Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“How do you think? I worked. It’s what normal people do, Zeke. You’re rich. You’ve never had to think about food or a roof over your head or a sick sister.” His lips tighten and a shadow crosses his eyes. It takes him more than a minute before he blinks and the Zeke I am getting to know is back.
“What about school?”
I pick up another roll but just pick at it. I shake my head. I don’t know why I feel embarrassed about this. I had zero options. It’s not like I’m a drop out by choice.
“You never graduated high school?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“When would I have?” I snap, forcing myself to hold his gaze. Mom would tell me I have nothing to be ashamed of. I did what I had to do to take care of my family. But it’s hard to keep my eyes on his. It’s like he sees inside me, and I don’t know how I feel about that. “Anyway, School of Hard Knocks, right?” I joke, look away. “Carly starting to look better to you?” I take off my sweater and drape it over the back of my chair, sweaty under his scrutinizing gaze not to mention anxious at what I have to do.
“You did it for your sister.” It’s not a question and I don’t answer it. Instead, I lather butter on the roll.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask him because he hasn’t touched the bread.
“I don’t usually eat this early.”
“Then why are we?”
“I wanted to see something.”
“What?”
Before he has a chance to answer, two waiters arrive at our table carrying our dinner, two gorgeous steaks, a huge plate of fries, salads, a side of bright green broccoli and more bread. It smells amazing and my stomach growls so loudly I’m sure everyone hears it.
As soon as the waiters are gone, I pick up my knife and fork and cut into my steak. Well, I attempt to, but the knife digs into the cut on my palm, and I put it down with a hiss of pain.
A small drop of blood appears along the cut. Zeke takes his napkin and puts it in my palm.
“Hold that,” he says and, using his knife and fork, slices my steak while I watch, confused. Surprised. No, shocked. “There,” he says when he’s done. He pushes the plate back in front of me and I feel the warmth of tears in my eyes. I don’t understand why. I look down at the steak cut into small bite-size pieces and remind myself my hand is cut because I made a shiv to protect myself against him. I can’t feel tenderness or read into anything he does. He needs me to eat so I don’t pass out. That’s all this is. That is all.
I stab a piece of steak and put it into my mouth. The meat is tender, seasoned to perfection and grilled exactly like I like it and my appetite returns. I eat a second bite.
“There wasn’t much food at your apartment,” Zeke comments as he watches me before slicing into his steak.
“I ate at The Cat House. Best part of the job was the food.”
“Was?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m fired. I was supposed to go in last night. Not that I planned on going back anyway.”
“Why did you take a job there?”
“Money but also curiosity maybe. You were supposed to be in Amsterdam. I didn’t think I’d ever run into you. They paid great, so much better than any other job I could get, and…” I trail off and shrug my shoulders. I drink more of the wine and he refreshes my glass. “Once you paid, I was going to leave New Orleans. I like the place Wren’s at now, so it made sense to work there. It’s how I could afford her care. Anyhow, I don’t know. This is good. Thanks.”
He nods and we eat, conversation minimal. I’ve already said too much. And I realize I’m also drinking too much when he pours the last of the wine into my glass. I think he’s barely had one refill.
His phone buzzes with a message as dessert comes, crème brûlée, a cappuccino for me and espresso for him. I break the glassy layer of burnt sugar and take a bite and wow. This is another level of delicious.
“Good?” he asks.
I guess I’d closed my eyes as the custard melted on my tongue. I nod. “You want to try it?”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t eat dessert.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you should start. A little sweetness in your life might make you a happier person. Maybe—and I’m going to go out on a limb here, but maybe it’ll even make you nice.”
“Says the woman who tried to blackmail me.” He shifts his gaze to his phone. “You’re clean.”
“Excuse me?”
“No STDs. Nothing wrong with your blood apart from the iron deficiency.”