I N THE MORNING, AFTER A SOLID SIX HOURS’ SLEEP, LAUREL GOT IN a quick
session at the gym before dressing for the workday. She’d be chained in her kitchen for the
bulk of it, but before that routine began, there was the summit meeting that prefaced every
event.
Laurel dashed downstairs from her third-floor wing to the main level of the sprawling house,
and back to the family kitchen where Mrs. Grady was putting a fruit platter together.
“Morning, Mrs. G.”
Mrs. Grady arched her eyebrows. “You look feisty.”
“Feel feisty. Feel righteous.” Laurel fisted both hands, flexed her muscles. “Want coffee.
Much.”
“Parker’s taken the coffee up already. You can take this fruit, and the pastries. Eat some of
that fruit. A day shouldn’t start with a Danish.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anyone else here yet?”
“Not yet, but I saw Jack’s truck leave a bit ago, and I expect Carter will be along giving me
the puppy eyes in hopes of a decent breakfast.”
“I’ll get out of the way.” Laurel grabbed the platters, balancing them with the expertise of
the waitress she’d been once upon a time.