–Me: Good. Keep making me rich.
I own a lot of shares in Sebastian Jewelry. I’m also a major shareholder at Peery Diamonds.
–Me: Besides, buying from Peery Diamonds is like paying myself money. The more I buy, the more I get!
I don’t need to be in the same room as Seb to know he’s rolling his eyes.
–Nicholas: Does Bobbi really need a ring? I thought bakers don’t wear jewelry on their hands.
–Emmett: Engagement necklace!
–Me: I’m doing it the usual way.
Bobbi is surprisingly traditional despite her independent attitude. Wants a loving, supportive husband, kids, the whole deal. And I want to indulge all her desires. If she decides she wants an engagement necklace too, I’ll get her one.
–Me: Plus I want everyone to know she’s mine. Men don’t check out women’s necks. They check the ring finger.
–Griffin: Perhaps. But the second step is checking YOU out, to evaluate the competition, before deciding whether or not they should poach.
I snort.Competition? Whatever. I’m confident I can make Bobbi happy. All I have to do is convince her over the next three months.
Speaking of which…
I should make dinner. Women love that sort of stuff. I pretend I can’t boil water without burning down the city—after all my cover is a spoiled billionaire, not someone capable of surviving anything. But I know my way around a kitchen. When I’m on assignment out in some shit jungle, it’s up to me to shift for myself or subsist on bugs. That spurred me to learn real fast.
A simple, semi-homemade pasta with roast beef should do the trick. Since Bobbi likes tomatoes, I’ll make a tomato, basil and fresh mozzarella salad with vinaigrette dressing. Unfortunately, I can’t do dessert, but I don’t want her to have to bake when she’s home. I make a mental note to grab a tub of premium hand-churned gelato.
A call from my mom pops up.Crap.
–Me: Call from Mom. Gotta go.
My brothers joke that at least it isn’t Dad or Joey. They don’t know how much worse a call from Mom can be, especially now. But then to them, Nora Blane is an eccentric travel writer, not a deadly government assassin who recruited her son to join the team.
She never calls to say hello or see how I’m doing. Even after the plane crash, she didn’t check up on me. When Mom pops on my phone, it’s about one thing: somebody needs killing.
“Yeah?” I say.
“Time to go shoot your precious cheetahs.”
“Not available.”
“What?”
“I said, I’m not available.” Maybe the connection’s bad. It’s possible.
There’s a pause. “You can’t ‘not be available.’”
“Well, I’m not. Pretend I didn’t survive the crash. Problem solved.”
“Noah, you’re a government asset.”
“Who is currently on a three-month mission of a personal nature. I’m not vanishing for a week or longer. Use someone else.”
“Noah—”
“Sorry, about to drive through a tunnel. Do you hear that sta—?” I hang up. Wish I could take out the phone’s battery and disappear, but she already knows where I am. Probably having me watched too.
Regardless, there’s no time to waste debating Mom. It’s going to be mid-morning soon, and I need to hit the florist and drop by Bobbi’s bakery so I can give her flowers in person. I’ve been doing that religiously even before she decided to give me another chance. Anything to make her happy.
