Page 8 of The Gambler's Prize
“I usually just have coffee.”
He gives me a funny look. Probably wondering why I got him up to cook.
“You work all morning on an empty stomach?” he says. “That’s really bad, Boss.”
I glower at him. “I’m not going to take health advice from someone like you.”
His pale skin flushes. I’m talking about his drinking, but he obviously thinks I mean his dalliances. His legendary desire to get railed thoroughly and often. The desire to get railed bymeis what led him into this mess. I’ve managed not to think about that too much since I brought him home. Neither of us has mentioned it. There’s an awkward silence.
“Cook whatever you want,” I say.
He takes that as an open invitation to rummage through each and every cupboard in the kitchen. Possibly to cover the silence, he starts humming that ridiculous tune from upstairs again. I recognize it as a love song from a popular musical play. Of course he’d be a theater fan. He emerges from a cupboard holding up a bowl of eggs I gathered yesterday from my own hens. His smile is wide, his attitude like a referee holding up a triumphant boxer’s wrist.
“I’ll make Eggs Paradise with these,” he says.
That’s a complicated recipe.
“You know how to cook that?” I demand. “A spoiled rich boy like you?”
“I’m a decent cook,” he says, looking hurt.
I snort, doubtful. “Show me.”
“Of course.” He sashays—why is hesashaying?—over to the table. “The trick is not to skimp on the cheese. I assume you have cheese?”
He’s perky again already. Annoyingly perky.
“Yes, but I keep it outside,” I say. “Underground.”
“Underground?”
“It gets hot here in Galbrava, in case you hadn’t noticed. Stays much cooler out there.”
I lead the way outside to the underground store on the shadiest side of the house, and open up the small wooden door that leads down to my haul of perishable food.
“Pretty smart,” Florian says approvingly.
He ducks down to grab the cheese, his ass in those tight breeches wriggling too close to my face. The ass is as perky as his attitude. I step back.
“Are you always this cheerful in the mornings?” I growl.
“I have no idea. I’m never usually awake. Maybe it’s some kind of dream state.”
I’m treated to a disarming smile before he turns and leads the way back inside the house. Once inside, he starts cracking eggs into the pan.
“Are these eggs from your own hens?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“You have a nice life here.”
I have absolutely no idea whether he’s being sarcastic. His tone is innocent, but considering the pitiful state of my house, and the fine life he was used to back in Rhennes… I have to assume he isn’t being one hundred per cent sincere in his compliment. I glare angrily at his back. Maybe he senses my stare, because he turns to look at me.
“Boss?” he says softly.
“What?”
“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. Don’t you think maybe it makes sense for us to get along? You know, instead of you grunting and glaring at me all the time.”
