Whatta Man

whatta man

G etting a maintenance person to let me ‘borrow’ a key to Morgana’s place was both a piece of cake and a bargain. I wasn’t worried it’d be an issue, but since I crowed about it beforehand, I didn’t want to look like an idiot. Thankfully, she didn’t level the playing field by putting some sort of memo out to deter me. Honestly, I don’t blame her for holding back—finding me in her house hours later will confirm her fears about her safety here.

I’m glad I got it, but not happy when I think about it that way.

Shaking off the odd sensation of worry, I step inside the old house and look around. The decor screams the influence of the previous owner and that has to suck. Morgana’s stuff is likely being shipped from overseas and she can’t very well spend vast amounts on upgrading the house she’s staying in without looking like Magnus’ version two-point-oh. That means she’s stuck in this weird Indiana Jones nightmare the former dean called his own. It’s stiflingly old world masculine and even I feel the misogyny leaking from the walls.

“Gross,” I mutter to myself as I explore the front hallway and adjacent rooms. “This guy has his own fucking award room masquerading as a formal living room. Hell, even I don’t display every award someone has ever handed me like this.”

Turning away from the ‘tiny dick’ area, I walk through the dining room to find a gorgeous kitchen. The setup here is far nicer than one would assume an educator would have in their university accommodations. SubZeros, professional ranges and ovens, and marble with polished chrome make this room the least objectionable I’ve seen so far. At least it doesn’t feel like a good old boys smoking room—this feels like a setup that had a paid staffer working and cleaning it. Fuck, that dragon bilked the shit out of this place. Morgana will struggle to fix the accumulated errors in her audit.

Which means she’ll have to deal with living in this nightmare, whether she likes it or not.

I’m not fond of that idea. In fact, I sort of hate it and I don’t know why. Frowning as I open the fridge to find leftover takeout containers, condiments, and very little else, I sigh. The only time I find empty food storage like this is when I select high-powered women who don’t have the funds for staffers to make sure this doesn’t happen. I’m not knocking a driven career gal; I find the clash of dominance hot. But they seem to run everything in the world like a well-oiled machine and treat themselves like shit. I don’t know if society ingrains that in chicks or not, but I’d be surprised if it didn’t.

I need help, as this plan won’t suffice. Deciding to figure out what else needs done to make this night what I envisioned, I walk into the living room and note that the huge couch is made up with linens and pillows. She’s sleeping here rather than the goddamned bedroom, for fuck’s sake. Those assholes on the board must not have even cleared out the private spaces in this museum to Magnus’ massive ego.

Fuck this. I’m calling in the big guns.

I open my phone and click a contact as I take the stairs two at a time. The need to verify the abusive behavior of the people who sentenced Morgana to her exile here thrums in me as I listen for the voice to answer. When the line opens, I’m stepping into a bedroom that is massive and has the scent of… things I don’t want to imagine. As a shifter, I’m well acquainted with powerful scents, even long after the people are gone. I don’t know how sensitive gargoyles or gorgons’ noses are, but if she can smell any of this, I know why she’s not living in this damn room.

“Nana!” I cut her off as she fires questions about the murder and how Thorne handled himself. “That’s all fine for the moment. There’s something important I need to talk to you about.”

The silence on the other end isn’t unusual, so I let it sit as she recalibrates her thought process. “If that changes, I expect to be notified, Lucas. Your mother and father aren’t concerned with how their actions affect our family name, but you have always been more flexible.”

I snort. My mother and father could give a red, randy fuck what I do or what she wants—that’s why they aren’t the heirs apparent of the Wolfenberg fortune. “Yes, Nana. But I have a situation here and I doubt you’d be pleased to hear about it. In fact, despite the notoriety of the person, you’d still be horrified to know what those morons have done.”

“Does it reflect poorly on us, Lucas?” Her tone is flinty, and I can see the look in her eyes without actually seeing her.

“I believe so. You can judge for yourself.” I take a breath and steel myself for her reaction. “The Dean’s house is filled to the brim with Magnus’ old belongings. It’s mostly clean, but has not been deep cleaned, and the bedrooms stink of his affairs. Whether or not Morgana broke the law, the board left her to wallow in his filth and betrayal. They haven’t provided adequate housing, food service, or staff to clean. This place is disgusting and you wouldn’t even take your gloves off if you walked in, Nana.”

