Chapter Ten
Baxter
With impeccable timing like always, as soon as we are seated, the doors at the far end of the room fly open and the servers enter with the first course.
I nod my head in silent thanks as the first plate is placed before me, then I sit and wait.
Even once the staff are gone, I wait. I watch. She grows more and more uncomfortable.
Finally, she begins the starter. I think it’s so that she doesn’t have to look at me any longer. I wish I could eat, but my brain is too busy taking in every inch of her. I just sit and stare at her, elbows on the table, fingertips together, resting against my chin. I’m plotting.
“What’s up with the name thing?” I ask. We’ve been silent for minutes and I’m just not comfortable making small talk.
It’s not something I often have to do. Usually people are either too scared to talk to me, or too in awe.
Those who are brave enough, I quickly shut down.
So having to initiate conversation at an intimate dinner for two?
Pure hell. I’d rather have a sleepover with Kalen Knox than have to do this.
“What’s up with the name Baxter?” she bites back. Okay, she really doesn’t want to talk about it. “Your parents really like soup or something?”
I chuckle lightly, unable to help myself. She’s the first person to ever connect my name to the Scottish soup company, usually people are too obsessed with the Branson name to consider much else. It’s a coincidence though, my mother just really liked the alliteration.
“Touché,” I say, still laughing slightly. “So you don’t want to talk about that then. What shall we talk about?” She shrugs and keeps eating.
“You a vampire or something?” she asks me. I snort back a derisive laugh. Is she for real right now? Doesn’t she know people are monstrous enough without inventing new creatures to terrify people?
“Pardon?”
“The not eating thingy.” She waves her fork around like she knows how to wield a weapon. It’s sexy and intriguing.
“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t notice. I was distracted by the beauty in the room.
” Ah fuck. I glower. What the fuck did I say that for?
My brain can’t decide if it wants to fuck with her or be genuine, and now I’m coming off like some deranged sociopath.
Pick a path, Baxter. Fuck her to fuck with Cordelia or try to make a meaningful connection for once in your sorry life.
I sigh. I guess I’ll pick the first path.
It’s a damn sight easier. And it’ll at least end in sex.
I need to be more charming, less creepy, but this girl is looking like a hard sell.
There’s a look in her eyes that says she isn’t going to fall for any of my usual bullshit, and I might just have to try harder with this one.
I’m surprised. I’m not used to trying, and I’m certainly not used to high society girls posing any sort of a challenge.
Although this one seems as far from high society as it’s possible to get.
Is she even Cordelia’s granddaughter? I don’t see any resemblance.
“Well, I’m starving,” she says, drawing me from my thoughts. “So if you could begin, I’ll be able to get my main course sooner. I hope it’s more substantial than whatever this fairy food is.”
“Fairy food?” Again, I want to laugh. My lips twitch and I don’t remember the last time I had so little control over my own damn body. My dick bobs in agreement and I mentally tell it to calm the fuck down too.
She stares pointedly at my plate, ignoring me until I get the hint and pick up my fork to begin.
“Yes, fairy food. All pretty and dainty. Portion size only big enough to fill a fairy.”
I can’t help but snort in amusement, picking up the tiny morsel from my plate and popping it into my mouth in one go.
She’s right of course, but usually chicks dig this fancy ass shit.
Does this one even care that she’s eating food created by the most decorated celebrity chef in the world?
Obviously not, because if he could hear the way she’s derisively describing his food, his ego would be beyond wounded.
I decide that I definitely like her. She was born into this world and she doesn’t fit at all. But rather than try to be fake, she’s giving everyone the finger. Like me.
“This is a five hour, twelve-course tasting menu. The portion sizes have to be small; otherwise you’d pop.
” I laugh again easily. There’s a...lightness in my chest I’ve not felt in a long while.
I get something similar around Amelie but to a lesser extent.
