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“He’s doing a great job so far.”

“Good.” Mr. Whitmore nodded.

“She’s not feeling well, so we’re about to get out of here. I just wanted to introduce you guys before we headed out.”

“Make sure you’re in that meeting in the morning, son. We need an update on those figures.”

“I’ll be there,” Zane said before hurrying out of his dad’s presence. “I hate that you don’t feel good, but I’m glad to get the hell out of here.”

“Maybe a room temperature ginger ale will check my stomach. That’s the last time I eat burritos from a truck.”

I hated throwing up, but it got me out of there after only taking a few pictures and refusing to eat due to an upset stomach.

“I hear you.” He chuckled.

I waved at Oneal as we left the party to make sure he knew I was leaving. A single toot from the horn preceded him pulling out of the parking lot. Zane was enough of a gentleman to open the door to let me in his car before walking around and getting in himself. I expected to be nervous about going back with him to his house. However, my nerves couldn’t trump my desire to be done with Zane and this whole arrangement.

Old school R&B flowed through the speakers as we cruised through the city in Zane’s car. The music soothed me a little, but I really needed that ginger ale he mentioned. Thankfully, I didn’t have to remind him. As soon as we reached a convenience store, Zane pulled right in. I picked my purse up from my lap and reached for the door handle to get out, but he grabbed my arm and stopped me.

“You don’t have to get out. I got it.”

“OK.” I nodded.

“Is there a particular brand you prefer?”

“No. I just need something.”

“I’ll see if they have some Tums or something too.”

“Thank you,” I said, smiling weakly as I sat back against the seat.

Once Zane was out of the car and in the store, I checked my clutch to make sure Psalm’s device was still in place. It was there zipped up in the coin pouch where I’d left it. My trusty little .38 sat at the bottom under my cell phone and wallet.

Pulling out my phone, I shot Psalm a quick message to let him know that we were on our way to Zane’s house. I needed him on top of things. The sooner I got the hell away from Zane Whitmore the better. What kind of man still tries to take a woman home knowing that she’s sick?

I knew he wasn’t taking me back to his place to chit chat or form a knitting circle. The man wanted to have sex with me. I was cool with letting him think he was making progress. He could think whatever he wanted to think as long as I got into his house long enough for Psalm’s plan to work. I needed this to be over.

I stuffed my phone back in my purse as he walked out of the store with a plastic grocery bag in tow. Zane opened the door and hopped back in the car. When he tossed the bag in the back seat, his cologne nearly gagged me. His normal clean scent that I usually loved made my stomach churn. I took a deep breath, grateful that I hadn’t tried to eat anything at the event, or else we would have been in trouble.

Aside from the music, we rode in relative silence the rest of the way to his house. He hummed along to the radio until we finally made it to his place. Once we were parked, Zane reached in the back seat and grabbed the bag before climbing out of the car.

As he headed to the door, I got out and followed him. I kept my purse clutched in my hand, praying that I was able to tolerate him for at least two hours. If not, I was going to have to hide the device in his house somewhere and pray that he didn’t find it. That didn’t sound like the best idea since I wasn’t sure if Psalm needed it back to actually do what he needed to do. I kicked myself for not thinking to ask. Now didn’t seem like the time to try to get a text out.

“I know you’re not feeling so hot, but would you like a drink?” he asked when we made it to the kitchen.

“No, but I’ll take that ginger ale now.”

“Oh, right. I should have given it to you in the car.”

“It’s fine. I wanted it to warm up a little anyway. My mama used to say that room temperature was best.”

Taking it out of the bag, he walked over and gave it to me.

“Drink up,” he said before moving back to the counter to pour a glass of brown liquor.

“Hopefully, this helps. I’m miserable right now.”

“Hopefully, right?” He nodded. “I have a question.”