Bound to the Billionaire

Chapter Thirteen: Micah the Cowboy

The man who walked into the room didn't look like the kind of person you'd assume would swim in Nico's circles. For one, he dressed like a cowboy. Or a used car salesman. Giant f**k-off cowboy hat on pale gold curls; a plaid button-up rolled to his elbows; and a silver sequin vest that hung down to his waist in thick fringe. On his hip, a .357 Magnum, the leather-brown butt of which stuck out from his holster. The paisley silver embossing caught my eye forced them to focus as if they were scales on a fish in a dark murky sea. 

A big Yee-haw man. A sparkly big yee-haw man. Though we were in North Carolina, I didn't spot yee-haw men very often, and instantly I liked him. I had to, because he reminded me of my dad, who never left the house without his .357 Magnum. No silver bullets, nothing that what harm another werewolf in a fight.  He simply liked the feel of it on his hip. 

Nico's back was stiff, his shoulders rolled and his head held high. His eyes shown, clear and alert. Looming there, he looked ready to pounce. "Can you explain yourself? Just a little? Pardon me, but you can't just walk in here and--"

"Mhm, relax!" The man cleared the living room in three smooth strides, right into the kitchen filled with appliances as expensive as my industrial bakery's. Just looking at the bar, its hanging white light casting a glow too warm for the all dark space, it made me realize that I was f*****g starving. "You need to feed that man. I heard his stomach from the doorway. Have you fed him anything today?"

"Mints," Nico said, and his shoulders fell just enough that he no longer looked like he was about to fight. His eyes even shifted toward the wall, his face turning the gentlest shade of pink. Micah's simple question had disarmed Nico; he was worried about me, maybe. Guilty, even. "Now Micah..."

"Mints? Mints! You're lucky you have the Moon Goddess, Nico! Else you'd be a bachelor forever!" His face lit up as he turned to me. "Sheesh, what can I make you, bud? Ah--you're the baker, aren't you?"

"Uh, why, yes. I'm Dimitri, nice to meet you, sir." I added the 'sir' since I figured he would enjoy it. Something about him made me want him to like me. 

"Micah." The man smiled, and the happy lines around his eyes made me smile back. "I'm Nico's beta."

"Micah....Peiffer?"

"Yes sir!" Light shone from the back of pale eyes. "What do you want? I can have the cooks downstairs whip something up, but if you wanna experience some home cooking I have a little shrimp and deer meat--" 

"You hunt?" I said, and this conversation felt so good, so normal compared to the hell my life had generally become. "My Dad and I used to hunt together."

"Oh, of course!" That smile grew, so big I suddenly wanted to talk to this stranger forever. "If you ever want to handle my gun, by all means!" That big goofy smile grew and grew. And so did mine.

Nico cleared his throat. "Could you explain what you meant? Deep s**t and all?"

"Sure, while me and your buddy cook. You want to make us some drinks."

Nico stiffens. "I'd appreciate it if you'd explain a little bit more of my pack is in danger."

"Oh, Nico! When is a werewolf pack not in danger? This is the world we live in, and in the mean time I want to get to know your friend."

"And I want to get to know you!" I added, standing up.  It was true. This random burst of sunshine and this scowly little hell, I welcomed him. He was a well needed relief. I took a deep breath, walked into the kitchen with him. The refrigerator was giant, almost as big as the one in my bakery. His penthouse kitchen. I shook my head to myself.

"Yes-siree, make us some drinks!" He threw the hat on to the satin-smooth black bar. What a beautiful place that I had never expected to be. I'd always told myself to take the opportunities life threw at me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't supposed to be here. I was not old blood. I was not elite. All I was, well, was a tired little man named Dimitri. 

Nico sighed, but obediently he followed us into the kitchen. He bent over and reached into a lower cabinet, allowing me to see the nice curve of his ass. It made me a little sad that at the moment we always seemed to get 'interrupted' and together, me and the cowboy cooked us dinner. I wrapped the pan for him with tin foil, I helped him season the meat and out of the corner of my eye I watched Nico's hands move, saw the silver glitter off of his  the shaker. The clink of this ice against the metal, the soft hum of his warm voice made me feel happy chills rush up my spine. 

It was all strangely musical, strangely soothing, to be surrounded by these powerful men making food, acting no different than my dad and the older packmates would've, before I lost them all. Just talking, laughing. 

So I talked to them. About my pack, about my dad. I talked about my dad. I talked about my pack, Micah said nothing, just listened. And it was nice.

We ate on paper plates, seated on that same buttery couch. There was a dining table, sleek and square, just as big and pretty as anything else in the penthouse, but no one bothered with it. The food was less food and more a sort of savory goodness that burst juicy in the mouth. Close-eyed, I gave a little moan of happiness with each bite, and I heard a little chuckle from both men. 

"Well?" Nico finally said. "What was it you wanted to speak about?"

"Oh?" Micah wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, and I could've sworn the light in those pale eyes dulled just a little. "The patrol went well, for the most part, but I have to say we're near damned sure they're planning an attack."