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“It was Clio’s decision. These people are her connections. I didn’t think you’d mind the gratitude and the recognition one way or another, since Zeus losing the art was your priority.”

Hera wanted to say that she did mind. That there would be questions. That she was already being asked too many by the various Olympus dwellers. Her conversation with Erato from the other day had informed her that people were suspicious. Still, there was no need for Nemesis to know any of that.

“Indeed.” The machine beeped, signaling her espresso was ready, and Hera lifted the little glass cup to her lips, inhaling the aroma. She might actually miss this.

Nemesis watched her closely as she savored the first sip, before patting the chair next to her, the gesture confident and, dammit, sexy. As if she expected Hera to just… As if Hera would acquiesce just because⁠—

Hera sat down in the padded chair and crossed her legs, her robe riding up high on her thighs. Nemesis’s eyes flowed over the material, almost scorching the revealed skin.

“Has he been in touch at all?”

Hera looked away, taking another sip.

“Yes.”

“Just yes? I don’t get details?”

Hera lifted a shoulder.

“It was probably the usual drivel, all thunder and brimstone or whatever, so I have not read his messages nor have I listened to the voicemail.”

Nemesis’s laughter was infectious.

“I bet he’s mad. I bet that voicemail is pure gold.”

“There’s one way to find out if you’d win that wager.”

Hera reached into the pocket of the robe and pulled out her phone. A few swipes of her fingertip and she set it on the table, face up. Zeus’s voice filled the warm, quiet kitchen, immediately ruining the space for Hera. The decibels were high from the very first word.

“You will fucking tell me you know nothing about this, but nobody else would dare, Hera! The Greek government released a statement about the return of all the art! Those pieces were mine! You hear me? Hera! Pick up this blasted phone! Pick it up right this second and explain yourself! My yacht, my company, my art! Woman, I will smite you off the face of the Earth if you don’t pick up this damn phone immediately!—”

There was a woman’s voice in the background, placating, questioning. Zeus’s decibels instantly lowered.

“Sweetheart, I need to speak to this harpy… Please, do not worry…” The rest was mostly cooing and kisses. Hera took another sip of her coffee. Surprisingly, the nauseating display on the recording did nothing to spoil the wonderful taste. Or maybe it was the little devils dancing in the eyes, studying her reaction closely, for once not cold. Nemesis, relaxed, fingers steepled in front of her, her tank stretched over those exquisite abs, biceps good enough to bite. Hera felt her mouth watering. Nemesis in the golden morning hours was gorgeous. And a picture of mischief, which made her ten times more attractive, which Hera thought was simply unfair, as she was already sinful.

“Hera!” Zeus clearly had had enough cooing and kissing as anger returned in his voice. “I will find out what you did, and you shall pay for this, mark my words. I don’t know how, but you shall!” The line went dead. Hera watched the skin now uncovered by the tank as Nemesis leaned forward to rip off a piece of croissant. The flaky pastry was buttery, leaving little shiny streaks on her mouth. Hera’s first impulse was to lick her lips. Then Nemesis’s.

“Well, this was fun.” Nemesis chewed slowly. Hera blinked, realized she was being spoken to and tried to come up with a reply to Nemesis, who was clearly baiting her with nudity…

“Ah, yes… Maybe a bit much before breakfast…”

Nemesis narrowed her eyes.

“I thought you’d enjoy him going full crackpot over this?”

Oh…

Hera hoped her face showed none of her embarrassment. The idea of enjoying Zeus’s tantrum had not even crossed her mind. She must be losing… well, not her touch, but certainly losing something.

“Yes. It was fine.” She pivoted hastily, getting up for more coffee. Anything to hide the blush spreading over her face. Damn this woman.

“Are you okay?” Nemesis’s voice was too careful. Even with her back to her, Hera could feel the angular face becoming focused, concerned.

“Why would I not be?”

“Because he is exchanging saliva with some blonde right on this call?”

Nemesis phrased it as a question, but Hera knew what was really being asked of her. Was she hurt by Zeus and his new paramour?