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I watched him. Was that…concern playing out on my brother’s face?
“What?” His tone was sharp.
“It’s nothing.” With my brother, less was always more, and nothing was best. “So…can you help me? And by me, I mean Hannah.”
“I’ll help. If it gets rid of Zhao, I’m in.”
Chapter 24
Hannah
“Have you heard anything from Biyu?” Wes asked me.
“No. Have you heard anything from Ellis?”
He shook his head. “He reached out to his friend, but I don’t know anything else.”
“Keep me posted, okay?” I leaned down and gave him a quick kiss. “I have to get to the office.”
“Do you want me to come with you today instead of Brian?”
I put a hand on my hip. “Levi told me he’s got you busy transcribing field notes and writing reports. Which I think is perfect, seeing as you’re still on restricted duty.”
Wes grimaced. “Gee, thanks. I’d rather gouge my eye out with a pencil than do more paperwork, but if you think it’s a good idea…”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”
But even though I’d vowed to be supportive, I wasn’t sorry in the slightest. The longer Wes stayed on restricted duty, the longer he was safe. I patted his broad shoulder, which felt firm beneath
my touch—he wouldn’t be deskbound much longer.
“Can you leave work early today? There’s a house I want to take a look at.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so—I have a ton of calls to make. Maybe we can grab dinner after, and then you can tell me all about it?”
“Sounds good.” He reached up and kissed me, making my body ache for him.
When he pulled back, I realized I still felt achy. My head thudded.
Wes narrowed his eyes. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just need to drink some water. I’ll see you later. Love you.”
When I got to the office, I poured myself a large glass of water and settled at my desk. I relaxed as I cleaned out my email inbox, getting it back to zero new messages, right where I liked it. Still, I had a lot of work to do. The international business journals were jockeying around me, asking for an exclusive on the story I’d promised. I’d decided to commit to The Wall Street Journal—they were prestigious, had a huge readership, and were distinctly American—all the better to annoy Li Na.
I sent an email to my friend who worked there, Calvin, telling him about my decision to give him the exclusive.
And then I ran into my bathroom and promptly threw up.
What the hell? I sat on the bathroom floor, reeling, but the nausea passed quickly.
By the time I got back to my desk, I was shaking. Part of me worried I was about to have another panic attack or that I was coming down with a stomach bug. But after a minute, I realized I didn’t have the chills—I was just starving. I smacked my head. I’d forgotten to eat breakfast, and when I thought back further, I realized I hadn’t been eating my normal load over the past few days. I’d been too upset about Biyu. No wonder I felt like crap.
I hustled to the cafeteria where I got my usual, a vanilla protein shake and a salad with roasted beets and goat cheese. Back in my office, I arranged my food and had a big slug of my shake. My mouth immediately puckered—it tasted sour. I put the lid on it, setting it aside in disgust. I bent to have a bite of my salad, but the smell of the marinated beets was too pungent. Usually I loved them, but today, ugh. Maybe I was coming down with a stomach bug?
But at the thought of my stomach, it howled with hunger.
All of a sudden, I knew what I wanted. Vegetable lo mein, the greasy kind, from the Chinese takeout place on Sixth Street. I pulled up the menu and called them, then called Brian and whined until he agreed to drive me there.