There’s always some concern there, knowing how much danger she’s in, and having to deal with my wanting to protect her and not just because I’m paid to.
No, this girl makes me feel...happy? I’m not sure. Am I capable of that emotion? Fucking makes me feel good. Plotting too. Revenge, killing, torturing all make me feel sated. But happy? That’s a new one for me.
“Wait! What? Five hours?”
“At least.” I smirk, enjoying the clear discomfort on her face when she realises that she’ll be stuck here with me for a while yet.
I’m pretty sure she planned to eat and run, but it gives me time to seduce her course by course.
They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
I never understood that. I eat to keep my body functioning.
But maybe the way to a woman’s heart is through food too?
I have no idea. In the past it seemed to be through my name and bank balance but this girl doesn’t seem that way inclined.
“I’d rather have a steak and ice cream,” she blurts out, just as the servers enter to take away our plates. There’s a look of horror on everyone’s faces and my shoulders shake. Uh-oh, she’s in trouble now when the chef finds out.
When we’re alone again, we sit in silence. She seems uncomfortable, sighing and fidgeting. I don’t mind; every time she wiggles, her dress slides a little further up her thighs. I wonder what colour her underwear is.
“What do you do?” she breaks the silence.
“I’m about to graduate from university.” I appreciate the thoughtfulness of her question. Most people assume I don’t do anything, just sit around waiting for Grandfather to die so that I can start blowing his legacy on booze and breasts, or pills and pussy.
“Oh, how old are you then? I thought you were my age.” She looks at me with curiosity. Damn. I should have lied. This is going to lead to more questions.
“I’m older,” I reply flatly, hoping to shut her down.
“What do you read?” she digs. It’s like she can sense I don’t want to go down this line of questioning, and is trying to provoke me.
Is she stupid? I’ve killed guys for less. I level her with a hard look.
“Books.”
“Funny.”
“My degree’s in business management.” I sigh. Here we go...
“Oh, where from?”
“Knox Academy.” The fucking school of the bastard devil. It stole my soul in exchange for a tuition I never even asked for.
“I’ve never heard of it.” She pulls a face.
“You wouldn’t have.” Nice girl like her at a school for people like me? Ha. As if. Amelie barely fits in. She thinks she’s so badass but she didn’t even kill that guy. She’s too kind, her heart’s too big, she’s taking the rap for that twat back home. Wouldn’t mind spilling a little of his blood.
Actually though, looking more closely at the girl in front of me, I can see she has something about her. There’s mettle there. Knox would eat her alive, sure, but she’s clearly not some society bimbo like I first assumed.
“Ooooh is it like some super-secret posh school for the rich? Or is it a spy school?”
“Something like that,” I evade.
“Let me guess; you’re going to manage a business with that degree?”
“Wow, you’re so clever I can’t believe you’ve not graduated early…” I drawl back sarcastically. She’s touched a nerve. “Yes I’m going to run businesses, my grandfather’s for one.”
If I live that long. I’m still not sure how to get out of The Order.
When Grandfather first collected me and word got back that I was ‘missing’, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to disappear, but my damn curiosity got the better of me and I called Frost. He has to be the reason Amelie found me, and if she knows I’m alive, the Knox brothers will know I’m alive, and so will The Order.
Which means I’m dead.
“Well, that’s stupid,” she says, pulling a face.
“Why?” I scowl.
“Because what idiot would be stupid enough to hand over the reins of their company to a kid fresh out of school with no practical business experience?” My jaw hangs in shock.
I’m so astonished by the brazen way she speaks her mind, that I’m half tempted to spill my secrets just to shut her up.
She wants experience? If only she knew what I’ve done.
“Why does a piece of paper that says you read a few books and wrote a few essays make you more qualified to run an actual business than say, people who have decades of experience?”
She swallows nervously at the look I give her – like I’d love nothing more than to cause her pain and fuck her senseless right now. I quickly try to school my expression, but I know she catches it because her eyes harden in defiance.
