Page 23 of Scary Suitor

The worst side effect of the poisoned food is vomiting and growling stomachs. The chemical dosage is nonfatal; my goal is to get people sick, confined in the infirmary or a bedroom, and preferably sleeping off the pain.

It’s not bad enough to call ambulances. The cops will surely come with the paramedics, and I’ll have to retreat into the dark until it’s safe to be by Alina’s side again.

“Holy shit,” someone hollers from down the hall, sprinting with galloping speed. “Lord, forgive me for what I’m about to do!”

The sound of pants ripping puts a tsunami siren to shame.

I mask the disinterest with faux concern as I turn to Alina’s team leader. She staggers on the wall, but I make no move to help her.

“Go to the infirmary,” I repeat, “I suspect you will be in a lot of pain if this stomach bug goes untreated.”

The woman’s face pales, squeezing the clipboard to her chest as her knees knock against each other. As much as it’s amusing to see her put on a brave face, she looks pathetically boring after five seconds.

“I can help with ensuring your team is on schedule,” I remark dryly, emphasizing with a smile. “I believe some didn’t have dinner and are not affected, so I can oversee their stamped progress.”

She looks unconvinced, partly due to my unsolicited kindness.

“I’m one of the staff,” I introduce with a hand over my chest, where my fingers graze the black cotton.

She’s about to decline, but her stomach rumbles so loud her face flushes red from embarrassment. Despite that, the woman still has apprehension about me.

“You’ll only have those who are sick to make up for and not the whole team. It would take too long, and you might miss your return flight.”

That sells it. She thrusts the clipboard into my hand and hurries to the infirmary.

I flip through the chart, memorizing Alina’s progress and the remaining few days of activities. My feet carry me out of the hall, instantly meeting the eyes of one of the kitchen staff.

He lowers his gaze and gradually slows his pace, whispering: “Boss.”

He doesn’t stop or linger by me, knowing there is a security camera above that’s recording us. I’d rather not give the police any probable cause to question me because one of my men had infiltrated as a chef to poison dinner.

All because I didn’t want others to see my pretty girl wet.

No price is too high for her.

I stop by the sleeping quarters, knocking firmly on Alina’s door, and listen closely to the shuffling on the other side. She asks who I am but doesn’t wait for my answer before opening the door.

I bite my tongue from scolding her carelessness.

“Oh,” she squeaks, instinctively swinging the door at my face.

My hand slaps the wood, forcing her to stumble back as I push the door wider. A flurry of demands for me to get out and away from her has her face blooming hotly.

That would defeat the purpose of the stunt I pulled.

I wave the clipboard in her face, smirking contentedly as her face contorts with indignation.

“I’m your proctor,” I proclaim, “I suggest you stop with the attitude.”

“You’re not,” she denies, desperately trying not to roll her eyes. “My team leader is—”

“Is sick,” I finish, “I saw her on the way here. Quite the nasty bug.”

I want to pinch her cheek to bring back the color that’s draining too quickly.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, as anticipated.

I gesture her out the door and jab a finger down the hall. “She’s in the infirmary. Go ask.”

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