“If that’s all she’s good for, why do you need her? You’ve got sex on tap here.”
Shrugging, I drop back into my leather chair, stretching my legs out as I study my best mate. “She keeps the house nice.”
“Your cleaning service did that.”
“She’s a good cook.”
“You can hire one of those.”
“Jesus fuck, you’re a belligerent cunt tonight, Paddy. What crawled up your arse and died?”
He shrugs, taking a slug of his whiskey. “It bothers me that you’re alone in that house with a snake.”
Well, not alone. Niall sleeps on the sofa. He refuses to take one of the bedrooms, stupid prick. Says that being upstairs won’t help if someone breaks in. Paddy’s just paranoid.
“You still think she’s a Romanian plant.”
“Aye. I do. I think Sean should have looked more into this. Why the fuck would Albescu randomly offer a truce?”
“To bring tensions back from the boil?”
“If you think that you’re not ready for the top job, you’re being taken for a ride.”
We glare at each other. It’s all well and good for Paddy to say that to me, but he can’t talk like that when anyone else is present. He has to be seen to back me one hundred percent, or he’s looking at a shallow grave.
“She cooks. She cleans. She shops. She does yoga. She fucks me like a bitch in heat. The woman doesn’t saybooto me, and I don’t talk in front of her. If she’s a Romanian spy, she’s doing a fucking terrible job.”
Paddy flips me off. “She married you, you cunt. She’s probably playing the long game.”
“So keep an eye on her.”
“I fucking will.”
Sighing, I shoot my drink and stand, dropping the glass onto the desk for someone else to clean up.
“Where are you going?” Paddy asks, starting to stand as well.
“Home. To fuck my little Romanian honeypot.”
Paddy drops back into his chair, snorting and taking another sip of his whiskey.
“Famous last words.”
I stride out of the office, flipping him off, looking for Liam. He’ll be out on the floor of the VIP room, watching the strippers. He’ll give me a lift home.
The lights are on when I get there. It's only nine o'clock. I immediately notice Niall sitting in one of the easy chairs in the parlor, reading an iPad. Tiggy is curled up on the sofa on the other side of the room from him, reading her poetry book.
It's the only non-clothing-related item she brought, apart from her phone - which was confiscated and destroyed on our wedding day. You can’t be too careful about bugs and spies, and I still don’t trust her.
I cross to the kitchen, retrieving the foil-covered pasta dish scoffing it down, and collecting a beer as I wander into the parlor. Niall stands and smirks at me as I pass by him, and he melts out of the room. I drop onto the sofa beside Tiggy,but she doesn’t even notice my presence. We’ll see how long she can keep that act up.
After a good ten minutes of my staring at the side of her face, Tiggy finally puts the fucking book down and looks over at me.
“Good day at the office, darling?” she drawls.
My eyes narrow at the sarcasm in her tone. I can’t say I appreciate having her in my fucking space with her snarky attitude.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I snap. Tiggy eyes me for a moment longer, shrugging and picking up her book again, turning her eyes down towards it.