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“In my house it is. Stay and eat. I’ll have you back to your car by this afternoon.”
I shake my head, irked at myself for sleeping in. He picks up on my hesitation, takes my hand and walks me to the kitchen.
“You have to be somewhere?” He pulls a chair out from under a modern white kitchen table. The plate of scrambled eggs, roasted tomatoes and kale, and crisp potatoes looks and smells delicious.
“Apparently not.” I set my coffee mug down and take my seat.
He plows his fork into his breakfast while I sip my coffee. It’s so much better than the bargain brand I buy.
“Odessa seems accustomed to female guests,” I say. Not out of jealousy, but observation.
“She’s very professional.”
At that non-answer, I grouse. His response was unsatisfying. Okay, I’m a tad jealous.
He takes a bite out of a slice of toast and watches me. Shirtless. Over breakfast. No wonder I slept with him. His potency is grotesque. I’m sort of mad at him about it.
“What’s next week look like for you?” he asks.
“Oh, you know. The usual forty hours at CRBI.” I take a bite of scrambled eggs. They’re delicious, and topped with sliced fresh chives.
“Have lunch with me on Friday. I’ll show you the progress at Grand Marin.”
“Why?”
His eyebrows crawl up his forehead.
“Why?” He laughs, amused. “Why not?”
“I already slept with you. I don’t require further dates.” I stab a few potatoes with my fork. They are equally delicious.
“Afraid I’ll penetrate the protective wall you built around yourself if we continue hanging out?”
Well. Doesn’t that hint he already has? I sift through my memories of last night. I didn’t reveal my real last name or my parentage. I remember that much. But he is very, very curious. And protective. When I mentioned the man who left me in the poorhouse, Nate was ready to rumble.
“That’s my past. Now’s what matters.”
The slide of his fork against his teeth sends a shiver down my spine. “Fair enough.”
After I eat half my breakfast and am sipping a second cup of coffee, there’s a knock at the door. Slow Sunday, my ass. This place is humming with activity and it’s not even noon.
A young brunette woman enters through the foyer, dragging a rack of clothing with her. Women’s clothing.
And here I am in my panties and Nate’s T-shirt, peeking around the kitchen doorway.
“I hope this is sufficient.” The brunette is younger than Odessa. She might be younger than me. She’s pretty and rail-thin, dressed in black with a flexible tape measure draped around her neck.
“Viv,” Nate calls. “Come see what Brandy has for you.”
“Um. I’m not dressed,” I call back, peeved.
“That’s Brandy’s job.” He takes my hand and pulls me into the living room. To Brandy, he says, “Did you bring shoes as well?”
“Yes! Almost forgot. I’ll grab them.” She disappears and I take in the rack of designer jeans and summery dresses and shorts.
“What is going on?”
“You’re not returning to your car in last night’s clothes,” he says.
