Page 279 of The First Taste
"What are you doing?" I ask.
His body jolts, clutching his chest, and he looks at me with great alarm.
"Oh! Mr. Morgan, I didn’t see you coming." He exhales a shaky breath. "I’m just repairing this mirror so that it can be hung back on the wall."
He starts to stand up, but I wave him down. "No, no, don’t get up. I am on my way out the door."
He arches a brow and puts down the screwdriver he is holding. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
I look down the long hallway, scanning it as I think about his question. "Actually, since you asked, could you call to have our estate on the coast of Maine ready for me to visit as soon as possible? I would love to take a date there for the weekend."
Clive bows his head. "Of course, sir."
"You know I hate it when you call me that. I’m not like Remy."
His lips lift at the corners in a rare smile. "No one ever said you were, sir."
I pause. "Could you also line up a team of hair and makeover experts to come to the coastal estate? I need my date to have a makeover. I need a new wardrobe for her, as well."
Clive sits back on his knees, pulling out a small notepad and a pen, and writing down a note with a flourish. "When will you need the team ready?"
"Probably tomorrow, around midday. I can let you know more in the next few hours."
"All right. Consider it done."
Pushing out my cheek with my tongue, I think of one final thing.
"Can you also have a doctor waiting for us at the airport? I need a female practitioner to give my date a physical exam. Just get a name for me and text it to my personal assistant. He'll take over from there and steer it to the finish line."
Putting his hands on his knees, he climbs to his feet and dusts off his hands. "I can do it for you right away."
I clap him on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile.
"That would be great. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to go. I have a girl to hunt down."
Clive quirks a brow, but I just head out of the mansion, putting on a pair of sunglasses before sliding into my Porsche. Throwing it in gear, I rev the engine and then pull out of the driveway with a loud screech.
I have a fiancée to finesse and there is no time to waste.
Twenty
Talia
Rushing into the back hallway of Tusk, I lean up against a wall and breathe out. I let my eyes close for just one second, conscious always of the buzz of the dinner guests, the chime of silverware against plates, and the scraping of chairs. It’s only Thursday night, but the restaurant is jam packed, and I just need a moment, a few seconds, to rest my aching feet and quell my nausea.
The restaurant is full of all kinds of different food smells, often combining and conflicting. Just a moment ago, I inhaled a waft of seared steak as a customer cut into it. I stiffened and ran for the back room, where I am hiding out in the shadows now.
"The manager is looking for you," a blonde waitress calls down the hallway.
I suck in a breath and push off the wall, determined to see my shift through. I read online that the nausea should fade away after the first trimester. Pressing my hands against my abdomen, I try to keep that in mind as I hold my breath while I walk through the restaurant.
Danny, a restaurant manager that I don’t really know, is waiting impatiently at the hostess stand for me. He brushes a piece of fuzz off his dark lapel and checks his watch as I return.
"It’s only seven p.m. You should be manning the host station or walking around the dining room, talking to guests, and clearing plates. I don’t know how much clearer I can be."
I swallow and drop my gaze, stepping behind the hostess stand. "Of course. Sorry, I was just taking a bathroom break."
He frowns at me. "No more bathroom breaks for the rest of your shifts. Got it?"
