Page 71 of Descent

I glance at the bags of almonds and dried cranberries on the counter beside what I assume is the container he plans to store my salad in while it chills. “No. Honestly, I can do that. You’ve done too much already.”

“It’s my job, Miss Meadows,” he says gently. “I’m paid to do it. Really, I don’t mind. Your boyfriend wanted to take care of things for you today, so let me do it. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

I don’t know how to tell him that it isn’t him being “in my hair” that feels awkward, I’m just not used to people doing things for me. I’ve certainly never had servants, and even though logically I understand he was paid to cook for me today and clean up the mess, it stillfeelslike I’m making a stranger take care of me.

I’m still trying to figure it out when he steps away from the stove and grabs a bowl of fresh sliced fruit off the counter. “Here you go, you can start with this if you want to. I’ll have the rest finished in no time.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking the bowl and looking down at the juicy chunks of pineapple, grapes, and strawberries so red and juicy, they make my mouth water. “All my favorite fruits,” I murmur, a bit surprised.

He smiles benignly like he isn’t surprised to hear that. I don’t know what else to do, so I walk around to have a seat at the small island counter where I usually eat meals alone. I pop a piece of pineapple into my mouth, then drag the gift bag in front of me so I can see what’s inside.

There’s a box inside with another note attached. It reads simply, “To hold up your own books someday.”

When I open the box, I find a pair of bookends nestled in a stiff bed of Styrofoam. William the hippo bookends, to be more specific. He must have bought it at the Met gift store as soon as it opened this morning.

That was sort of… thoughtful.

Shaking off the errant thought, I put the hippo back in the gift bag and try not to think too much about what his note says. I don’t know why I even mentioned how I’d love to spend time writing my own books someday. I never share that with anybody.

While I eat the delicious breakfast Chef Ryan has prepared for me, I open my laptop and check my work emails. When I’m done with that, I go grab my phone half-expecting to see a text from Calvin. There aren’t any, but I do have a missed call from Charity.

On my way back to the living room/kitchen area, I call her back. When the line connects, rather than an actual greeting I get a string of curses, each dirtier than the last.

Lifting my eyebrows, I say, “Am I getting charged for this?”

“Sorry. I was busy limping to the bed becausechivalry is dead,” she says, shouting the last part, presumably for her new husband to hear.

I smile faintly as I take a seat at the counter. “I take it the honeymoon is going well?”

“Fabulous,” she says. “Well, one part fabulous, one part horrific trauma.” She sighs dramatically. “I have been maimed.”

Concern flickers across my face. “Are you okay?”

“We were down at the resort bar drinking and having a good time. You know how Tyler can make friends literally anywhere? Well, he did that.”

She hardly struggles to make friends herself, but I don’t bother remarking since she’s still talking.

“So we’re drinking and talking and having a good time, and me and these other girls decide to play beach volleyball.”

“Uh oh.”

“Yeah. Me drinking plus trying to be athletic?”

“You were asking for trouble,” I say solemnly.

“I twisted my ankle like a fucking spaz. Of course.”

“Of course,” I agree. “No other way that could have gone.”

“And now I’m laid up in bed, the room is spinning, andTylerlaughed at me and kept drinking at the bar instead of bothering to come over and see if I was okay. So now I have to get a divorce.”

“Naturally.” I tap the touchpad on my laptop to wake it up so I can look up what time it is in Bermuda. “Good thing you know a bunch of lawyers.”

“It really fucking is.”

Frowning at my laptop screen, I ask, “Are you only an hour ahead of me?”

“Yes.”

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