Page 15 of Keeping Kasey (Love and Blood #3)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Kasey

“How long does this normally take?” I ask Damon, who looks as bored as I am.

We’re sitting at a small, circular table near the platform of the base’s conference hall. The other three seats at our table are empty—the only empty seats in the room, which is packed with every Consoli soldier in the city.

It has to be at least two hundred men.

Damon checks his watch. “It should’ve started ten minutes ago. I’m starving.”

Tonight is my first Consoli family dinner.

Once a month, every soldier within the city comes together for a meeting and dinner. According to Damon, it ensures clear communication and fosters camaraderie, which directly improves efficiency and loyalty.

I have no idea what I’m supposed to gain from being here, but like everyone else, I didn’t have a choice. I tried to get out of it, even going so far as to fake a cough, but it wasn’t my best work, and Damon wasn’t falling for it.

So, I settle for taunting him.

“Shouldn’t you be with Logan and the others? You’re a capo, too. How come you’re missing out on the grand entrance?”

Damon leans back in his chair, the sleeves of his button-up rolled just below his elbows. His jacket is slung carelessly over the back of his chair, and his expression remains unbothered.

“As if I need any more attention than I’m already getting,” he says with a glance around us.

At first, I think he’s talking about the attention his past garners, but when I follow his gaze, I understand what he means.

Of the soldiers filling the room, at least half of them have their eyes fixed on me at any given moment. They aren’t even shy about it. Dozens of men nod in my direction as they talk to each other, and I even catch a few suggestive winks.

“It’s like they’ve never seen a woman before,” I mutter.

“They’re trying to figure out why you’re here.”

“Don’t they know?”

“Some of them know you’ve worked on the security system, but Logan will officially announce it tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because the whole point of family dinner is keeping everyone on the same page,” he explains.

“Except they aren’t on the same page. You’re keeping things from them.”

He shrugs. “Obviously, we can’t disclose everything, but being intentional about communication solves a lot of problems before they get out of control.”

“And that’ll get them to stop staring?”

Damon gives me a once-over. “Probably not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer, but he does run his eyes up and down my body again. It’s more a pointed gesture than leering.

I look down and assess my outfit. It’s not the same level of professionalism that everyone here seems to maintain, but it’s perfectly appropriate for a meeting.

The jeans hug my hips and cling to my legs all the way down to my high-top sneakers. My top is a lacy black fabric that cuts off just above my jeans. The sweetheart neckline is flattering, but hardly revealing, and I’m wearing a beige cardigan over it anyway.

“There’s nothing wrong with my outfit,” I say and cross my arms over my chest.

“Didn’t say there was.”

I glare at him, but he barely acknowledges it.

I place both hands on the table and push my chair back. I never should’ve come to this stupid meeting in the first place.

Just as my chair begins to move, the double doors open, and Logan, James, and Matteo walk into the room. The voices of every soldier cease at their entrance, and there’s a shuffling as everyone straightens in their chairs.

They stride to the platform with an air of untouchability—like kings ascending their thrones.

But only one of them is the real king.

Logan walks a step in front of his brother and cousin, but he doesn’t need to. Even if they walked side by side, there’d be no doubt who was in charge.

There’s something magnetic about Logan.

Whether you’re for him or against him, you’re drawn to him.

And though I rarely know if I’m for or against Logan, I’m undeniably drawn to him.

It’s been two days since Logan and I set the terms of our arrangement, and so far, it’s been surprisingly pleasant.

We agreed to three conditions.

1. No one can know.

2. No sleepovers.

3. The fling ends with my contract.

I couldn’t care less about the first condition, but it seemed important to Logan. I’m sure it has to do with his reputation, so I didn’t fight him on it. Elise already knows—which means Moreno likely does, too—and I’d be shocked if James and Damon haven’t figured it out by now, but whatever.

The arrangement has also made my life here more bearable.

My interactions with Logan include very little conversation, which means—aside from snarky comments we can’t help but throw at each other—we haven’t fought. Once he leaves my room, I spend my nights in blissful solitude.

Logan seems to be in a better mood, too. I’ve caught a real smile from him a few times, always directed at either James or Elise. He’s opted to ignore Damon rather than glare at him, and I even heard him speak civilly to Moreno before he and Elise left yesterday morning.

