With an effort, I drag my mind back to unravelling the puzzle surrounding Sergio and his part in the kidnapping. Even so, I can’t help but look forward to dinner this evening. To see Isabelle again and tease at the pieces of her puzzle.
CHAPTERNINE
ISABELLE
The dresses provided by management are so fancy that I change outfits mid-afternoon, after spending some more quality time with the enormous shower. From one of my boxes, I drag on some comfy yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt.
Much better.
When I emerge in my new outfit, Yuri looks even more uncomfortable than he did when I snatched the decanter. Corrupting him is going to be so much fun.
“Don’t you want to change for dinner?” he asks as the time counts down towards the evening meal. Not that I ever have to eat again. I’m pretty sure the two meals I’ve already had today contained enough calories to see me through to end of life.
“I’m good,” I repeatedly assure him. If it hadn’t been such an obvious issue, I might have relented and changed back but the more his expression twists, the more I want to wear my sloppy clothes to what I’m gleaning must be a formal dinner.
“Lead the way,” I insist when he gets the call, stifling a yawn against the back of my hand. He shakes his head with regret but obliges, taking me on another tiki-tour of the mansion and landing in the dining room.
The moment I walk through the door, I come to a halt.
I count twelve men—no, more. Fourteen. Maybe fifteen. It’s hard to get an accurate fix when they’re all moving around, and they all have the same build. My idea of Yuri clones wasn’t far from the truth.
Some heads turn at my entrance but mostly the guys are involved in talking with each other.
“Don’t you have any women around here?” I ask Yuri, then repeat with more urgency. The room has far too much testosterone, and it makes me decidedly uneasy.
“Yeah, somewhere,” he says unhelpful as usual. “Probably in the kitchen, helping Nora.”
“What sort of reductive misogynistic bullshit is that?”
A hand takes my elbow from behind and I jump to see Baxter standing there. “The kind that supports our working environment,” he says in answer to my question. “No one’s here who doesn’t want to be.”
“Except me.”
His gold-flecked amber eyes fix on mine and suddenly, I can’t catch my breath. My body remembers exactly what his felt like pressed against mine and is desperate to repeat the experience. Sans the panic attack.
Then his gaze wanders lower and turns into a frown. “What are you wearing?”
“Clothes,” I say, performing a small curtsey to cover my sudden fluster. “They’re all the fashion for those of us who don’t like to wander around, naked.”
“I’ll send you more outfits,” he says, shaking his head as he turns back to his men. “And please throw those out. A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t wear such awful rags.”
He stalks away before I can reply, not that my mouth was in any hurry to. It’s still reeling from the compliment. If it was a compliment. Perhaps he just meant that my clothes were so ugly, I looked good in comparison?
I feel utterly lost.
“Kitchen,” Yuri states, leading me through into the bustling space. “There are your women. Go make friends.”
“Hey,” I say, giving an embarrassed wave as eight pairs of eyes turn my way. “Nice to meet you all.”
I pick Nora out of the line-up and head straight for her side, relieved to see her welcoming smile. Despite my earlier admonition on gender roles, I ask, “Can I help with anything?”
“Chop these,” she says, planting me in front of a board with a large knife and three iceberg lettuces. “We’ll need them for the salads.”
“Mm-hm.” I set to work, stealing glances at the other women in the room. “Hi, I’m Isabelle,” I say to the one closest. A woman not much taller than me with curly light-brown hair that, along with her large brown eyes, reminds me of a friendly dog. One of the large poodle crosses.
I bite my lip extra hard to remind myself not to say that out loud.
“Meri,” she says in between slicing tomatoes. “And don’t bother learning the other’s names. Most of them never come in here.” She points her knife at a tall redhead. “Except her. That’s Tiff.”
