Total pages in book: 206
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 641(@300wpm)
The Japanese restaurant I took her to was almost empty. The hostess I’d talked to that morning wasn’t in sight. The rest of the staff welcomed us and pointed to a table. She didn’t know what to order so I told her I’d order for us.
She examined everything carefully and skeptically but tried every dish that the server put in front of her after having first asked the waiter about shellfish. The waiter had waved her concerns off because of what we’d ordered but he didn’t speak very clear English. She was good-natured about it despite telling me she hadn’t been a very adventurous eater in life so far.
“No shit, Miss Vanilla Ice Cream is my Favorite,” I teased.
She blushed bright pink. “Until I found you, Mr. Blackjack Berry Thunder. Or should I say, until I was betrothed to you.”
She didn’t look unhappy when she said that. I smiled at her. “I’m expanding your palate, and your horizons.” I wiggled my eyebrows at her.
She wiggled hers back at me. “Mm hm. So you’re off on a business trip?” she added.
I scrunched up my face. “Yeah.”
“Unpleasant business?” she asked, then she added, “Or should I not ask?”
I shook my head. “I’m just not looking forward to leaving you at home. I’m thinking I should take you with me.”
“Really? Why? Where?” She looked excited and the idea of her being happy to come with me instead of having time without me felt good. Real good.
“Yeah, it’s too soon for me since the security breaches at home to feel comfortable, so I don’t know that I’d be all that productive unless you were with Dare. But he’s too wrapped up with work shit to be your bodyguard 24/7. I’m vetting a few of my senior guys and will make a decision soon about rotations for security for the house. And I’m not sure I want to be without you.”
She blushed and smiled at me.
“So, tomorrow maybe after we see your foster parents we can go home and pack for Vegas.”
Her face lit up, “Vegas?”
I nodded. She clapped her hands and then was suddenly downtrodden.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m nineteen. Vegas isn’t fun unless you’re twenty-one.” She pouted.
“Unless you’re a high roller,” I said. “No one will card you when you’re with me, baby girl.”
Her smile returned. She took a sip of her Japanese green tea and then started to scratch at her chest. I leaned forward because I could see big blotchy hives across her neck and cleavage. She was a little pale.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I hope nothing we ate had any shellfish.”
She didn’t look good at all.
“You’d better go make yourself puke, Tia. Now!” I waved the waiter over as she dashed to the bathroom. I tried to talk to the waiter, but he kept telling me no to the shellfish question. Clearly, she was having a reaction to the fucking food. Bonehead.
I burst into the bathroom, finding her sitting on the floor beside the toilet in a cold sweat and she looked like death warmed over. Fuck!
I pulled out my phone and called 9-1-1. They were too slow, so I called back from the Jeep and told them never mind. I’d carried her to it then sped down the highway to the hospital five minutes away, carrying her in myself, losing my shit until they rushed out and got her on a gurney. She’d still been conscious, but she was covered in hives and she told me her heart was racing.
By the time she was stuck with a needle, stable, and admitted in the little country hospital I’d found out the restaurant’s miso soup’s secret family ingredient was clams. The hostess had originally had no idea because it was a secret recipe, and the waiter was a fucking bonehead for not alerting the kitchen.
She was going to be fine. They’d given her epinephrine and wanted to watch her overnight. I spent the night in the chair in her room.
In the morning, I called her foster parents and told Cal Crenshaw we couldn’t make brunch and I explained what had happened.
Two hours later they turned up in the waiting room, despite my telling them on the phone that she’d be fine and that they didn’t need to come. I never should’ve told them what hospital we were at.
I wasn’t pleased about it because I wasn’t on the ball after barely sleeping. They approached me all judgmental-looking in the hall while I was on the phone with my brother, dealing with some business stuff and giving him an update, telling him to keep everyone there, that I’d bring Tia home the following day rather than come straight home. I wasn’t ready to step back into my regular life quite yet.
“Mr. Ferrano? Cal Crenshaw. My wife Rose,” the tall, fair, thin professor-looking guy greeted, then shook my hand quickly. His wife, a short Italian woman, held her hands together firmly in front of herself while shooting daggers at me with her eyes.