She nods approvingly. “I’ll be right back.”
When I look at Knox, he’s staring at me over the rim of his mug.
He’s drinking black coffee. On the plate before him is a slice of half-eaten toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon.
“So, that was your assistant?” I speak, because apparently, I’m the only one willing to break the silence.
“That was her.” Knox’s mouth curves into a faint smile.
“She’s different to what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” He stares at me curiously.
“I don’t know. Someone corporate like your brothers.”
He chuckles. “No. And I can assure you that had I been one of my brothers, they wouldn’t have shown you the same courtesy I have.”
I believe him. I haven’t heard good things about his brothers—or him for that matter—but I glare at him all the same. Only he would think he showed me any sort of courtesy. “What part of this arrangement is a courtesy to me?”
“All of it.” He sips some more coffee and sets the mug down.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I told you; I’malwaysserious.”
“Then how could you think you did me a courtesy?” I shoot him a thin stare. “If you could sell the restaurant now, I wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t care about me or my mother.”
He gives me a wry look, part agreement, part defiance. “Be that as it may, you’re still getting a courtesy.”
And he’s stuck because of my father’s trust.
Sheila returns, saving us from another argument. In her hands is a tray covered in delicious-looking food and a cup of coffee.
She makes her way to me and unloads the coffee followed by each plate. I have the same food as Knox, but she’s given me a selection of pastries, which I appreciate. I could do with something sweet.
“Thanks so much.” I look up at her and smile.
“Let me know if you need anything more.” She nods. “I’ll be along to fetch you when you finish breakfast. I think I have some better clothes that can fit you.”
“Thanks, that would be great.”
She dips her head and leaves. This time, she closes the door.
I take a gulp of coffee before resuming my conversation with Knox. I can’t handle him when I feel like I’m running on empty.
I face him, but he points to the plate, motioning for me to eat. “We can eat and talk. You’ll need your strength.”
Need my strength? That doesn’t sound good, but I eat.
“Sheila will take care of everything you need.” He straightens against his chair. “Your stuff will be delivered by midday.”
“My paintings need to be handled with care.”
“They will.”
“I’m serious. They’re my new collection.”
He narrows his eyes. “What for?”
