Drew sat across from her. He’d called his teammates after she said she’d help him. Drew was waiting for them to show up for her to tell her story.
Drew had assured her that they could help hide her and protect her. Shay trusted Drew to keep her safe, but she didn’t know his friends. Drew had assured her they would keep her safe. She wasn’t sure she would ever feel safe again, but so far Drew had been a man of his word. She was out of options of who to trust.
“Everyone should be here in the next twenty or so minutes.”
“Okay,” Shay found herself falling back into her compliant role. More than once this man had stroked her ire. He wouldn’t want to keep wanting to help her if she was vocal all the time. There was just something about him that made her want to stand up for herself, to not always go with the flow like she had her whole life. To allow others to dictate her life. Drew gave her choices.
She knew she couldn’t get to use to it though. Soon she would be back under her father’s thumb. To go where he wanted, to say what he wanted, live the life he wanted—since he paid for it all— he liked to remind her.
“Can I get you anything while we’re waiting? Food? Water?”
“Please,” She didn’t know how much longer she could go without food and water. The weakness she felt in her body told her not much longer. The few morsels she’d been able to consume over the past few days wasn’t cutting it anymore.
Drew pushed away from his desk and went to the kitchen just past the bathroom. She had to do a double look when she saw it. It was like a gourmet kitchen at her father’s house—not that he would know how to use it, he had servants for that.
It had an industrial size refrigerator, a gas stove, tons of cupboard space, and a juicer on the counter. Was that an espresso machine? It was a chef’s dream kitchen. It seemed overkill for an office kitchen but who was she to judge.
Drew made his way around the kitchen like he knew what he was doing. It wasn’t the first time she’d watched him cook. He seemed right at home doing it. Didn’t most guys hate to cook?
Shay followed him over not wanting to appear lazy. “Can I help?” She helped her father’s cook, Alice several times before she moved out. Shay loved to cook. Her studies didn’t allow much time for that anymore.
“Sure, I’m making soup and sandwiches. If you want to get the canned soup out of the cupboard.” He tilted his chin to the left over his shoulder showing her where it was stored.
Shay opened the cupboard, and gasped. There was enough food in here to feed an army. Seven guys working together she supposed they went through a lot of food. But jeez, did any of them go home to eat?
Grabbing two cans of tomato soup she set them on the counter. She reached up for the pan over the stove and grazed the side of her boob against his arm.
“Sorry,” She drew back as if scalded. She felt heat rise in her cheeks. Her nipples pebbled from that gentle brush. Good lord, what Drew must think of her.
He probably thought she’d done it on purpose. She was attracted to him, sure. Now that she was more confident, he wasn’t the bad guy and going to turn her over to more bad guys she allowed herself to give into the attraction.
Her father would never approve of him. He wasn’t a posh socialite. Drew was rugged, manly. He had an athletic frame that came from more than playing tennis at the club. His hands were rough and callused, not polished and manicured from signing and pushing papers.
“It’s fine.” His voice sounded gruff grabbing the pot over his head and held it out for her.
“What?” She asked catching him glancing at her out of the corner of her eye more than once.
“You seem natural in the kitchen.”
“What were you expecting?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “A woman expecting to be waited on because I’m a senators daughter. That I shouldn’t know how to cook?” She wasn’t offended by the stereotype. She was used to being seen a certain way. People saw what they wanted. No one really cared about her as a person. Those that smooched up to her was because of her name.
“Uh,” It was comical the look of fear on his face, like he thought he’d just offended her.
“I actually love to cook.” She said taking pity on him. “My dad’s cook, Alice, taught me. She’s been with the family for years. You know your way around the kitchen too. Where did you learn?”
“Myself,”
Self-taught. Impressive.
“I’d be horrible in the kitchen if I tried by myself. The whole house might have caught on fire.” Daddy would have loved that.
“It’s not that hard.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’m constantly learning.”
“Me too, when I’m not studying.” Which was never lately. Her schedule was crammed with school, study group and homework. It had become more a chore than anything. She had nothing against law, it just wasn’t her passion.
She wanted to help people in other ways. Like nursing school, like her mom. Her dad had done a charity event for the hospital she worked for and that’s how they’d met.
“I imagine law school doesn’t allow a lot of free time.”
