Baron Lawrence pulled her to a window seat, domineeringly pressed down on her shoulders, and made her sit on the chair. Then he lifted his chin, saying naturally, "Wait here for me."
"Where are you going?"
"If I tell you to wait, you wait," he added, "I'll be out soon."
Enna Clark watched as he strode with his long legs into the cafeteria's kitchen, a twitch at the corner of her mouth.
Could it be that Baron was going to cook himself?
She couldn't help but recall the last time he had taken to the kitchen and the touching red wine chicken he made, her heart leapt in anticipation.
It wasn't that she was being dramatic.
The thing was, other people's cooking cost money, Baron's cooking could cost lives!
...
He said he would be quick, and he really was.
In less than ten minutes, he emerged with a steaming bowl of something.
