I sigh. My appetite is nonexistent, but it would be rude not to try some at least.

The scent that greets me is delicious. Ginger and something else, something fresh. He’s served the broth on the breakfast bar which divides the wide-open space of my kitchen. I take a seat, perched on one of the stools.

“Dig in,” he says.

I do as ordered and try a spoonful. Oh, wow, it’s really good. “This is tasty,” I say, swallowing and dabbing my mouth with the napkin he’s also put out.

It freaks me out a little that he seems to know his way around my kitchen as if he’s lived here for years, rather than arrived today.

He shrugs as he settles on the stool opposite me. “It’s simple. Chicken, ginger, spring onion, mushrooms, Shaoxing wine, and the noodles. Normally, I’d add chili, but your stomach won’t thank me for that.”

His smile is brief as he digs into his own bowl. I manage to eat around half of it, which is more than I’ve had in a long time. I’ve been living on crisps, olives, chocolate, and wine since the whole death threat situation blew up.

“Is there anything you want to do while you’re here?” I ask him.

His brows arch. “I’m here to work and keep you safe. This isn’t a holiday.”

“Surely though, there’s something you want to see in London?”

I’d love it if he gave me an itinerary of things to do because I’m going stir crazy but can’t seem to settle on anything I want to do myself. My mind can’t seem to make the simplest decision right now. If he gives me a list, then we can do what he wants; simple.

“Negative.”

“Negative because you’re working? Or, negative as in there’s nothing you want to do or see.”

“Both,” he says. He finishes his broth and wipes his mouth, before taking a sip of the water he has in the tall glass by him.

Jesus, he’s hard work. Annoyed, I push away from the bar and go pour myself a glass of wine from the fridge.

“You drink too much.” His low voice caresses my back as I take my first sip.

Oh, no, he didn’t.

“Excuse me?” I whirl around to face him. “Last I checked, you work for me, and you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

He crosses his arms and fixes me with his intense stare. “I don’t work for you; I work for your father. The contract between us is quite clear. To keep you safe.”

“Well, the wine isn’t going to kill me.”

He huffs out a dark chuckle. “The rate you’re going at with it, I wouldn’t be too sure.”