Strength of an Assassin(40)

By: Stormy Glenn

Sinclair slowly panned to look at the cook. “Are you under the impression that any inch of this estate is yours?”

“No, of course not.” The cook twisted his hands together. “The mess…I needed to start preparations to make dinner. I didn’t want to have to clean up their mess.”

I called bullshit.

“Then you should have simply stated that instead of frightening Bob and crowding him up against the fridge. And we would have cleaned up any mess we made.”

The cook glared at me. “Now, look—”

“You’re fired,” Sinclair said.

The cook gasped. “You can’t fire me. I was appointed by the council.”

Sinclair raised an eyebrow. “It’s either fired or dead. Your choice.”

Samson, Stryker, Stone, and Shade all stepped forward. I was pretty sure what they were wishing for.

“The council will hear about this,” the cook shouted before turning and storming away.

I winced when I heard the front door slam shut a few minutes later.

“Shit.” Sinclair spun his chair around and started wheeling back down the hallway. “I’d better go call the council and warn them about that idiot.”

“Don’t forget to ask them to send another cook, babe,” Stone called out.

“I could do it.”

I snapped my lips closed when everyone turned to look at me.

“You could do it?” Sinclair asked.

I shrugged. “I was a caterer. It’s kind of what I did before moving here.”

“Is this something you’d really be interested in doing?” Sinclair asked. “Because if you are, the job’s yours. I’m tired of getting asshole cooks in here. First it was that jerk who worked for the council, and now this guy. It seems like we can’t keep good cooks in this place.”

I glanced at Samson to see his reaction.

The smile on his face was pure pride. “My baby can cook anything.”

Well, I couldn’t cook everything, but I could read a recipe.

“Great,” Sinclair replied as he swiveled his chair again. “The job’s yours.”

“He doesn’t start until tomorrow, so you might want to order pizza.”

Sinclair stopped wheeling down the hallway to look back over his shoulder. “Why tomorrow?”

Samson almost rolled his eyes. I could see he wanted to. “Apparently, the kitchen needs to be cleaned and we still have to take Dexter to the park.”

“Park?” Bob asked.

I grinned. “Samson got me a cat.”

He was the best damn mate an omega ever had.


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