#an interlude

Honey has asked if she can go see it, because she's a curious woman, and she wants to. And he looks awkward and says he isn't supposed to take anyone. Yes, he's the boss, but he has to set a good example.

Does this stop Honey from trying? Nope.

She will see that facility. She's determined.

Over two weeks she accumulates the goods necessary to loosen Marcus up. A bottle of his favorite rye. A plain, white body suit that hugs her curves. She even learns how to make scampi and it only takes two failed attempts.

Marcus wonders why there is so much shrimp in the fridge, and eyes her suspiciously.

Honey pulls all the stops - cleans, cooks, gets a sugar waxing, she will see the stolen art. She must. She grumbles it to herself while trying her silk robe around the bodysuit.

She's just browning the butter for the shrimp when she hears Marcus hang his jingly keys up at the front door of his townhouse. She bites her lip when he clasps her waist in his big hands and holds himself along her back.

"Did you know," he murmurs in her ear, tickling her with his scruff, "that when you were my student-" her cheeks warm up "-whenever you asked for a favor, you would bring me a pastry from the café?"

Honey stop moving the butter around in the pan. Marcus buries his face in her neck.

"I did?"

He sets his chin on her shoulder. "You did."

She turn the burner off but continues holding the spatula.

Does she feel silly standing there with her hair done in her barefeet and bathrobe, looking like a housewife? Yes. Does she regret it? No.

"Well," she says, finding her courage and turning the burner back on, "if you're so observant let's see you guess what I'm going to ask for."

"You want to see the art storage facility."

She drops the spatula on the counter and turns in his arms, crossing her own.

"baby," Marcus says, placatingly, "I'm a detective. It wasn't hard to figure out." He kisses down her cheek to your neck. She stands stock still, unaffected by his affection. However nice it is.

"I put so much work into this bribe," she whines, with his face in her neck. Arms still crossed.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says, genuinely apologetic. "Would it make a difference if I said I got you this?" From his other hand, the one not holding her back, he dangles a little clip-on badge that says 'consultant' and has her name in Marcus's neat, all caps print.

Honey squeaks. She reaches for the badge, looking at Marcus to make sure its' real.

"I'm a consultant?"

"For exactly ninety minutes on Thursday afternoon you're a consultant," he says, all smiles. Honey runs her fingers over the laminated surface. She clips it onto her silk robe.

"What's my specialty?" she says and picks the spatula back up, absolutely content in her new status as temporary consultant.

Marcus keeps staring at where the little metal clip has dragged the silk to show the curve of your chest.

"Art recovery and negotiation."

Honey stops adding the minced garlic half scoop. "That isn't an art form."