Page 170 of Gates of Tartarus

She glares around at the faces of the men gaping at her. I lean into her and whisper almost silently in her ear, “Well done, Maela.Well done. But you were slipping into Shakespearean territory.”

She nods seriously and whispers back, “I was running out of insults. What now?”

I look up and around the room, clenching my jaw, trying desperately to fight back the laughter bubbling up inside me. Locking my fiercest bitch-face in place, I meet the eyes of every single man in the room. Shaking my head in mock disappointment I say, quietly and sadly, “It seems Maela and I have quite a lot to discuss, and none of you will take part in it.”

There’s a brief murmur of dissent, and Maela visibly ruffles her feathers. The men fall silent immediately.

“WE…” I motion between Maela and myself, “will be discussing a plan thatweare happy with, andyoucanwait.”

Both Maela and I draw ourselves up to our full heights and level discouraged and disheartened looks at the teams. “Maela and I are going to get a proper cup of coffee,” I say, “and a proper lunch, and discuss our options likecivilized human beingsandprofessionals.” I pause, then continue softly, “This is not going to work if this is the way you’re all going to act like–”

“Ginormous sodding twats!” Maela mutters beside me, and I stare at the ceiling, desperately gulping back a shout of laughter.

“Precisely,” I agree firmly. “Well said indeed. Come on, Maela.”

All of the men look suitably chastened, and their downtrodden expressions have me flexing my jaw against the laughter pushing against my throat. All the men, that is, with the exception of Jonah and the Spaniard, both of whom are looking at me quizzically.

Grabbing Maela’s arm, I pull her out the door and manage to make it a few steps before collapsing, laughter gurgling out of me as tears stream down my face. Maela looks at me, concern lacing her features, before her lips turn up, at first reluctantly, and then widen into full-blown laughter.

“Oh, Maela,” I finally get out. “That wasmagnificent. I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.”

Civilized People

Tuesday, 11 December – Maela

We make it into the hallway before we erupt, shoulders shaking, hooting like gibbons. I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe, and my stomach hurts.

“Oh… my… giddy… aunt!” I sputter. “Ah… ah… did you… see their faces?” I wipe tears away.

Kailani wipes her own eyes and nods her head, face scrunched up like a pug dog’s, nose crinkled and smile wide. She looks like she’s about to say something, then dissolves into laughter again. I feel a little tingle of concern. Had I just made a colossal ass out of myself? At some point, my tirade had lurched sideways like a drunken sailor, and I’m fairly sure I’d started speaking in tongues. The whole ‘me big man, you little woman’ testosterone-fest, after the last few days of cock-pecking, had just made me incredibly annoyed, and yet I’d been desperate to keep things professional and not swear. Otherwise, the arguments I wanted to make would have come out something along the lines of, “You’re all a bunch of fucking fuckers from the planet of fuck and what thefuckdo you think you’re doing ordering us about without so much as a fuckingby your leaveand why don’t you fuck off the lot of you, for fuck’s sake!”

Kailani gives another little “heep” and then straightens. “Oh Maela,” she takes a deep breath, “that wasmagnificent. I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.”

I relax and grin sheepishly. “Well, it certainly shut them up. And I didn’t want to be vulgar. Although,” I frown, “Maddox did choke on his coffee at the end. Not sure if it was the ‘sodding’ or the ‘twat’ that did it. Can’t be the sodding; everybody says that. Must be the twat.”

That sets her off again, and I continue. “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t repeat everything I hear on TV. Eh,” I shrug, “I’m sure he’s heard worse. He’s in the CIA, isn’t he?”

Kailani nods. “And he’s definitely heard worse. Usually from me. I think you went easy on them. My friend Gemma would approve of you; I’m just sorry she was feeling too jet-lagged to come today. She tried, but I told her to go back to bed. It didn’t seem necessary to force her, since we’re not sure if she’s going to the ball, or what her role will be.”

I smile: “That’s good to know. I’ll remember for next time. So, coffee?”

“God, yes. Lead on.”

I take her to the little café around the corner. The pastries behind the glass look particularly appetizing today, and my stomach rumbles loudly at the sight of the scones, buns, cakes, and muffins. “Sorry,” I say, embarrassed. “Didn’t have time for breakfast this morning.”

“Me neither,” Kailani replies absently, rapt attention on a millionaire’s shortbread. “Is... is that chocolateandcaramel?”

“On a shortbread base,” I nod reverently. “There’s a version called ‘billionaire’s shortbread’, where they add marshmallows or nuts, but I’m a purist myself.” I look over the selection. “I might actually go for a fruit scone today. I’m hungry.”

We place our order, Kailani choosing a Chelsea bun and flat white coffee, and take a table in the corner, shrugging off our coats. The café’s warm, after the December chill of the streets, and the windows are a little fogged.

“So,” I begin, when we’ve sat down. Thankfully, the place isn’t too busy this morning, and the tables nearby are unoccupied, the other patrons having chosen the armchairs and sofas at the front.

“So,” she replies, a smile still in her voice.

It’s strange sitting across from someone I know so much about, feelalmostfriends with, but have never met. I look around the cafe, thinking of how to begin. “You know we’re going to get into massive trouble with the teams…” I begin, dawning apprehension and a little evil joy warring in my tone. Kailani cocks her head at me like she's trying to figure something out. “You’re not concerned?” I ask, guessing at the look on her face.

“Sorry,” she says, still watching me through careful, though friendly, eyes. “Your accent... you’ve been here for a while I guess.”