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“The nearest grocery store.”
Shane follows me into the store, but lags about four feet behind. I’m feeling a bit like a dog on a leash. My pit bull is about to come out and play.
She doesn’t say anything when I pick up the potato chips, but she makes what sounds like a tick noise. This happens when I put a bag of licorice in my cart and the bread. I’m sticking a bag of Oreos in my grocery cart when I get the noise again. That’s it, enough is enough.
“Do you have something to say?” I put my hand on my hip. This lady is super annoying. She’s about as personable as a corpse. I hope her ninja skills, or whatever skills are required for her security job, are better than her personality, because it stinks.
“You should really rethink your purchases. Most of the stuff in your basket is very high in carbs and fat.”
“Thanks for the input, but if I’d wanted your input, I would have asked. Enough with the weird ticking noises. It’s annoying.” When I turn the corner, I’m too busy grumbling about my stupid predicament, and my cart smashes into the back of a man. He drops everything he’s holding, including a carton of eggs. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I walk around to help gather his fallen groceries and get a look at him. It’s Elvis.
“You need to watch where you’re going.”
“I’m really sorry.”
The Elvis impersonator snarls at me. “You should be.” This catches me off guard, and I slip on one of the broken eggs, landing on my ass and the rest of the eggs.
“Serves you right for running into me.”
“Well, you may look like Elvis, but you’re certainly nothing like him. Maybe you should try a new profession.” Sheesh, what a jerk.
Apparently, this terrible Elvis impersonator doesn’t appreciate my honesty. He picks up a cracked egg, but before he can drop it on me, Shane steps between us. I can’t really see what happens, but I see him back up all the way down the aisle, turn and run away like a scared cat.
Yikes, I wonder if she dates much. I’m a slimy, smelly mess. I have egg across my butt and down my pant leg. Perfect, this day started out so well. Usually, Elvis and I get along great. It’s not a sign, it’s not a sign, because if it’s a sign—it’s a bad one.
“Would you like to clean up?”
Uh—hmm, I don’t know. I’m kind of digging the slimy, smelly raw egg look.
“Yes.” I seethe. Cleaning the egg off doesn’t help the smell go away. I give up after ten minutes. I just need to check out and go home. Of course, the check-out line is a mile long. Why on earth would I think I could catch a break? I watch the guy in front of me inch closer to the lady in front of him. When he gets as close as he can go, he has the nerve to plug his nose. Oh, my freaking hell, it’s not like I fell in a pile of garbage, it was a few fresh eggs. But I feel my cheeks flare with heat. I’m totally mortified by this situation and thoroughly ticked off. I decide I’m nice enough to help him out and inch closer to him. Don’t test me buddy. He turns slightly, giving me the evil eye. I look at him, then turn and glance behind me at Shane, like I do not know what this guy’s problem is. The guy nods and turns back around.
I walk through the foyer of the villa with a sigh, grateful to be home.
“Mrs. Holt,” I turn to see Trisha behind the front desk.
“Hi. It’s Trisha, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I have a gift basket that arrived for you.” She holds it out for me.
“Oh, thank…” Before I can finish saying thank you and take the basket, Shane snatches it out of Trisha’s hand.
That’s it. “Excuse you, what do you think you’re doing?”
“This needs to go through a security check.” She undoes the plastic.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Trisha taps a finger on Shane’s shoulder. “All baskets going to the Holt’s villa go through a security check before they receive them.”
Shane doesn’t say anything, just stops what she’s doing, and holds the basket out for me.
“Would you like help with your bags?”
“No, thank you.” I stomp over to the elevator and press the button. I turn to see Shane standing next to me. “You know, I realize maybe this isn’t what you had in mind when you took this job. But I can assure you, having someone drive me around and follow me everywhere isn’t really what I had in mind, either. This isn’t something I want. I do it for my husband.” The doors open and I step inside. “And Shane, from now on, please call me Mrs. Holt or Kate.” The doors close unceremoniously.
I change out of my smelly clothes and call housekeeping to come get them, so the egg doesn’t harden. After I’m changed, I look over at the gift basket. There isn’t a card. My heart sinks a little when I look at the contents of the basket. There are a couple of bridal magazines, some mints, and a gift-wrapped box. I unwrap the box. It’s a sex book. Cosmo’s Kama Sutra. As I flip through it, my poor cheeks flash, instantly hot with embarrassment. Oh wow, I don’t think so and I shut the book. I need to hide this, so Cole doesn’t see it. Once it’s sufficiently hidden at the bottom of my underwear door, I pilfer through the rest of the basket. There are a few brochures about wedding venues, and a bridal hairstyle magazine. A card with whom it’s from is nowhere to be found. I call the front desk and ask Trisha if it accidentally dropped, but she says it never had one on it. Great, just great. Someone’s playing a lousy joke at my expense.
But I can’t help myself. I grab the mints and the Oreos, along with the magazines and haul them over to the sofa. A little after five, all the mints and half the Oreo bag later, I’m feeling sufficiently sorry for myself, and a little bit sick from all the junk food. I’ve earmarked a half a dozen wedding gowns. Why, I have no idea. I definitely missed out on something. I fling myself across the sofa. I’m pathetic. I got the guy. That’s all that matters, right? I saved time, money and a lot of frustration. This isn’t helping me feel better. I pick up the magazines along with the rest of the cookies and dump them in the garbage. I’m walking back through the living room when the elevator dings.
“Kate,” Cole yells, running into the villa.
