“Ian.” Another bite. “You’re Sophia. Now that the pleasantries are out of the way…” He gestures with the half-eaten muffin. “Put. The goddamn knife. Down.”
The knife stays exactly where it is. My knuckles are white around the handle. Part of me—the trained part—is already cataloging him. Relaxed posture, no tension in the shoulders, zero threat display. The other part is screaming that I’m alone in the kitchen with a man I don’t know while Reth is… somewhere.
I inch a step backward. “Where’s Reth?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head.
Ian sighs like this is the most predictable thing in the world. “Of course not. Because that would require communicating, and we both know he sucks in that department.”
“Where is he?”
“Away.”
“Away where?”
“Work stuff.”
I stare at him. He stares right back, completely at ease, like being glared at by a woman who was kidnapped and is now holding a chef’s knife is just a regular Tuesday for him.
Work stuff.The words feel like a slap. He left me here—after everything—and didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye. Or explain. Or… anything. And now I’m standing here with a knife and a stranger wonderingdoes Reth even owe me any sort ofexplanation?I shouldn’t care. Ishouldn’tfeel this hollow, icky pull in my stomach because he’s gone. He’s my kidnapper. And now he’s just not here. I should feel relieved…but I don’t.
“What work stuff?” I ask.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, then chuckles like he can’t help it. “For someone whose job is listening, you ask a lot of questions.”
“Who the fuck are you, and what the hell are you doing here?”
Ian shakes his head, still chewing. “That little punk-ass son of a bitch. He has me on babysitting duty, the least he can do is tell you?—”
“Tell me what?”
“He had to leave.” Ian shrugs like it’s nothing. “Didn’t want to leave you alone since the last time he did that…” He makes a face. “You almost lost your mind.”
“I did not.”
He leans in like he’s sharing state secrets, voice dropping conspiratorially. “You were talking to a door.”
My face burns. Humiliation crawls up my throat. “You watched me?”
“Surveillance. But don’t worry.” He winks. “Reth cuts my feed when he’s in here with you.”
That makes me breathe a little easier, given what happened between me, my fingers, the hallway, and Reth getting a pretty big sniff of my indiscretions. Still, the idea that someone else saw me at my most broken—talking to a fucking door like a lunatic—makes my skin crawl.
I’m still holding the knife. “Surveillance?”
“It’s in the job description.” He gestures lazily at the knife. “Along with not getting stabbed before breakfast. You mind?”
“So, you work for him?”
“He likes to think so.”
I frown.
“Okay, fine. Yes. But it’s a partnership.”
“Does Reth know that?”
