18. Jace
To my surprise, Kayla actually kept her end of the bargain. She didn’t try to sneak off even once during the entire rest of the week. So when her father’s guards came to relieve me for my day off, I wasn’t nearly as exhausted as I have been all other Sundays.
After sleeping in my own bed back at Blackwater, I went through several workout routines and some target practice, and I still feel like I’m bursting with energy. In a good way. It’s not the restless energy that has plagued me for years. It’s more of an excited one.
I scan the shelves as I walk down one of the aisles. Normally, I wouldn’t bother going to a grocery store downtown like this, but this specific one has a lot of ingredients that are difficult to find in a mainstream store. And Eli and Raina are coming back today after being away for the past four days on an out-of-state assassination, so I figured I’d do the cooking.
Though in all honesty, it’s mostly because Eli and Raina can’t cook for shit. At least not unless you count Raina’s insane ability to make different kinds of poison as cooking. Which I’m pretty sure she does. And since I have no intention of being poisoned this particular Sunday, I will be making the food instead.
I only have a vague idea of what I want to make, so I study the contents of the shelves as I continue down the aisle, looking for inspiration.
When nothing sparks my interest, I rake my fingers through my hair and round the corner into the next aisle.
And slam right into someone’s shopping cart.
“Watch it,” a familiar voice snaps.
I blink in genuine surprise. But before I can so much as open my mouth, two guards are already descending on me.
They stop short a couple of steps away when they suddenly realize who I am.
The girl on the other side of the shopping cart stares at me, her mouth slightly open.
“Jace,” she says, sounding just as surprised as she looks.
I glance from her to her guards and then to the aisle of food around us before frowning at her in confusion. “What are you doing here, little demon?”
Kayla stares at me in silence for another few seconds. Then she gives her head a short shake as if to clear it, and then waves a hand at her guards. They immediately retreat to the end of the aisle, giving us space. Since I’m here, they know that no one will hurt her even if they are standing farther away than they normally would.
“What does it look like?” Kayla replies, apparently having recovered, as she raises her eyebrows and motions expectantly down at the shopping cart. “I’m buying groceries.”
“I thought today was family day,” I retort, shooting a pointed look towards her guards. “Shouldn’t you be at your parents’ house?”
She sighs, sounding slightly annoyed. “He was called away for an urgent meeting, so family day was cancelled.”
“So you’re…?” I wave a hand towards her shopping cart.
“I’m cooking for my event planning group.”
“Your event planning group? You mean Aurora, Jenn, and Lionel?”
“Yes.” She gives me a look full of challenge. “So?”
Yes, ‘so?’, indeed. Why does the thought of Kayla cooking for Lionel make me want to shoot someone in the face? Preferably that slimy little fucker Lionel himself. It shouldn’t bother me. Kayla is just a job. A means to an end. She can cook for her friends whenever she wants. It makes no difference to me.
Irrational jealousy twists inside my stomach like snakes.
No. Fuck this. Kayla is not going to cook for Lionel fucking Henderson.
“So this is what you’re planning to serve?” I ask instead, making a show of looking down into her shopping cart.
That immediately makes her defensive. Probably because she, just like Eli and Raina, doesn’t actually know how to cook. From what I’ve seen these past few weeks, she either eats out or has food delivered from some fancy catering company that her family has a partnership with.
“What of it?” she retorts, crossing her arms and giving me a sharp look.
I continue studying the groceries she has picked, trying to figure out what on earth she’s planning to make. Then surprise jolts through me.
Meeting her gaze again, I arch a surprised eyebrow. “Italian?”
“Yes.” She sounds almost a little self-conscious.
Amusement ripples through me, but I keep it firmly off my face and instead frown at her. “Do you even know how to cook?”
“Of course I do.”
Giving her a dubious look, I pick up one of the ingredients that I know for certain is really difficult to get right, and hold it up in front of her face. “What are you planning to do with this?”
She snatches it out of my hand and slams it back down into the cart again. “I’m sure I can Google it.”
“No, no, no.” I shake my head at her and then lift my hand to beckon at her guards. “I’m not letting you desecrate my native cuisine like this.”
“I… What are you…?” She frowns in confusion as her guards return. “What?—”
“I’ll take it from here,” I tell her father’s guards. “You can head home or to your other assignments or whatever. I’ll guard her the rest of the day.”
Surprise flits across their faces as they exchange a glance. Then they look to Kayla for confirmation. She continues scowling at me for a few more seconds before turning to meet their eyes. Heaving a resigned sigh, she gives them a nod in confirmation.
They nod back in acknowledgement. Then Ryan, the tall dark-haired one, gives her an apologetic grimace while pulling out his phone.
“I’ll call it in, but Mr. Ashford will no doubt need to hear it from you as well, ma’am,” he says.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Kayla replies with another sigh. “Call him up.”
While they call Trent Ashford to clear the guard change, I pull up my own phone and send a text to Eli.
Me:Change of plans. There was an emergency so I need to handle Kayla’s security today too.
He replies within seconds, which means that they must already be home.
Eli:“Emergency.” Right. Tell Kayla I said hi.
Me:No. And what’s with the quotation marks?
Eli:Just that next time you tell Kaden that he’s whipped, I’ll remind you of this.
Me:Fuck you. I’m not whipped. I’m working.
Eli:And you owe me dinner.
Me:Who says I was going to make you dinner?
Eli:Why do you think I invited you over?
Me:Asshole.
Eli:Bastard.
Me:I’ll see you next weekend.
Eli:Yes, you will. And you’d better bring food or I’ll kick your ass.
Me:Come try it.
Eli:Or Raina will slip poison into your whiskey.
I heave a deep sigh, because I know he’s not kidding about that one. Raina would never outright kill me, of course. But she’s an incredibly skilled chemist so I know that there are lots of other things she could put into my drink that would make me do whatever she wanted without it being fatal.
With a faint smile tugging at my lips, I shake my head at my unhinged brother and his even more unhinged girl as I type out a reply.
Me:Fine, I’ll make you dinner next weekend.
Kayla finishes her call with her father right as I slip my own phone back into my pocket as well.
Her father’s guards give the two of us a nod, button their suit jackets, and then stride away. Kayla relaxes the moment they’re gone. I convince myself that it’s only because they were making her stand out with their highly conspicuous black suits in a grocery store on a Sunday afternoon.
Grabbing the shopping cart, I start down the aisle before she has realized what’s happening.
“Hey,” she calls as she scrambles after me. “What are you doing?”
I grab some things from her cart and put them back on the shelf. “You can’t use these.”
“Why not?”
Picking up some others, I put them back as well. “And this brand is shit.” I select another one from the shelf next to it. “These are better.”
Crossing her arms, she mutters something under her breath and does her best to glower at me as she follows me around the grocery store. I return the nonsensical ingredients she had put in her shopping cart before I arrived to save the day, and instead fill it with food that will actually taste good together.
“I thought today was your day off,” she remarks.
“It is.”
“I could’ve done this on my own.”
“Because you know so much about making Italian food.”
“Yes.”
“Uh-huh.” Stopping in the middle of the aisle, I level a stare full of challenge on her. “Look, do you want to give everyone food poisoning or do you want my help?”
Drawing her eyebrows down, she glares at me. But I swear to God there is a smile threatening to spill across her lips too.
“Fine,” she says, and throws her hands up in an overdramatic gesture. “I’ll let you help me. Just a little.”
Which means that I will be cooking the entire meal while she sits on a chair, drinks wine, and drools over how hot I look when I cook.
Just the way I want it.