He nodded enthusiastically while he chewed. “Hell yeah.”
“He’s a garbage disposal.” I folded my arms over my chest. “He consumes enough for three men.”
Her gaze slid past me back to Julien. “Is there anything you don’t like to eat?”
“Nope. Food and me get along. What are you making us tonight, Chef Zadie?”
She giggled softly, gravitating to his side of the kitchen. Her casual conversation with Julien while she’d barely acknowledged me heightened my fury, making the pain in my head sharpen like a fucking knife.
“I was planning on pasta primavera with grilled chicken. I usually omit the chicken when I’m cooking for myself, but I thought a houseful of men would want protein. So—”
“Whose property are you, Zadie?” I growled, taking a prowling step toward her. “Do you belong to Julien? To Marco? To all three of us?”
She backed up until her ass hit the island and she could go no farther. My hands came down on either side of her, trapping her in place. “Who, Zadie?”
“You.” Her shoulders curled inward, like a flower retreating into itself when the sun set. “You own me.”
“That’s right. I do. So why are you asking Julien what he likes to eat? Why are you telling him what’s for dinner tonight?”
“I’m sorry,” she rasped.
Dipping down, I got in her face. “Answer me.” When she refused to look at me, I lifted her chin with my knuckle. “Answer me, Zadie.”
Her eyes were round and blue like robins’ eggs. Her nose twitched, but it didn’t crinkle.
“Julien’s easier to talk to.” Her response was barely above a whisper, but I heard every syllable.
“He’s not your friend.” I held on to her jaw and speared Julien with a hard look over her head. He continued eating his sandwich, making no move to interfere. He wouldn’t, unless I completely lost my mind, which never happened. But there was something about Zadie that tested me. “Do you not remember who brought you to me at the party? Julien is loyal to me, not you. He knows you’re mine. Don’t go to him for protection from me. You won’t find it.”
“Okay.” Her chin trembled, but she held tight to her tears. “I won’t do it again.”
“I know you won’t, because you’re a good girl.” Releasing her jaw, I trailed my fingers over the velvety skin of her cheek and down the side of her neck. “You want to be good for me.”
“I do.”
I touched my nose to hers. “Make me dinner, little mama. I hope you brought your frilly apron. I’m going to sit here to watch the show, and I’ll be disappointed if you don’t have it.”
“I have it.”
“Good.” I straightened. “Get going.”
With a smirk, Julien stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth and strode past me to exit the kitchen. I circled the island, grabbed a seat on one of the stools, and opened my laptop back up to the paper I’d been working on before Julien came home. My head was still throbbing, but some of it had been dulled from the meds, so at least I didn’t want to claw my brain out anymore.
I typed one word before my eyes were pulled from the screen to Zadie tying a neat, fluffy bow at the small of her back. She turned around, heading for the fridge wearing an apron that looked like it came from the fifties. Why the fuck did that make my dick feel like it was going to punch a hole through my pants? Probably because I was picturing her in the apron and nothing else. Maybe I’d clear Marco and Julien from the house for the night and order her to do just that. That show would be for my eyes only.
While she chopped vegetables and boiled water, I wrote another paragraph, but it was like pulling teeth to get my thoughts from my brain to the screen. And when I did, they were such utter garbage, I slammed my fist down on the backspace button, deleting it all.
The chopping had stopped. Zadie was watching me beat up my computer from beside the stove.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Just trying to write a paper on the plastics industry in China.”
“Krasinski?”
“Yeah.” I cocked my head. “How’d you know?”
“I took that class last semester.”