I close my eyes for a moment, half trying to remember, half trying to forget how hot she looks right now. In my clothes. On my bedroom floor. On her hands and knees at my bedside. It's not working too well. "I remember going to the club. Telling Anton to fuck off," I admit with a wince, realizing just how asshole-ish that sounds even to my own ears now. "Having a drink at the bar with the girl from the interview." I blink slowly, trying to remember what all I can before it all slips away. "There was . . . another girl? Maybe? After I turned down the podcast girl, another slid up to me on the chair. Said her name was Priscilla something or other, she was looking for a good time."
Was it the podcast girl who drugged me? Or this Priscilla chick? Was that even her name?
"And then?" Denali looks hopeful, but from the moment Priscilla stepped into my range, everything is fuzzy.
"Nothing, that I can remember, at least," I say on a sigh, wishing I had more for her. I want to be able to give her what she wants, but it's just not there. "Not until I went to the bathroom and felt off. I realized something was wrong, so I went out the back door and started walking. Figured I'd better put as much space between me and whoever had drugged me as possible, and fast."
"But you could have called anyone," she says, her voice soft, small. Like she can't believe what happened actually happened. Like it confuses her, the next bit. "You called me."
"Yeah. I did."
Her slow blink is adorable, and I find myself smiling at her like an idiot as she just stares blankly in my direction. "Why, though? And why my personal number?"
Don't tell her the truth, man. She's gonna think you're weird.
"It's the only number I have memorized. And I needed someone I can trust. That's—that's you."
Both true.
"You walked in the direction of my house for six blocks before you called me, Kai." Her eyes narrow. "What could have possibly possessed you to head in my direction instead of your own?"
I spent all night thinking I should apologise for letting you walk away. I wanted to be with you, not her. I've been having secret fantasies about you that I'm just now finally willing to open up about, and I need you to know how bad I want you.
"You're—you—because I trust you. Because I knew if I made it to you, you wouldn't let anything bad happen to me. AndI don't know anyone else here, Denali. The cops aren't exactly known for being pariahs of good virtue in your country. I sent Roger home. Anton, too."
"Anton was outside, waiting for you."
Well, shit, there went that idea. "I didn't know."
She looks out the window just as one of our phones starts to vibrate across the nightstand. I reach for it, but it's not mine making the ruckus. It's hers.
Wordlessly, I hold it out for her, but she takes one look at the caller ID and practically throws it across the room, her eyes wider now than I've ever seen them. She looks spooked. She looks frightened. She looks like she doesn't want to answer that call, like she'd rather throw her phone off my balcony than pick up.
"Shitty ex?" I can't think of any other reason for her to act so panicked about a little phone call.
"Something like that," she mumbles, getting to her feet. "What do you think about putting some food in your stomach?"
Her hand reaches out in my direction, and though I'm not really sure I want to eat yet, not before coffee, I take it anyway and stand up with her, letting this waif of a woman lead me into my own kitchen, her ringing phone in the corner be damned.
I sit at the counter of my island where she deposits me as she putters around my kitchen to find what she needs to make good happen, and it's like she belongs there. This place is always so empty, I can't even remember the last time someone spent more than a few hours in it, and certainly not in the morning, making me breakfast. All those one night stands were in and out before dawn, no lingering, no cutesy girlfriend shit. And here she is, Denali Stone, my fucking assistant, going above and beyond what I pay her for, just to make sure I'm well cared for after my own stupidity landed me in a heap of trouble.
And she looks good doing it in my clothes, too.
"Do you not have any eggs, Kai?" She leans over in the fridge, shuffling things around to search for them, and as much as I know I should tell her they're in the door, I don't. I'm enjoying the view too much.
"They're in there somewhere,kera,"I say absently, hoping she'll keep looking. "I just got some two days ago in my grocery delivery."
"Do you cook?" Her voice is thoughtful, not harsh or judgemental, as she thinks about the possibility that I might handle adult things for myself because I'm an adult, ya know, and I can just feel it's not meant as an insult. Just an observation. "You don't seem like the type."
"I learned at my mom's side when I was growing up in Sapporo," I tell her, watching the way her thighs flex as she stands on her tip toes to reach things in the cabinet above her head. "Do you want me to help you?" I'm not much taller than she is, but like, I'm tall enough to reach the things she's after. "I can?—"
"No, no, you just sit there and behave," she commands, climbing onto my marble countertop on her knees. And wouldn't you know it, the second I see her on my kitchen counter, in nothing but my shirt, I think any number of things that make me wonder if that drug used to spike my drink last night had some ecstasy in it, too. There's no other explanation for how hard I am in seconds. How far off the reasonable end of the pool my thoughts have wandered.
I must still be half-drugged. Yeah, that's it.
"So, let's get some food in you, and then we go down and make your police report, like we promised that asshole detective last night," she says, setting a plate in front of me finally, one that's laden down with a couple pounds more food than I could imagine eating in one sitting.
"I can't eat all this," I say warily, eyeing the mountain of eggs and vegetables she's cooked up for me. "I'll explode."
