Maid for Each Other(26)

I whispered back, “To be fair, the croissants were so good that I might’ve thrown a punch if you’d tried to get between us.”

That made him cackle like he couldn’t believe I’d said it, which made me instantly worried. I didn’t know what millionaires found funny, so what if my normal behavior was lowbrow and embarrassing to Declan? Normally I wouldn’t give a damn, but I was serious about this job. I might’ve landed this gig by doing something questionable, but that wasn’t my default.

My default was working hard.

I sucked at a lot of things, and my life was kind of a shitshow at the moment, but I’d always prided myself on working hard and doing my best at my sucky jobs.

“You were smart to hold back, Stan,” Declan said, and I felt him drape his arm across the back of my chair. “She’s very intense about her breakfast.”

When I turned my head and met his gaze, his mouth was half-cocked in a smirk that I felt low in my belly. Dear God, he looked good with a smile. I leaned closer, moving my mouth to his ear and saying so quietly that only he could hear, “I’m a little freaked out by how spot-on you are. I seriously inhaled three croissants before you even finished the story about when you used to take naps in the mattress department of CrashPad.”

He turned his head slightly, his face so close I could’ve rubbed my nose against his, and then he stretched enough to say into my ear, “Do you seriously think I wasn’t counting? And who cuts a croissant with a knife and a fork, anyway, you psychopath?”

I started giggling; I couldn’t help it. My mouth was back at his ear to whisper, “I was being classy, you jackass.”

“It was incredibly classy,” he replied, a smile in his voice when he added, “The classiest.”

“Good morning!”

I looked up and Declan’s mom sat down in one of the empty spots on the other side of him, a little old lady beside her. The woman was tiny with a sweet face, like the poster child for adorable grandmothers, and she was staring at me.

“Hi, Elaine,” I said, pulling back from her son. “How are you this morning?”

I was very aware that Declan’s arm was still resting on the back of my chair and we were kind of huddled together like an actual couple.

“Wonderful,” she said, “just wonderful.”

“Nana,” Declan said, standing. “I’d like you to meet Abi Green. Abi, this is Nana Marian.”

I smiled and leaned closer, for some reason nervous all of a sudden. Or more nervous than I’d already been.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand.

She looked at my hand but didn’t take it. Instead, she narrowed her eyes behind her big round glasses and said, “I know you.”

My stomach dropped and my heart started racing. “You do?”

“I don’t think so,” Declan said, giving his grandmother a teasing grin. “Abi hasn’t—”

“I know who I know, Dexxie,” she said, scowling at him, “and I know that I’ve met her.”

I looked back and forth between the three of them while wearing a guilty smile, clueless as to what to say to this woman. “Well then, it’s nice to meet you again.”

That made Elaine smile, but the old lady pursed her lips and shook her head before turning her chair to focus on the Q&A.

“Well, that went well,” I muttered, feeling like a failure.

I glanced at Declan, and his smile was gone. His eyes were narrowed as he watched his family, and then his eyes met mine. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, like he suspected me of something, so I said, “What?”

“Nana remembers everything,” he said at my ear, “so you must’ve met before.”

I stared at him, waiting for the rest, but he just looked at me expectantly.

Which was irritating as hell. “That’s great that your Nana Marian is so sharp, but I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

His jaw jumped as he watched me, and then he said, “Is there anything about your life that you need to tell me?”

“What?”

“Is there anything I don’t know that maybe I need to know?” he asked, and the man said it like I was a child hiding the fact that I’d stolen a piece of candy he told me I couldn’t have.

And I don’t know why, but the fact that he was whispering made it worse.

Like I was in trouble during church.

He said, “Something you’re involved in, somewhere that you frequent; I just need to know where she might’ve seen you, because she will remember. Probably within the hour.”

“Why are you saying it like that, like you want to know if I’m a drug dealer or something?” Technically he hadn’t insulted me, but something about his tone was insulting.

“I just want to be ahead of it if she knows you from something that doesn’t work with our story.”

I glanced at the rest of the table as we whisper-argued, but they all seemed enthralled by what Warren was saying, thank God.

“I mean, I doubt she frequents my sex club,” I said, leaning close enough to smell his shampoo and ensure it looked like we were adorably sharing secrets, “and I’ve never seen any elderly women at the place by the airport where I dance, so—”