Page 38 of A Forbidden Arrangement
“I don’t need?—”
Xander’s voice cuts clean through mine. “Make her an omelet. Fruit. Green juice.” He doesn’t raise it, doesn’t even pause. Just flicks his gaze up long enough to pin the chef, then back to the page in his hand.
The woman nods and turns back to the stove like that’s the end of it. His pen moves again, steady across the margin. Like I hadn’t said a word. Like I’m not even sitting here.
Heat climbs into my face, a prickle that spreads down my neck. I press my palms tight against my thighs to keep from fidgeting. Part of me wants to tell the chef to forget it, that I can make my own damn breakfast. I remind myself that she’s just doing her job, and I don’t want to make it any harder.
“Thank you,” I say to get it over with.
The chef gives me a soft smile before going back to work.
Xander doesn’t speak to me again. Instead, he focuses solely on his work, the noise of papers shuffling the only sound between us.
I stare at the stack of folders like they might shift and acknowledge me since he won’t. It’s stupid. I wanted him to leave me alone. So why does the silence pinch?
I hate the small twist in my stomach when he doesn’t even glance at me. It’s pathetic, sitting here wishing for his attention.
My jaw tightens. I shove the feeling down, deep, and huff. It’s too early for Stockholm syndrome. Nerves, maybe. Or just the fact that after everything, I don’t know where to look when I’m this close to him and he acts like I don’t exist.
The silence drags, so I clear my throat. “I need to call my boss at the diner. Let her know I’m okay.”
“Already did.”
My brows pull tight. “Pretty sure some random man calling her isn’t going to cut it.”
He slides his phone across the counter like we’ve skipped the whole discussion. The screen is lit with Connie’s number already ready to call.
I reach for the phone, but his hand comes down first, firm against the edge. “Speaker.”
The word leaves no room for argument. He pulls his hand back, already bent over the page in front of him, like I’m nothing more than background noise.
My stomach knots as I hit the button. It rings a few times, and then Connie’s voice spills through, warm and full like always. “Sarah. Thank God. We’ve all been so worried.” She doesn’t give me time to answer before she keeps going. “That man came by. The one who brought you home from the hospital. Such a gentleman. And handsome too.” I can practically hear the wink in her voice.
I force a laugh, my eyes on the neat curve of Xander’s pen as it scratches the margin. For a second, I think about telling her everything that happened, using her as a lifeline while I still can. But then I remember the man on his knees in the alleyway, begging for his life. There’s no way I’m going to drag her into this, even if she’s the only chance I have. I’d rather stay here than risk her getting hurt.
So I play along. “I’m okay, Connie. Just banged up a little.”
“I should say so. Harold said he was in shock to see you being lifted into the ambulance. Said your head was covered in blood. Thank God you’re okay.”
I wince, thinking about how close Harold was to two killers. “Looked worse than it was. Head wounds bleed too much, but it’s only a scrape. I promise.”
There’s a pause on the line, then a soft sigh. “Well, I’m glad you found somewhere safe.”
“Me too.” My voice barely clears my throat, but it’s enough.
She wraps it up with a few more reassurances and promises to pass along the message to everyone at the diner.
A plate slides in front of me, steam curling up, and my stomach growls before I even pick up the fork.
I take a bite, the eggs fluffy and rich, and hum without meaning to when the taste hits. It’s better than anything I’ve made for myself.
My eyes flick open, and Xander’s are already on me.
Dark, steady, unreadable. The fork hangs midway for a second too long before I lower it. He doesn’t say anything, just studies me until one of the suited men clears his throat. “Sir, your next meeting.”
Xander pushes back from the stool and straightens, smooth as ever.
The question blurts before I can stop it. “What about my things?”
