“That was hours ago, Brielle. Hours,” Leone complained. “You’ve been up there working. When you’re working, you have no idea how much time goes by.”
“She’s not working,” Raimondo said. “I wouldn’t have interrupted her if she’d been working. She was at the window, staring out at the lake and mooning over Elie again. Really, Brielle, it’s disgusting how often you blank out and lose it over that man.”
She came partway down the stairs and glared at him. “I don’t do that.” She did do that. Sadly. But she wasn’t admitting it. Her nipples were sore. Her clit was sore. Deliciously so. The material of her underwear, as soft as it was, rubbed, causing a delightful friction that kept reminding her of her early morning adventure with her surprisingly adventurous husband. He certainly came up with interesting ideas that she would never have thought of.
“Hungry,” Leone reminded her.
Brielle burst out laughing. “You’re impossible. I’m surprised the two of you can even fit into your clothes. You must have super-fast metabolisms. If I ate like you, I wouldn’t be able to even walk on my treadmill.”
“You could stand to put on a couple of pounds,” Raimondo observed. “Not to say,” he added hastily, “that you aren’t filled out in the right places.”
Leone coughed behind his hand. “Talk like that could get you shot. Elie might have this place wired. He’s a jealous man.”
Brielle rolled her eyes. “He is not.” She made her way down the stairs to stand at the bottom, her hands on her hips. “The two of you just make crap up. You’re the gossip team.”
“You don’t think Elie’s the jealous type?” Leone’s eyebrow went up.
“No, I don’t. Jealousy is a really bad character flaw. It doesn’t say nice things about a man at all. In fact, Leone, it means he doesn’t have confidence in himself, which Elie has in abundance, maybe a little too much. And it also means he doesn’t trust his partner.” She flounced past him to go into the kitchen.
Leone exchanged a grin with Raimondo. “I see. No one would ever expect that Elie could possibly have a character flaw.”
“Or that he wouldn’t trust his hot-as-hell partner,” Raimondo added.
“For your information, Raimondo, he does have the place wired, although not because he’s the jealous type,” Brielle said as she pulled the container of masarepa cornmeal from the pantry, measured out two cups and put the container away. She would have given anything to look at her bodyguard, but she worked fast, collecting the other ingredients to make the Venezuelan arepas, griddle-fried corn cakes she needed for what she wanted to serve.
“Wait. What? Why would Elie wire this place? You mean he’s recording what we’re saying? He just heard me call you hot as hell?”
She pressed her lips together as she worked, quickly mixing the dry ingredients together and then adding in water, milk and butter, kneading the dough until it was very smooth.
“For God’s sake, Raimondo, you just said it again,” Leone pointed out. “Now you’re sweating. What an idiot.”
“Why would he wire the place?”
Brielle covered the dough to give the cornmeal time to absorb some of the moisture. She turned to face the two men as she leaned against the counter. “Mice. We’re overrun with the little rodents and he’s tracking them.” She said it without hesitation. “The audio has a special algorithm built into it to detect the sound of their little feet when they run across the floor so we can find their nest.”
There was absolute silence. She put a heavy cast-iron skillet on the stove and then retrieved two tomatoes and the pulled pork she’d prepped the day before from the fridge, setting both on the counter before she looked up. The two men were staring at her. “What?” She did her best to look innocent.
“I’ve never heard of that. Is that really a thing?” Leone asked suspiciously.
“If you’ve never had mice everywhere, why would you have heard of it?” she countered as she sliced the tomatoes and set them aside.
The two men exchanged another long look and then turned back to her. “You’re full of shit,” Raimondo accused her. “There aren’t mice in this house. If there were, you’d be standing on a chair right now.”
“You mean you’d be standing on a chair right now. I would still be cooking because I’m not afraid of mice.” She glanced at the clock, took the cover off the dough and began kneading it again. She spent some time on the job before once again covering the dough and glancing at the clock.