Page 120 of His Secret Gift

She then shrugs one of her shoulders up and down. “I don’t know.”

I gasp and can hardly believe what I’m hearing. “That ‘H’ we were talking about was for Harper,” I say, in case there was some misunderstanding.

“No, I know that.”

“Then how can you act as cool as a cucumber when I tell you he’s on a video call with her… the woman who quite literally sexually assaulted him.”

She sits back and rubs her hands together, causing little tan particles to fly everywhere. “I’m not excusing his actions in any way. I just—”

I shake my head. “It sure sounds like some excuses are about to come out of that little mouth of yours.”

“Have you ever tried to learn a second language? Even a few short sentences?”

“Yes. I learned several in anticipation of being in Morocco, and a few in Greek, too.”

“Okay, but were you learning them to impress random locals or someone who could bring literally millions if not billions of dollars into your company?”

Well, I obviously don’t have a company, so the former.

When I tell her that, she nods. “Exactly. Now imagine you are the boss of that multi-billion-dollar company. Are you imagining it? Close your eyes if you need to.”

I do as she suggests, and I try to put myself in Jack’s shoes as well as I can. “Okay?”

“Do you feel all of the pressure you’d have—think of all the salaries and mouths that depend on being fed based off of your performance in a single meeting.”

Just pretending makes my heart rate go up.

“Now, if you could learn some Greek phrases from someone who you’ve already been working with and know won’t judge you if you get something wrong, wouldn’t you continue to do that leading up to that big meeting?”

I open my eyes again and want to knock her over. “I hate it when you’re right.”

With that added clarification and understanding, I stop sulking and allow myself to have some fun.

“Denver! Over here!” I yell out, requesting for him to throw the beach ball, which we were competing to keep away from Gwen and a few others. We make a successful pass, and I throw it over to Callie before one of the guys charges me.

“Ah!” I yell and laugh as he dives right past me, causing a huge splash to hit my face.

Later that night,we all make our way over to a traditional Greek restaurant nearby.

“Have you ever had Ouzo?” Callie asks me.

I scrunch my nose. “What is it?”

“Ouzo. It’s like Greek vodka, kind of.”

“Oh, no. I don’t think so.”

“Wanna try it?” she gets the bottle from one of our dinner mates.

Shrugging, I say, “I suppose. But just a little.” She then fills a little in a glass, and I swig it back, with the feeling of fire pouring down my throat.

“Well?”

I was reserved at first, but then I remind myself that I’m kind of on vacation, at least for now, and I’m with people who I know I can trust. So, I say what the heck, and accept another round.

Unfortunately, it seems as though the falafel I had was not substantial enough to combat the liquor, and I’m much drunkerthan I believe I should be after only a few shots…but then again, how many shots did I take? I try to count on my fingers, but things get fuzzy after six—or is it seven?

I even stumble once or twice as we’re walking along the beach.

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