“At what?”
“The joke. Jesus, Aspen. Give me something to work with here, mate.”
Jamie rolled his eyes and nudged Corbin, who sat on his left with the newspaper open like a shield between himself and the world. I couldn’t see Corbin’s face, but he probably thought the joke was funny, too. His sense of humor was as dry as Jamie’s. Though, Corbin wouldn’t laugh, if only to annoy his boss.
Jamie sighed dramatically. “You’re a bunch of arseholes.”
“Why’re they arseholes?” Cillian walked into the room, half limping and wincing in pain. He wore a soft gray T-shirt and a pair of loose black pants—my clothes. I’d left the outfit in his room because my stuff was bigger than his and would give his sunburn a chance to breathe. He’d still been sleeping this morning when I’d left the bed, and I’d made sure not to wake him. As far as I could tell, he’d slept deeply last night with me beside him, and I wanted him to get as much rest as he could. After yesterday, we needed the time off that Sloan had given us.
I shook my head at Jamie, warning himnotto tell Cillian, but the idiot ignored me.
He dropped his cup on the table and spun toward Cillian, grin widening. “What do ya call a bloke from Dundalk with six hundredmots? Sorry, girlfriends, so Aspen can understand us.” He winked at me.
Did Jamie remember Cillian was from Dundalk or did he enjoy pissing him off? It didn’t matter because Jamie was Cillian’s boss anyway, and Cillian wouldn’t be able to do a damned thing about it.
Cillian narrowed his eyes as he carefully lowered himself into the chair next to me, and I passed him what was left of my coffee. It would do until I could get him a fresh cup, and we’d shared worse things than a drink. He grunted in response. “What?”
“A farmer!”
I cringed. Fuck, it wasn’t funny the second time around, either.
Cillian blinked, holding the cup like it was a lifeline, and I silently begged him to take a sip so he didn’t rip Jamie’s head off his shoulders. It was Jamie’s fault. Who told a stupid joke before someone had caffeine in the morning?
I leaned in closer to Cillian. “You can’t kill him. He’s our boss.”
“I could hurt him,” he growled out low in his throat. “Make him bleed until that face isn’t as pretty. Hunter won’t mind a few scars on him.”
Corbin coughed behind his newspaper, and I suspected he’d overheard our conversation and was trying to hide a laugh.
Jamie shrugged and went back to his coffee, grabbing the cup and then slurping from it, the sound extra loud in the otherwise quiet house. Cillian stilled and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
“You can’t,” I reminded him quietly.
“He’s doing it on purpose,” he snapped back, eyeing Jamie like he would enjoy nothing better than to flay his skin. “It’s seven in the fecking morning, and he’s being a knob.”
“I can hear ya.” Jamie’s eyes twinkled as he took another loud slurp of his coffee. “Are ya awake yet, Cillian dear, or shall I drink me coffee louder?”
I grabbed Cillian’s arm for extra security so he wouldn’t jump across the table and strangle Jamie. The last thing I wanted to do was make a call to Sloan to tell him that one of his men had killed another. That would mean my death as well. While I was here for my skills, I was also supposed to keep Cillian in line.
“Ye’d wake the dead with yer voice alone.” Cillian glared and drained the coffee cup before slamming it back on the table. I took that as a request for more. “And how much cologne are ye wearing? Ye’d wake more than the dead with that.”
“Is there something more than dead?” Corbin asked in a bored tone, dropping his newspaper for a moment to smirk.
“If there was, he’d wake them, too.” Cillian glared at both men across the table, and I held back a laugh as I headed out of the dining room to give them a chance to get this out of their systems. The kitchen was on the other side of the first floor from the dining room, which I thought was an odd choice, but it was large and spacious, laid out specifically for hired cooks who made extravagant meals for Sloan and the Company.
Four employees rushed around, and two in typical white uniforms worked over the stove that was part of the center island, making us a big breakfast. There were a ton of cabinets in here—white along the top of the room and brown along the bottom. How many of them hid emergency weapons? I nodded at one of the servants in a light blue dress, and she smiled in return, flicking her long, blonde hair over her shoulder in what I assumed was flirtation. Before I’d met Vail and let him change my life, I might’ve considered taking her up to our room and sharing her with Cillian, but times had changed quickly, so I ignored her silent offer and went to the counter.
Cillian normally drank tea at home, but I knew they didn’t have any Barry’s Tea here, so I went to the pot of regular coffee that was still warming in a coffeemaker. If he wanted the good Cuban stuff, he would have to wait for someone else to make it. I filled the cup to the brim and considered just bringing the pot with me because Cillian might need it to keep from murdering Jamie today.
One of the cooks, a middle-aged man with thick black glasses and a deep cleft in his chin, said, “Sir, breakfast will be ready in about five minutes.” My only acknowledgement was a nod. If Auntie Lisa had seen the way I was acting, she would’ve lectured me on manners toward the workers, but I hated talking to people I didn’t know. There was no reason to connect with them because it wasn’t as if I would become best friends with them. We were only here for a month... I hoped.
When I brought the coffee back into the dining room for Cillian, he snatched the cup out of my hand, nearly spilling it across his lap.
I slapped him over the back of the head, and he narrowed his eyes at me. I could practically hear him warning me todo that again and see what happens. I merely grinned. He wouldn’t do a damned thing. I was one of the few people who gave him a run for his money, and if he came at me, it would be for fun like we’d wrestled a few days ago.
I plopped into the seat beside him again and rested my arm on the back of his chair, which he ignored as he took another large sip of his steaming hot coffee. Burning his throat was one way to wake him up.
“What are your plans for the week off?” Jamie asked.