Again, the line goes quiet. Finally, she asks, “Why are you in the Dean’s home, Lucas?”

I expected it to be a problem. I’ll have to carefully dodge her radar.

“She refused my generous offer to take her to dinner for her help last night because she needed to work. I countered with another option—cooking for her at her house so she could work on her tasks. However, once I got someone to let me in, I was aghast. This is not the image we would want portrayed should someone slip pictures to the media, Nana. I knew I had to call you.”

Hopefully, that was obsequious enough. I don’t want her knowing that I’m interested in Morgana, or she’ll shut me down immediately. The possibility of scandal would make her send someone to spy on me or the dean without batting a lash. I need her to believe I’m concerned about our image in the press and she’ll move mountains. Luckily, I’m skilled at getting Nana to buy what I sell because I’m the one who follows her rules—mostly.

“Hmmmph. I find that unacceptable as well. If some paparazzo broke in, they’d slaughter us in the press.” I hear fingernails tapping as she thinks. “Plan to fix this, Lucas—get it done immediately, no matter what it costs. Please supervise the necessary account charges. Spare no expense.”

Whew. She didn’t figure me out.

“I’ll handle it, Nana. Thank you for putting your faith in me.”

“Mmmm,” she says. Another pause and then the ice creeps into her tone. “Lucas, I am well aware Morgana LeCiel is an exquisite woman. You’d do well to keep this professional, but I know you have a mind of your own with chasing skirts. Don’t do anything to embarrass me and keep me apprised of any information I should know. Do you understand?”

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to protest. Besides being uncomfortable talking about my sex life with my fucking grandmother, I’m a little disturbed by her willingness to put a stamp of approval on me sleeping with Morgana if it provides insider knowledge. Growing up in old families is more ridiculous than outsiders could ever fathom and if they knew the weird shit we get thrown at us from the time we can be leveraged, it would shock the shoes off most supes.

“Understood, ma’am. I’ll make sure I am keeping you updated on anything I learn while I oversee the renovations of the house.”

“Excellent. Now, I must go. I have a conference call with Zurich in thirty minutes, and I’d like to gather my thoughts before Hans pops up on the screen. Auf Wiedersehen , Lucas.”

She hangs up without another word, and I blink. It never fails to surprise me when Nana peaces out before I can respond. The woman doesn’t waste a second, no matter who it’s with.

Now I have to contact people to start this process or she’ll skin me alive.

I check my watch impatiently as I stir the sauce. It didn’t take long to get in touch with my grandmother’s assistant, and she could send me contact details for personal shoppers in the area. Once I found one willing to make emergency runs to several locations and drop things off as they were purchased, I built a list of necessary kitchen and personal items that I felt would be the most urgent needs. I could have had food delivered, I suppose, but I promised to cook for her and not doing it myself felt a bit like cheating.

It’s entirely unlike me to care what a woman thinks of my integrity, especially one I haven’t so much as laid a finger on yet. This is an odd experience for me, but something about Morgana makes me want to impress her, and now that I’ve wormed my way in, I don’t want to fuck it up.

Of course, cooking her dinner isn’t really ‘in’, but it’s close enough to give a shit.

The shopper delivered the food first, as requested, and I loaded up the fridge while I was making the caprese salad. Once that was chilling, I prepped the bolognese so it could simmer. My au pair was Italian, and I spent much of my younger years watching her cook when my parents were off doing whatever the hell they were doing at that point. A nice bolognese, pasta, and bread will be filling and the tiramisu I made afterward is just showing off, honestly. I could have gone much simpler or even more complex, but I have extremely mixed feelings about how I want Morgana to perceive me.

In the front hallway, there are boxes with linens, cleaning supplies, and other things I left alone because the service I contracted will show up tomorrow afternoon to disinfect this entire place. I didn’t want to piss Morgana off by having it done while she wasn't here—I have the feeling there’s only so much alpha asshole stuff I can get away with and changing her space without permission might be over the line. Despite the infamy the trial granted her, I feel she’s intensely private. Invading what little autonomy she has here wouldn’t win me any points.

