“I think she plans on blending it without the lid,” supplied Claudia grimly. “She’s pretty wasted. Laney might have a point about Anya’s blending capacity.”
“Oh shit, my kitchen,” wailed Addison.
“Do you read Mandarin?” Laney asked Anya.
“No,” Anya said. “Do you?”
“Of course,” Laney replied. “And it clearly says in the Mandarin section that drunk-ass Russian bitches are not supposed to touch expensive blind-lady blenders after five very large cocktails. Hands off!”
“Laney just took the entire blender away from Anya!” Claudia announced, wiggling on the couch in her excitement.
Addison clutched her drink, nearly overwhelmed by the drama going on in her kitchen.
“Give that back!” Anya yelled.
“Holy shit!” Claudia gasped.
“What, what?” Addison demanded.
“Anya just launched herself across your island and grabbed hold of one of Laney’s braids, she’s reaching for the blender, but Laney’s holding it above her head. Now the vodka and fruit chunks are tipping out on top of both of them. This is classic stripper warfare, Addison!”
“Awesome!” Addison yelled, downing her drink.
“Ohmyfuckinggod!” Claudia gasped as a loud thump shook the kitchen and everyone went silent except for an echoing click.
“What was that?” Addison whispered, barely daring to move.
“Umm, Laney just flipped Anya off the counter by her neck and onto the floor and is now pointing a gun at her. I’m pretty sure Anya’s done with the blender now, Laney,” Claudia said helpfully.
Laney slammed the blender down on the counter, growled something about drunk chicks and stomped away from the stunned scene, slamming the front door behind her. A few seconds later everyone started breathing again.
It was Anya that broke the silence. Speaking from her position on the kitchen floor behind the island, she said, “Hey Addison, can I paint your walls for you? Something bright and cheerful to liven the place up!”
Claudia looked at Addison and said. “Now might be a good time to tell you that Anya has platinum and bubblegum pink hair. And a few months ago it was blue.”
Addison titled her head to the side and thought about it for all of two seconds. “Perfect! When can you get started?”
Tyson approached Daniel slowly, like he might a rabid dog. Daniel was sitting on one of the weight benches with his back to the door. Tyson was under no illusion that Daniel hadn’t heard him come in. The tension in his security chief’s shoulders told him otherwise. Though Tyson outweighed Daniel by a good eighty pounds and topped him by several inches, he knew the other man could take him out within seconds with his bare hands. Even at a disadvantage. There was a reason Tyson trusted him implicitly with his security.
Tyson pulled up a chair and sat several feet away from the unpredictable man, taking in the ruin of expensive equipment. He was impressed. He knew Daniel was tough and strong, but he had no idea Daniel’s lean muscles hid that kind of strength.
“I’ll replace the equipment and pay for the damage,” Daniel said gruffly.
Tyson nodded and after several seconds said, “This stuff is replaceable, Addison Sterling is not.”
Daniel’s head snapped up and Tyson was surprised by the heat in his eyes. He was used to icy calm from Daniel. “Don’t you think I know that? I nearly snapped her fucking neck tonight when I threw her into the side of the opera house,” he snarled. “Fucking fireworks.”
“Ah,” Tyson said, understanding.
And he did. He was the only person in the world that Daniel had ever opened up to enough that might understand what was going on in his head.
“You wanted to drive her away,” Tyson said knowingly.
“Had to. She’s too close to the truth.”
“She won’t blame you, Daniel. She’s too good inside to ever hold your past against you,” Tyson murmured.
Daniel’s eyes blazed angrily. “She’s a fucking angel. Deserves more than the slave of a Brazilian street whore.”
