can’t imagine a tasting being an emergency.
I think on it a moment. “So, you didn’t put it into the app yet? That’s it, then.” My voice is hopeful, but I don’t know what this will do to help us. “When did you submit the location to the app?”
“About thirty minutes before you were scheduled to arrive.”
“It has to be someone accessing the app.” Killian’s fingers fly across his phone, sharp and precise, like every keystroke is a weapon. “Sent it to Jaxon. We’ll see if he can work this into his facial scan and find out who accessed the app around that time last night,” he mutters, no-nonsense.
The next knock at my door isn’t one guard but a flood. Ledger security files in—a dark wave of suits and weapons—and suddenly my penthouse feels less like a home and more like a fortress. There’s a low hum of conversation that falls nearly silent when I pull the first pan of cookies out of the oven. Instantly every pair of eyes in the kitchen swivels toward me like bloodthirsty wolves.
I realize too late—I should’ve doubled the batch. Maybe tripled.
They’re gone in seconds—hands darting in, voices gruff but amused, like men at war suddenly reduced to a pack of overgrown kids.
Killian’s voice cuts low from the corner, where he’s talking with Finn at the edge of the kitchen. His jacket finds itself hung on one of the chair backs. I glance up just in time to see him turn, only to find the pans already picked clean.
The drop of his shoulders and the look on his face nearly make me laugh. Adorable, even. Except he’s trying very hard to cover the disappointment—jaw flexing, eyes narrowing—like he’s just been robbed at knifepoint.
He clears his throat. “Jaxon said no major app usage last night, aside from a few clients that don’t match the profile and the janitors changing shifts.”
Finn claps his hands, calling the team to the living room to show off the latest security upgrades. Killian follows, still glaring daggers at one of the guys who has the audacity to be chewing the last cookie.
I can’t help the smirk tugging at my mouth as I reach for the flour again, setting to work on another batch.
“Men,” Eve mutters, swirling her wine and rolling her eyes. “Nothing but big babies.”
The second batch is finished right as the briefing winds down. The men shuffle through the kitchen like a parade of giants, each one snagging a cookie or two in salute before disappearing out the door.
A few linger—Finn among them—and of course he’s the one to swipe the very last cookie from the tray.
Right on time, Killian strides back in. His eyes drop to the island, scanning the tray for what’s left. Crumbs. Chocolate smudges. Nothing more.
His hand twitches near the handle of his knife.
Finn lifts the cookie halfway to his mouth, then freezes. “You really gonna stab me over a cookie, Shaw?”
Killian’s voice is flat, edged with that lethal calm. “I was thinkin’ about it.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “Thank goodness we don’t need to do that.”
I turn, grab the smaller pan cooling behind me, and slide it across the island right in front of him. “Just for you, big man.”
