Martha Callaway entered first. As I suspected she would, to scope out exactly what I was planning. It's the smart thing for a protective leader to do for her people, even if I believe she is nearly as unwilling as I am to keep the role.
Her practical boots padded quietly on the terrazzo flooring, except for a final accidental squeak while I was still arranging treats on a serving platter. She took in the space, with the arranged chairs and the bit of technology I owned waiting to be used.
And I saw in that the eyes of someone capable of the *right* kind of curiosities. Like she saw in me-
"You've made yourself comfortable up here."
A housewife. I can feel it in her grandmotherly smile. At least what I assume one of those feels like… and of course that set my hackles up as I adjust my fancier dupatta.
> The irony is not lost on me, that I'm using a grandfatherly gift to armor against her. <
"The Alpha's mate using the Alpha's kitchen hardly seems all that inappropriate."
