Chapter Six
Bryn walked two steps behind Giles’ left shoulder as they approached the front desk of the Four Seasons.
If I were a dog, I’d be walking to heel.
Fuck my life. His new clothes were constricting enough to be a suit of armor and the lingering effects from the capsule made his collar way too tight.
Or maybe it’s because I can’t remember the last time I wore a tie. Damn strangulation device.
“Good evening and welcome to the Four Seasons.” The receptionist gave a professional smile. “How may I assist you?”
“Delacourt,” Giles said, his entire demeanor that of a man who expected the world to bend to his wishes. “I believe you have the presidential suite reserved.”
“Of course, Mr. Delacourt.” She tapped her keyboard. “And will Mr. Reid-Cobb be joining you this evening?”
“That’s me,” Bryn said, keeping his tone polite but distant, suggesting he dealt with such matters a hundred times a month. “Mr. Delacourt’s executive assistant.”
The receptionist’s smile never wavered. “My apologies. I have you both right here.”
Giles stepped away as if any future engagement with menial tasks was beneath him.
Bryn dealt with the rigmarole of identification checks, getting a credit card on file and listening to the spiel about the facilities, which got on his last nerve but he managed to smile through it.
It wasn’t the receptionist’s fault that his life sucked.
“And would you like assistance with your luggage?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Bryn answered. “I can manage.”
“Of course, sir. Here are your key cards. You should take the elevator to your right which requires the card for access to the upper floors. Please don’t hesitate to contact us if you need anything at all.”
“Thank you.” Bryn pocketed both cards then picked up their bags.
In the elevator, Giles maintained his aloof expression until the doors closed. “Not bad.”
“I loathe Bryan already,” Bryn said, fighting the urge to loosen his tie. The capsule’s aftereffects were making everything feel too warm. Being in a confined space with Giles was not where Bryn wanted to be.
Giles grinned. “Learn to love him.”
“I hate you so much right now.”
“I know.”
The presidential suite’s foyer opened into a vast living area with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Boston’s glittering skyline. Everything was cream and gold and understated luxury. Bryn went to check the two bedrooms.
“Very nice. Master bedroom is on the left so I left your bag in there,” he reported. “Emmett arranged a sweep for surveillance devices.”
“Yes, Gunnar’s team also did a thorough check this afternoon. Try to get some rest. Tomorrow will be…”
“Challenging?”
“That’s one word for it.” Giles glanced at his watch. “You should order dinner in an hour. I’d suggest a shower and change before then.”
Bryn nodded, heading toward his room. He paused at the door. “What do you want to eat?”
“Beef tenderloin, rare, with roasted vegetables and a 2015 Bordeaux.” Giles smiled. “Which you would know if you’d memorized the brief on my dining preferences in the file.”
“There was a brief on your dining preferences?”
“Page seventeen. After the section on my preferred meeting protocols but before the notes on my travel requirements.”
Bryn stared at him. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“Bryan would know these things,” Giles said. The comment was calm but barbed all the same.
“Bryan needs to get a fucking life,” Bryn muttered, disappearing into his room.
He heard Giles call after him, “Page twenty-three. My thoughts on work-life balance and appropriate leisure activities for executive assistants.”
Bryn closed his door a tad too hard. He needed to decompress for a while so he lay back on the ridiculously comfortable bed, dealt with the room service order then made a much more welcome call.
“Everything okay?” Gunnar answered so fast he had to have been holding his cell.
“Fine. Just weird. This whole thing is weird.” Bryn stared at the ceiling. “Did you know there’s a TV that comes up out of a cabinet at the foot of the bed? Like something from a spy movie.”
“Is Giles still breathing?”
“He is, but it’s only been two hours.” Bryn smiled at the protective edge in Gunnar’s voice. “He’s actually being…well, still Giles, but almost helpful. In an annoying way, of course.”
“I don’t like you being alone with him.”
“I know. I don’t like it either but he needs this to work as much as we do.” Bryn rolled onto his side. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I could take him in a fight now. Assuming that capsule doesn’t eradicate dirty fighting skills.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. Still warm. Everything’s a bit…sharp. But nothing like before.” He paused. “Thanks for staying with me through that, by the way.”
“Always.”
“I miss our bed. This one’s too big and too fancy and doesn’t have you in it.”
“It’s only for one night.”
“Assuming we don’t all get killed tomorrow.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Sorry.” Bryn sighed. “I should go. I need to shower then room service is coming. Apparently ‘Bryan’ gets up at an ungodly hour to review the day’s schedule and check the international markets.”
“Of course he does.” Gunnar’s voice softened. “Call me if you need anything. I’m only four floors down. Try not to murder Giles before morning, but if you do I’ll help hide the body and give you an alibi.”
“No promises,” Bryn said, but he was chuckling as he hung up.
