Vulture (a Stepbrother Romance) -(41)

“Yes, totally. A big difference from scooping poop at the animal shelter… and there’s a pretty big tick in the plus column: I’m getting paid!”

He laughed. “I’m glad. And don’t mind Sadie, you’ll get used to her. She has her rough edges, but you’ll see, she’s great.”

My smile faded a little, but I didn’t let him see, and I tried to change the subject.

“Of course, I’ll have to get accustomed to all the sitting and the typing, but I’ll adjust.”

Harvey pulled us to a stop, and his eyes found mine. A line of concentration and concern flickered in his eyes. “Is it too much?”

I shook my head and gave him a reassuring smile. “Not at all, I’ll get used to it. I’m just tired today. You should seriously invest in some new office chairs, though.”

“I could find you another position if you want,” he offered.

“No, Harvey. I’m good, really. I don’t need you babying me just because I haven’t taken a proper job in three years.”

“OK, if you’re sure,” he mumbled distractedly, but we continued to walk again. I didn’t want him worrying about me all the time; I was a full-grown woman, and though it was nice for him to think of me, I couldn’t rely on him forever.

We paused in front of an Italian restaurant. I glanced up at him with a questioning gaze—it was a bit fancy.

“I eat here all the time. I think you’ll love it,” He said as he reached out and pulled the door to La Caverna open for me, waiting patiently as I stepped inside and felt the welcoming, warm air that contained myriad heartening herbs and spices.

“Welcome, Mr Guyer. I see you brought a guest with you. A rare occurrence. I guess you won’t want your usual table for one then?” the aged maître d' said as he grinned at me.

“Very perceptive, Carlo,” Harvey teased. “Table for two, please.”

Carlo nodded, collected a couple of menus and led us to a table out of the main thoroughfare. The old man pulled out my chair and I thanked him, sitting down and bringing my forearms to rest on the white tablecloth. As soon as Harvey took his place, Carlo handed us the menus.

“I’ll give you two some time to order. I presume you would like the same wine as usual, sir?”

“You know me too well, Carlo. Thank you.”

I peered around the room, feeling on edge. The place was so fancy, it oozed wealth… and romance, and I was totally out of my element. The people at the other tables were dressed to the nines, sharing candlelight dinners and holding hands across the small, round tables.

“Is something wrong, Sara?” Harvey asked when I hadn’t lifted the leather-bound menu.

“We should’ve persuaded Sadie to come…”

“Why?” he said, frowning.

“It’s so intimate,” I whispered, “surely you’d rather be here with her than me.”

“Don’t be silly. We’re here to celebrate your first day. It was a bit of a rollercoaster, but you got through it,” he said, beaming.

“You’re right, today was a big day…” Both of us knew exactly what we were referring to. Carlos had brought a bottle of rich-looking red wine and, when Harvey had tasted and approved it, poured us each a glass. I lifted mine. “Here’s to the future. Here’s to moving on.”

“Atta girl,” Harvey replied as we clinked glasses.

After looking through the list, I settled for a pan-fried scallop salad for starters and a pasta dish for my main. Harvey insisted on sticking with his usual, a lamb dish with crispy prosciutto, and a tomato and mozzarella bruschetta to start.

I took another sip of wine and smiled as we waited, the candlelight from the table flickering, making his eyes dance as he watched me. An abrupt cramping in my stomach startled me. I frowned lightly and bit down my lower lip, willing the unexpected nausea to go away. Harvey leaned closer as I tried to hold back another wave rolling around in my stomach. The queasiness was making me break out in a sweat, and my clammy fingers reached for the glass of water by my wine.

I took a sip, urging my stomach to be calm.

“Sara?” he asked, worried.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I blurted, scrambling to my feet and running for the bathroom.





17





Sara





I had just managed to find the bathroom when my stomach rolled again, and I stumbled into an open cubicle. At the sight of the toilet lid propped up, I vomited. Bile rose at the back of my throat, and more perspiration broke out on my face as my fingers tightened around my hair, keeping the thick strands back.

My chest heaved again, and my stomach muscles contracted, hurling out my breakfast and meagre lunch. Must’ve been the tuna.