Page 64 of His Deadly Lies

“There are a number of things I’d like to slide between your lips,” I lean closer to whisper. “Today, it will have to be actual food. We’ve got shit to do.”

Much to my surprise, she doesn’t argue with me.

I make sure she eats an entire plate of eggs and mashed avocado on toast with a side of fresh fruit before I let her up from the table to go on with the rest of her business. Even after she begrudgingly admits she’s hungry…Mia glares. Argues.

“I feel like you’re my goddamn nursemaid,” she grouses, slowly lifting the fork to her mouth.

“It’s important to keep your energy levels high.” I watch her with my arms crossed over my chest. “And important that we erase whatever traces of drugs in your system that we can. Eating will help.”

I also kind of like the way she glares at me while she chews. A prim and proper princess who hates being told what to do despite the fact that she’s had to endure a hierarchy her entire life.

Is that why she fights so hard with me? Because she’s never been allowed to fight with her father? With this whole male-dominated business?

“What happens if I want to get up from the table?” she taunts, already on her last bite, and we’ve only been here for a few minutes. “Are you going to strap me down and force-feed me?”

My cock clenches at the thought. “Stop giving me ideas.”

She barks out a laugh before cutting her last bite into two smaller sections. “Which one? The strapping down?”

“I can think of a few ways to accomplish both of those tasks at the same time.” I tamp down my amusement. “Don’t push me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she snaps back. “And stop making it easy for me to come at you.” She twirls her fork over the top of a slice of kiwi before spearing it.

Easy for her? None of this is easy. Not a goddamn second I have to spend with her.

I’d thought this babysitting gig would be a ridiculous waste of my time, considering the difference in our ages. Considering who she is. Now? Do I feel differently?

I thought we’d have nothing to talk about. Yet there she goes proving me wrong again when she blurts out, “You like Bruce?”

I stop my under-the-breath humming. “Excuse me?”

“Springsteen. You’re humming ‘Glory Days’.” Mia arches a brow.

I pull up a chair and turn it around to rest my arms across the back. “I’m also showing my age, apparently. That song is from the eighties. How do you know it?”

Mia shakes her head. “So because I’m young, I’m not allowed to appreciate hits? Or amazing performers?”

“You’re a fan as well, I take it.”

There’s something in her voice when she talks about The Boss.

“I’ve been to a show or two,” she replies with a casual shrug. “Not that I’m allowed to get out much, with business keeping us busy, but even Papa makes time for Bruce. Are you going to make another old-age comment if I say that you look like a Springsteen fan, Carter? Not because of the hair but, you know.” She waves her hand vaguely in the air between us. “All this.”

“All this,” I reply, adding extra weight to each word. “Explain.”

“The shoulders, the way you dress. It’s casual yet businesslike. You blend no matter what kind of room you’re in, even though you should stand out with those tight shirts and your eyes. Not to mention your gruffness,” she says with another shrug.

I don’t exactly dislike her assessment of me.

“I’m not gruff,” I growl. “I’m authoritative. There is a drastic difference.”

“You look like the type of guy who will shove a bottle up a man's ass, broken neck first, then belt out ‘Born in the USA’,” she teases.

Been there. Done that.

It’s my turn to shrug, but listening to her tease me is a greater high than I imagined it to be. “It’s a classic for a reason. As you’ve said. About as American as you can get. Hot dogs and fireworks and Bruce. I’m a simple man who likes simple things.”

“You forgot the bottle up the ass,” she adds, pushing her empty plate away.

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