“Interesting idea,” is all I say, too enraged to say more. She’s so close to being bent over the table and taught to hold her goddamn tongue.
Once again, the doors open, and the next course is served. I have a pretty good idea what’s coming and sure enough, the chef doesn’t disappoint. She looks down at her plate, lip already curling in a disapproving sneer when she blinks in shock.
Our plates are both full to the brim with steak and chips. I can practically see her mouth watering as the server passes her a steak knife.
“Now this is more like it!” she exclaims, digging straight in, excited.
“Glad you’re happy.”
“Please tell me this is it instead of another ten courses?”
“Nine. You have ice cream for dessert.” I grin. Her happiness is infectious.
“Awesome!”
“Do you really love steak and ice cream that much, or do you just want out of here quicker?”
“A little of one, a lot of the other.”
I laugh at her joke and join her, eating in silence. I enjoy the steak almost as much as the view and the company.
After dinner, as she starts on her dessert, I change seats and sit beside the girl. She doesn’t say anything but I can tell from the tense set of her shoulders that she’s not happy.
I drop my hand to her thigh.
“What the fuck?” She growls, dropping her spoon and glowering.
“What?” I ask coldly. She’s not behaving like normal girls do, so maybe she needs a not so subtle reminder of how this is going to work. “I got you the dinner that you wanted, so why don’t you show me how grateful you are?”
My voice is steel. My eyes, ice. The weight of my intention presses down heavily on her bare skin. She doesn’t reply, move, react in any way.
“No, thanks. I’m taken,” she eventually says stiffly.
“I don’t see a ring.” I smirk.
She waves her hand in front of my face, and I laugh again. Her grandmother could have given her that ring. It means nothing to me.
“It’s on the wrong hand, honey.” I don’t like the taste of that term of endearment on my tongue. It doesn’t suit her at all. This girl isn’t sweet.
“Means the same thing though. I’m taken. And not interested.”
“Is that so?” I drawl. “Then why haven’t you moved my hand?”
I’m more than a little smug as she glances down at where my hand is still resting on her leg. Even now she makes no move to remove it.
Trying to provoke her further, I start to lightly stroke and work my way higher. Then I squeeze the soft skin in my grip.
She snaps.
Her hand shoots out and grabs something. She moves with such lightning fast reflexes, I can’t even process what it is. Fiery pain explodes through the back of my hand and I howl in pain. It’s the shock that does it. I’ve sustained far worse with barely a sigh passing my lips before now.
It turns out to be her steak knife which she has driven through my flesh. My dick springs to fucking attention like a goddamn masochist soldier reporting for duty.
She shoots to her feet, the chair toppling over, and rushes to the door. I grab the nearest napkin and attempt to staunch the blood. Before she can reach for the handle, the doors fly open, and both of our grandparents are taking in the scene with horrified looks on their faces.
“What’s going on?” My grandfather demands.
“Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not! Baxter’s had a little accident,” she says with a falsely sweet little smile.
An accident? Really?! How the hell would I accidentally stab myself with a steak knife during a dessert course?! How the hell am I going to explain that one?!
I purse my lips and glower at her, but I won’t say anything. The Order taught me better than that.
“I think he might need stitches.”
No fucking shit, darling! Of course I’ll need bloody stitches! I’m pissing blood everywhere. I have a steak knife still stuck in my hand!
“I have to go, I’m so sorry, but if I see blood I’ll faint.”
Yeah I call bullshit on that, I think, as she rushes past our grandparents.
“Raven wait!” Cordelia calls, turning to grimace apologetically at Grandfather. “I’m so sorry, Dicky, I have to make sure she’s alright.” Is she kidding me right now? I’m the one who just got fucking stabbed!
I shift in my seat, subtly trying to rearrange my pants. I’m harder than steel. That girl looks like she loves to bathe in the blood of her enemies. Holy fuck. I think I just fell in love.