Looking at my watch again, I resist the urge to call the office and see if she’s on her way. The anxiousness I’m feeling is so unusual that it’s making me hyper; I just don’t get attached to women like this. Is it because she’s so much older or because of something else I haven’t put my finger on yet? From the minute I saw her at the arena, there was a magnetic pull and I haven’t been able to back away since. If she wasn’t such a dicey prospect in terms of publicity, I’d ask Nana if she knows why I feel like this. She’s always been my source of information about my powers and abilities—my parents were never around. But I can’t mention it because Morgana is off-limits in more ways than one.

I wish I gave a fuck about friends—maybe that’d help.

Hangers-on and sycophants follow my family around, though, so I’ve never let anyone in. I’m tight with the guys on whichever team I’m on at the moment—up to a point. I can party with them, grieve losses with them, and even travel with them, but I don’t give them access to the real me. Mistakes in my childhood that lead to disaster taught me that having a famous name with a huge inheritance rarely gains you loyal companions. People who want to absorb your light surround you, use your name, or benefit from your ability to pay for things, but when you need someone, they’re a ghost.

So I don’t have a single soul to call and ask if they know why I’m so damned mixed up about a woman I met yesterday. All I can do is watch my bolognese and grit my teeth as I wait for her to walk through the front door.

That blows goats in a big way.

As if by magic, that door opens and I hear a muttered ‘what the fuck’ that makes me grin. I reduce the sauce heat and proceed to the hallway. Morgana looks at me with wide eyes, taking in the apron and spoon in my hand in surprise. I wink at her playfully, hoping it will deflect her grumpy reaction to the boxes. “Told you I could get in. Hopefully, you don’t mind, but I sort of had to take over your kitchen.”

Her eyes narrow. “This pile of shit isn’t all for the kitchen. What is this?”

I wait until she takes off the towering heels, placing them next to others in a row by the door. Next, she places her leather messenger bag on the side table, along with her keys, and tugs the hair tie out of her hair. Watching her shake the long locks out with a sigh makes my cock throb, but I ignore it for the moment. There’s plenty of time for that later. “Imagine my shock at discovering this house wasn’t properly cleaned and packed up prior to your arrival. I pulled a few strings and had a few delivered tonight, but tomorrow the cleaning service will get this place ship-shape while you’re at the office.”

“I didn’t ask for that, Lucas!”

Giving her a firm expression, I shrug. “I know, but you should have. It’s disgraceful to shove you in this house full of Magnus’ shit and fuck knows what else. That was a purposeful slight by people who should have better decorum and you not complaining stinks of punishing yourself for ending up here. Since I neither believe you need to be punished further nor wish to get petty revenge, I took care of it. Your pride will survive, Morgana.”

That seems to stymie her. She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again before she actually speaks. “I… I never thought of it that way.”

“Well, I did. The minute I explored, I figured out why you’re sleeping in the living room and it’s not just waiting for your things to be shipped from England.” I shake my head and gesture for her to follow me. “It wasn’t hard to arrange, and I was happy to do it. Come back and help plate the food so we can eat. You look exhausted.”

“Gee, thanks,” she mutters as she pulls off the suit coat and hangs it on the bannister.

I was right; she’s absolutely smoking hot under those fancy duds.

Letting my eyes roam over her curves, I realize she’s not only older and more put together than my typical woman, but also completely opposite in body type. Her height is a major factor; however, her sturdy frame and soft curves are reminiscent of that chick in the human show. She’s built like the warrior woman—broad, but feminine. I suppose it’s the gargoyle in her; she’d have to support the wings. Those are hot as hell from what I saw when she left yesterday, but I’m curious about her other supernatural attributes. What happens with the stone shit? And I can’t wait to see the snakes again… that almost has me giddy.

“Don’t be sour. I promise to ogle you the entire time if you lighten up a little.”

She rolls her eyes and then pauses, giving me a sincere look. “Your ego doesn’t need stroking anymore, but I am grateful for this. It’s one of the nicest things anyone has done since I arrived, and I shouldn’t let my tired, cranky bullshit prevent me from thanking you—even if I suspect your motives are less than pure.”

“Gotta stick a fork in me, don’t you, babe?” I tease. She grins a little and nods, so I turn on my heel. “Let’s go fill your belly and we can discuss that later.”

As long as I can keep that smile on her face, I might actually have a chance.