* * * *
Bryn slouched into the suite’s dining area at six-thirty, yawning until his jaw cracked. He had on his oldest ripped jeans and a ratty T-shirt. Giles was already there, immaculate in a charcoal suit and deep red silk tie, reading something on a tablet while sipping coffee.
“You look terrible,” Giles said.
“Thanks. That’s exactly what an executive assistant needs to hear before a critical meeting.” Bryn slumped into a chair, eyeing the elaborate breakfast spread on the table. “Did you order everything on the menu?”
“I like to have options.”
Bryn reached for the coffee pot, only to have Giles slide it away.
“You need to learn how to pour coffee.”
Bryn stared at him. “It’s six-thirty in the morning. There cannot possibly be a wrong way to pour coffee and if you don’t let me have that pot, violence will occur.”
“There are at least seven wrong ways, and you were about to demonstrate four of them.” Giles set aside his tablet. “Watch.”
What followed was possibly the most pretentious coffee-pouring demonstration in human history.
Bryn watched in sleep-deprived disbelief as Giles explained the proper angle, the correct distance from cup to pot, the optimal pouring speed, and something about respecting the coffee’s natural flow that Bryn was pretty sure he’d made up.
“There,” Giles finished. “Now you try.”
Bryn picked up the pot and splashed the coffee into his cup without following any of Giles’ instructions.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Am I? That doesn’t sound like something Bryan would do.”
“Bryan also wouldn’t look like he got into a fight with his pillow and lost.”
“My pillow,” Bryn said with dignity, “was actively hostile. I think it was stuffed with the hopes and dreams of other executive assistants who didn’t meet your standards.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Giles’ face. “Your hair is a disaster.”
“I will deal with my hair when I have a shower. After food and coffee.” Bryn grabbed a muffin. “I have priorities.”
“Hmm.” Giles pushed a small silver case across the table. “You’ll need to take another capsule in about two hours.”
“I hate you.”
“So you keep saying. Bryan would never say that to his boss. Not within earshot, anyway.”
“He probably has a dart board with your face on it in his very expensive apartment. Or maybe a voodoo doll to stick pins in.”
“Page thirty-one,” Giles said, returning to his tablet. “Bryan has family money. He lives in a penthouse in Manhattan. No dart boards.”
Bryn dropped his head onto the table. “I’m going to need a lot more coffee.”
“Pour it properly this time.”
“I’m adding ‘proper coffee pouring’ to the list of things I’m going to make you regret teaching me.”
“That’s more like it,” Giles said with what could have been approval. “Your threats should be subtle and coffee-related.”
“My life sucks.” Bryn poured another cup.
“While we’re alone, I’ve been meaning to ask… How have your abilities been developing?”
Bryn tensed. “You mean since you spent three years trying to break them? Or me? It was hard to tell which.”
“Both, perhaps. But it worked, didn’t it? You’re a stable, functioning adult, well quasi-adult, and you’re still alive.”
Bryn went quiet for a moment, remembering the endless training sessions, the pain, the humiliation.
Giles’ teeth in his vein. “Not sure stable is accurate,” he said.
“But I suppose it worked. When I touch someone, I can switch easily from memory to intent to truth. I don’t get overwhelmed. Still get headaches, though.”
“And the physical contact? You’ve learned to manage that better?”
“You mean can I handle being in crowds without having a mental breakdown? Mostly. The gloves help.” Bryn reached for a piece of toast. “Accidental contact isn’t so easy to control.”
“Show me,” Giles said, extending his hand across the table. “Take a look at my strongest memory.”
Bryn stared at him. “Seriously?”
“Consider it a final test before today’s performance.”
With a sigh, Bryn reached out and grabbed Giles’ wrist. He closed his eyes. “Fuck, Giles…your strongest memory is of tasting my blood for the first time.” He pulled his hand away.
“Very good.”
“You knew what I’d see, didn’t you?”
“There were several possibilities. All from your training.”
“You know,” Bryn said, reaching for the coffee pot again, “one of these days, you’re going to have to acknowledge that you actually give a damn about what happens to me. Beyond how I taste.”
“Page forty-two,” Giles replied. “Professional relationships and maintaining appropriate boundaries.”
“I hate that I don’t know if you’re making these page numbers up anymore. Also, pretty sure there’s nothing in that manual about proper sanguine-augur etiquette.”
“We will always have a unique relationship, you and I. There’s no getting away from that.”
“Unique is one way of putting it,” Bryn replied. “Most people would call it profoundly dysfunctional.”
“Would you have preferred a different trainer? One who coddled you with platitudes instead of preparing you for what’s out there?”
“I’d prefer one who didn’t look at me like I’m both a weapon and a snack.”
“At least I recognize your value in both capacities,” Giles said with the ghost of a smile. “Most would only see the weapon.”
Bryn stared at him. “How comforting.”