Page 10

Cameron

R ick took a sip of his mimosa. He ran a hand through his sandy-colored hair, adjusting what was most likely a two-hundred-dollar haircut.

He nodded at my plate. “How’s the eggs benedict?”

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the table, waiting for my response.

The designer dress shirt showed off his broad shoulders and muscular arms. A faint grin sat on his thin lips, and his sharp chin and jaw showed no stubble.

He looked like he’d taken an hour to get ready, and I felt a bit underdressed.

In my mind, brunch was a meal you had after rolling from bed when you overslept, and you were preferably still in your pajamas.

But Rick’s life was obviously very different from mine.

Since our first meeting, it had always seemed like Rick was doing more, pushing and striving to impress me.

At the back of my mind, it had always sort of felt like I’d fallen in with Rick rather than falling for him.

A relationship of convenience—I’d been lonely, and he’d been excited to be with me.

The longer it went on, the more I wondered why I didn’t try harder with him.

He was everything a woman could want, yet here I was, questioning it as always.

I took another bite, savoring the tangy hollandaise sauce. “It’s so good. I’ve never had it with crab.”

“I told you,” Rick said, flashing those shiny white, perfectly straight teeth.

Rather than return his smile, I glanced around, scanning the restaurant. The early Sunday afternoon crowd was a bit sparse. Not surprising, though. I’d seen the prices on the menu when Rick ordered for us. Probably hard to afford a weekly brunch here.

Pointing at my plate with his fork, he said, “The roasted potatoes have truffle oil and a garlic aioli drizzle. Try those before they get cold.”

I did, and they were absolutely fantastic. I ate and sipped at my Bloody Mary while Rick continued with his meal. It went on like that in silence for several minutes, until he hummed and put his fork down.

“I almost forgot,” he said, taking a long jewelry box out of his pocket.

My eyes widened. “What is that?”

Rick shrugged. “I saw this is in a jewelry store in Montreal, and it made me think of you. I decided then and there you had to have it.”

He handed the box to me, and its solid, heavy weight surprised me. A gift out of nowhere? It made me feel a little uncomfortable, like I was a freeloader mooching off Rick’s money. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t asked for a present.

“I hope you like it,” he added.

I smiled as I opened the box. Inside was a solid gold tennis bracelet with small inlaid diamonds.

“Oh, Rick. Wow,” I whispered. This must have cost a fortune.

“You love it, don’t you? I can tell you love it,” he said, his bright green eyes glittering.

It was lovely. And expensive. And though he said it looked like my style, I wasn’t really the gold type.

Besides, it was sort of gaudy. The silver jewelry I typically wore, including the delicate medallion that hung from a thin silver chain around my neck, made it clear Rick didn’t know my tastes as well as he thought.

Still, I was grateful for the gesture. Forcing a smile, I put the bracelet on.

“It’s amazing,” I lied, extending my hand.

The heavy bracelet clinked loudly against the porcelain plate, and I winced.

Rick chuckled and went back to his food.

I picked up my fork and frowned down at my plate.

The food, which had been delicious a moment before, now nauseated me.

A gurgle in my stomach made me put my fork down.

The intermittent nausea had been plaguing me for days.

I’d stopped by a clinic for antibiotics, assuming I’d caught a bug or something.

I was on day two of a ten-day cycle, and so far it wasn’t working.

If it didn’t stop soon, I’d have to go get checked for gluten intolerance or something.

Although, it was probably stress-related.

It had begun the morning after the attack, which made me lean towards it being psychological. Probably anxiety-induced.

Wonderful. Something else to worry about.

Apart from the attack, I had many other stressors.

I pushed myself hard at work and more so at home, taking care of my family and budgeting so we could cover the bills.

It might be good to ease back a bit once I got fully settled with my career and life in general.

Our server, a college-aged woman, approached the table and smiled. “How is everything?”

“Fine. Thank you,” Rick said without looking up.

“Can I get you two anything else right now?”

Rick kept his eyes down as he cut into his omelet. “We’re all good.”

The server glanced at me, a bit uncomfortably. I smiled at her and nodded. “It’s fantastic, thank you so much.”

With a grin, she left. If Rick realized he’d been dismissive of the girl, he didn’t show it. Too engrossed in his food, I supposed. When Rick did look up, I had my hand pressed to my stomach and a wince of discomfort on my face.

