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“It’s not that, is it?” He grimaced as he stared at the gloopy stuff in the bowl.
“Oh no, this is for our guest. I wouldn’t feed this to you.”
“Our guest? You mean, Cat? What do you mean you wouldn’t feed it to me?”
“Oh, because it tastes like shit.”
Hearing Bernard swear made him smile. The butler was always so stiff and formal. He’d told him so many times just to call him Alejandro, but Bernard still insisted on using his last name.
Then the smile dropped off his face. “Why would you serve this to Cat if it tastes terrible? Did she ask for this?”
“No, she didn’t. And she’s being very ungrateful by not eating any of the food I’ve provided. She has no respect for the time and money spent creating her meals.”
Fuck.
A bad feeling developed in his stomach. “Were they all as bad as this?”
“Perhaps worse. Last night, I gave her lamb’s fry. Lunch yesterday was a kale salad. No dressing. And oatmeal for breakfast.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve fed her?” he asked in a tight voice.
Bernard eyed him. “Yes. It is.”
“And she hasn’t been eating it?”
Fuck. Fuck.
He was close to exploding. He envisioned his hands going around Bernard’s throat, slowly draining the life out of him. The only things stopping him were the fact that Bernard had been in his employ for years and that he likely had what he thought was a good reason for doing this.
At least he’d better.
“Why would you feed her food that she obviously doesn’t like?”
Bernard looked surprised before he frowned. “She’s our guest.”
“Yes. Our guest. I’ve never seen you try to feed food like this to Reuben.”
“Because he’s your friend. Of course I wouldn’t. Although he deserves it.”
Bernard and Reuben didn’t get along.
“So why feed it to Cat, then? My guest.”
“Yes, your guest . . . oh dear.” Bernard grew pale, looking sick. “You mean she’s an actual guest? Not a . . . um . . . a guest-guest?”
“Bernard,” he said impatiently. “Start making fucking sense. And I want a good explanation for why a woman under my protection hasn’t fucking eaten in over thirty hours.”
He had no idea when the last time she’d eaten was before that. She’d refused dinner because she was been too upset, but he’d been hoping she’d eat breakfast.
Joder.
This is your fault.
He shouldn’t have left her alone for this long. And he should have given Bernard explicit instructions on how to care for her.
Idiot.
“I . . . I . . . I . . .”
He’d never heard the typically composed man stumble over his words like he was right now. But he didn’t fucking care. All he wanted was an explanation.
Then, he was going to go check on Cat before he fed her some proper fucking food.
“Bernard,” he snapped. “Explanation now.”
“You told me to keep her door locked,” Bernard managed to get out. “You told me to watch her. I thought . . . I thought when you said guest, you meant prisoner. The only guest we ever have is Mr. Jones, and he comes and goes as he pleases.”
Fuck. This really was his fault.
He pinched the top of his nose, trying to take some calming breaths. “The reason I didn’t want Cat to leave her room is because I don’t fully trust her yet. I don’t know her. And I didn’t want her leaving on her own because she could be in danger. But she’s here for her own protection.”
“Oh. I thought you were going to interrogate her or that she’d done something awful.”
“When have I ever brought someone back to my home that I was going to interrogate?” he snapped.
He should probably feel bad for the way that Bernard jumped, but the man had taken far too many liberties. If he wasn’t sure about how Cat should be treated, then he should have checked in with Alejandro.
And you should have checked in with him to make sure that she was all right.
Fuck.
“Never. But she’s a woman, and I thought . . .”
“Right. Do me a favor and don’t think next time. Call me and ask me.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. De Leon.”
“I’m not the one you owe an apology to.”
Bernard grimaced. Seemed he didn’t like the idea of that.
Well, he’d fucking do it. He might have been with Alejandro for eight years now, but that didn’t mean that he got a pass on this.
“And you can start by making her something she’ll actually want to eat. We’ll both be in the dining room in thirty minutes.” He filled up another cup with coffee. “How does she take her coffee?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask her.”
“Did you take her some?”
“No.” Bernard stepped over to the pantry hastily. “I’ll make breakfast now.”
Yeah, he would do well to get far away from him. Before he wrung his damn neck.
Not all the blame can go on Bernard’s shoulders. You did lock her in her room and tell Bernard to keep her there.
