“Have the front desk call the police. You know what else to do.”
“Absolutely.” He stood up and stepped back, murmuring softly into his mike once more.
“She bit Bob?” Kris asked, looking horrified. His spoonful of risotto hovered in the air.
“Yes. Don’t worry, if he were injured from it, I would have been told immediately.”
“Oh, okay. So, it didn’t break the skin?”
Rafe replied, “Nah. He might have a little bruise later, but that’d be it. He’s a tough old boot. He’ll be ready to take you upstairs after you eat.”
Kris nodded, looking relieved. He lifted the spoon to his mouth. Ishmael watched how his pillowy lips closed around the spoon, imaging them around his cock instead. He glanced away, studying his own food as he picked up his spoon for a bite. “She’ll be cautioned by the police, however, to discourage her from making such a display again. I’ll also be having a word with your regional managers so that they can impress upon everyone else the need to behave appropriately and to not drink too heavily, especially during lunch.”
“Yeah, that was bad,” Kris agreed.
“So,” Ishmael said, changing the subject. “How would you like to order some groceries so you can cook when you feel like it?”
“Really?” Kris’ face lit up. “Yeah, that’d be cool. Do you have a rice cooker? If not, I guess I could learn to do it in pan on the stove or get boil in the bag or something.”
Or something, Ishmael thought, subtly sending Rafe a glance that spoke volumes. Rafe gave a short nod and spoke softly into his mic once more. The best rice cooker that could be gotten in Britain would be delivered to the penthouse before the end of the next day. Ishmael could count on it.