“Are you okay?” He pointed at my plate with his fork. “You haven’t eaten much.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” I didn’t want him to think I was ungrateful for the nice meal, nor did I want to talk about my upset stomach.

“Uh, I had a huge bowl of oatmeal this morning, and I’m still a little full.

This place is amazing, though, and the food is really good.

I’ll take the leftovers home for dinner. ”

Rick’s face fell at my words. He stared at my plate, then shook his head and said, “Why did you have a big breakfast? You knew we were coming out for brunch today.”

He looked crestfallen, maybe a bit offended. Great, I couldn’t win. The look on his face pissed me off a little bit, too. Like a little kid who hadn’t gotten what he wanted.

It was a silly thing to think. All I could do now was try to get his mind on something else. Maybe it would help my nausea, too. My headache was returning as well. A change of topic might help.

“How was your work trip?” I asked.

Rick’s downhearted expression changed, a smile forming on his lips. “It was great. We met with the partners of that firm in Montreal that specializes in tech lawsuits. Remember I told you about them a few weeks ago?”

I had no clue what he was talking about. If he’d said something about it, the information had fled my mind within minutes. That, or when he’d droned on and on about things I didn’t understand, I’d zoned out.

“I do remember,” I said with a forced smile. I moved my fork and knife around my plate vaguely, making it look like I was doing something while not actually eating.

“Apparently, they’re very open to selling their firm,” he continued. “If we take it over, we’d have a hold in a branch of law we’ve never had before. We only practice civil and criminal law. Getting into corporate or tech would be amazing for our bottom line.”

“That’s really fantastic,” I said.

“What about you?” Rick drained the rest of his mimosa. “How are things at the paper? Any new assignments?”

“Yeah, actually. Brent’s letting me pursue a lead on a criminal case.”

“Seriously? No more lifestyle stuff?’

“Oh, I’ve got to do that, too. It’s a chance to prove myself. It’ll mean extra hours for a bit, but if I can make it work, it could be my ticket to the type of news I really want to cover.”

Rick raised his hand and snapped his fingers twice. The server arrived at once.

“Can we get a couple of coffees?” he asked. “And my girlfriend will need her leftovers boxed up.”

The server cleared our plates, and I gave her an appreciative nod. Rick leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“What do you want to do next weekend? I’ve got Saturday free,” he said. “There’s a showing of Madame Butterfly at the theater downtown.”

“Is that like a rock band or something?”

Rick chuckled, rolling his eyes. “It’s an opera, Cameron. A famous one.”

“Oh, right,” I mumbled. “I knew that.”

A twinge of embarrassment coursed through me.

I didn’t know that. How would I have known it was an opera?

Maybe if I’d grown up in the rich and elite circles Rick did, or went to an Ivy League school, I wouldn’t have been so uncultured.

It was all I could do to keep my face calm, even as my cheeks burned with a self-conscious blush barely masked by my olive skin tone.

The server returned with the boxed food and a tray of coffee and accoutrements.

Rick stirred sugar and cream into his, but as soon as I picked up my cup, the heat of it made me uncomfortable.

It again reminded me of the swirling and gurgling in my stomach.

We were sitting in a booth by a window, and the sun beating down on me through the glass was making it worse.

The smells of the restaurant weren’t helping, either.

As much as I tried to hide it, my discomfort must have been obvious. Rick put his cup down and frowned. “Cam, are you okay? You don’t look good.”

“I’m not feeling great.”

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” he said. “I’ll get you home.”

Rick paid the bill and walked me out to the car. The fresh air outside helped the nausea, but the headache was getting worse. I fished a couple of aspirin from my purse as Rick pulled out of the parking lot.

The drive back was quiet except for the light jazz playing on the radio.

My apartment was not in the swanky area of town like Rick’s.

Mom, Gael, and I lived in a more rundown area.

Thankfully, it wasn’t in a dangerous and truly awful neighborhood, but I still felt a bit self-conscious riding in Rick’s brand-new Jaguar sedan.

After every gear change, Rick reached over and caressed my thigh, running his fingers up to my knee and back down.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Rick asked as we sat at a red light. “You don’t seem yourself.”

I took a breath. “I’m a little nauseous. I probably didn’t get enough rest last night.”