That being said, she ordered room service breakfast. She couldn’t face Big Bacon or its breakfast equivalent (Big Bagel?) first thing in the morning.
When someone knocked on her door, Raluca called, “Come in!”
Nick kicked open the door between their rooms, holding a tray in both hands. His own door, which opened to the corridor, was closed, and no hotel employees were in sight.
Raluca, noting the scuff his boot had made on the door between their rooms, pointed out, “You could have just asked me to open the door for you.”
“Didn’t think princesses opened doors for people.”
“I’m not a princess, and if the alternative is kicking them open, I certainly do.”
Nick stood still, staring at her. Ah. The black leather. He had undoubtedly expected her to wear one of the business suits. She smiled inwardly, keeping her expression bland until she saw him suddenly realize that he was frozen with a tray in his hands. He hurriedly came forward and set the breakfast tray on the table.
Raluca indicated the other chair. Uncertain if Nick had already eaten, she’d o
rdered enough for two. “Breakfast?”
“I already ate.”
“Big Bacon?” Raluca inquired.
“Nah. They don’t deliver.”
Uncertain whether he was teasing her or not, she said, “You could have coffee... Do you drink coffee?”
“My life’s blood.” Nick picked up the china coffee pot, his boyish grin flashing. He poured for her first, then for himself.
Raluca added plenty of milk and half a spoon of sugar to her coffee. Nick took his coffee black, with two heaping spoons of sugar. Sugar and caffeine, no milk. If he was an ordinary man, she’d think he wanted a jolt of energy, a jittery edginess vibrating through his nerves. Though he’d said that because he was a werewolf, it took a lot of alcohol to affect him, so maybe caffeine and sugar worked the same way.
She opened her mouth to ask, then closed it, uncertain if that was a nosy question. She wished she knew anything about werewolves. Maybe if she knew more about his shifter type, she’d understand more about him. He was such a fascinating mystery.
Raluca thought about him as she ate and he drank, clearly pacing himself to match her. She had the distinct impression that if she hadn’t been there, he’d have finished his coffee in two gulps. He clearly knew the basics of manners, though it was obvious that he’d never been taught formal etiquette.
Still, the rudeness was at least partly deliberate. He did know how to behave properly, more or less. The f-word, on the other hand, was clearly something that had been ingrained into his speech for a very long time, given how it slipped out even when he was trying not to say it. And even his basic manners slipped when he wasn’t paying attention. That was the mark either of someone who’d been taught as an adult rather than a child, or of someone who had lived a very long time without even the most basic of niceties.
He’d said he was a common criminal and had a record, and that had sounded completely honest. She wondered what he’d done, why he’d stopped, and how he’d come to work for Hal. But there was no polite way to bring up the first two. The third, though, was ordinary conversation. Every guide book on America had said that so long as you didn’t ask how much money a person made, inquiries about employment were normal topics of conversation among strangers, as neutral and common as remarks about the weather.
“Being a bodyguard must be such an interesting job,” she began.
“It’s got its moments.” Nick topped off her coffee and poured himself another cup, then absently began pouring sugar straight from the pot into his cup, rather than using the spoon. There he went again, his manners slipping when he got distracted. Raluca hoped it was because he was engaged in the conversation, not because she’d annoyed him.
“What made you choose it as a profession?” she asked.
Raluca instantly knew that she’d made a mistake. Nick froze. Infinite heartbreak flickered in his emerald eyes before it was replaced with anger, then guilt. Sugar cascaded into his cup in a white waterfall, pouring and pouring until his coffee trembled at the rim of the mug, about to overflow.
Then his expression went blank, a calculated look that she knew all too well. He put down the sugar pot and lifted his coffee to his lips with impressive steadiness. The cup was filled to the brim, but not a drop spilled. He drank, made a face, and set it down.
With a less-than-convincing shrug, he said, “Pay’s good. I get to drive fast and fight, and it’s all legal. There’s not many jobs like that. If I was in the military, I’d have to follow orders. If I was a cop, I’d have to do my own paperwork. Bouncers make lousy money. Being a bodyguard’s a good fit for me.”
I’m sure that’s all true, Raluca thought. But I don’t think that’s why you just poured the entire pot of sugar into your coffee.
“You done?” Nick asked.
Raluca stood up. “I am.”
“So what’s your pick? Museums and art galleries? Or real America?”
“Real America,” Raluca replied. She’d already decided on that, but now she wondered if there might be a more subtle way of finding out more about Nick. She added, “Your America. You know, places that people like you go.”