Despite his initial hesitation, Moreno agreed to let me give Elise a full-on digital resurrection.

She argued that the rumors about her are already widespread, and a public outing before their wedding would give them more control over the narrative of the alliance between the Morenos and Consolis.

In addition to this agreement, Moreno added that the strongest allies of the Consoli family should be invited to the wedding to witness the alliance firsthand.

I couldn’t care less about their reasoning. The only reason I know it at all is because Moreno and Elise wouldn’t stop fighting about it the entire time they were in town.

It was annoying as hell.

As the three men pass in front of our table, Logan glances my way. His passive, regal expression cracks when he meets my gaze, and his eye twitches the slightest bit.

He looks away just as quickly, but I didn’t miss the tick; he’s angry.

So much for his improved mood.

Logan, James, and Matteo prattle on for an hour about things that have absolutely nothing to do with me. Changes in procedure, new policies, and updates on matters that I don’t care about.

I tune them out, and it is the longest, most boring hour of my life.

“Lastly,” Logan says, stepping up to the podium as Matteo steps back. “We’re upgrading each base’s security system to ensure the power outage from last week does not repeat itself. To do this, we’ve contracted Kasey, who will be at the base until the job is done.”

The change is subtle—a slight narrowing of his eyes and tight pull of his lips—but the sharpened edge to Logan’s expression conveys a severity that can be felt from every corner of the room.

A silent but clear warning in itself.

“She is a guest at this base and will be treated as such. If anyone steps out of line where she is concerned, they will answer directly to me,” he says, staring down every man in the room. “This concludes our meeting. Dinner will now be served.”

The three of them reach our table just as the servers bring out the food. Logan strides to the seat next to mine, James by his side, and Matteo sits across from me.

I’ve only talked to Matteo on a few occasions.

He shares the Consolis’ curly hair—even more so than Logan, James, and Damon—though his is cropped short in tight coils, framing his rectangular face and complementing his manicured beard.

He has hooded eyes that are always relaxed in a bored expression.

Right now, they assess me with a question that I ignore as Logan leans in to steal my attention.

“What are you wearing?” he asks in a tight whisper, though his face remains calm aside from a tick in his jaw.

That’s what he’s mad about? My outfit?

What does he want from me? I stopped wearing the athletic sets to the base after my first day, but this bothers him, too? Since when are jeans and a cardigan inappropriate?

“Under this, nothing,” I say with a sweet smile.

“Your top might as well be lingerie. Button up your cardigan.”

I laugh but stop when his eyes narrow to thin slits.

He’s serious.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Button up your cardigan,” he repeats, enunciating each word.

I don’t bother telling him that the buttons are decorative and don’t actually function. I don’t bother arguing with him over the appropriateness of my outfit at all.

When the waiters reach our table and one reaches between Logan and me to set a plate down, I slip my arms from the cardigan and let it fall over the back of my chair.

I refuse to look at Logan when the waiter steps away.

I cut into my chicken—seasoned with a dozen herbs and served with green beans and dinner rolls—and take a bite.

Everyone at our table freezes, eyes locked on me. I feel, rather than see, the eyes of every soldier in this room trained on me, too.

They were waiting for Logan to eat first.

I expect to see a spiteful glare when I look up, but Logan’s expression is perfectly neutral. He quickly cuts into his food and takes a bite, effectively breaking the tension and giving everyone permission to eat.

I don’t see Logan’s hand drop below the table, but the second the room’s attention shifts, my chair squeaks as it’s jerked against his.

I nearly fall out of the seat, but catch my balance on Logan’s thigh at the last moment. I pull my hand back immediately, but he’s invading so much of my space that it seems like a moot point.

His lips are at my ear. “You can argue with me. You can fight me. You can even eat before me. But you can not undress in front of my men.” He punctuates his statement by taking the cardigan from my chair and resting it over my shoulders.

His stern tone is a stark contrast to the gentle gesture.

“I’d hardly call it undressing . There’s nothing wrong with my shirt.” Despite my words, I slide my arms through the cardigan.

As satisfying as it was to make Logan squirm, I’m not a fan of the entire room looking at me now that I got his attention.