“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’reveryopen 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 ofMadame Butterflyat the theater downtown.”
“Is that like a rock band or something?”
Rick chuckled, rolling his eyes. “It’s an opera, Cameron. A famousone.”
“Oh, right,” I mumbled. “I knew that.”
A twinge of embarrassment coursed through me. Ididn’tknow 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.”
What I didn’t mention—and wouldnevermention—was that I’d woken up in a cold sweat after having one of the dirtiest dreams of my life about the random guy who’d come sniffing around my apartment Friday night. Remembering it only made my headache worse.
“I’m sorry.” Rick leaned over and brushed my hair behind my ear. The smell of his cologne, which I usually loved, made my stomach turn. “Are you okay enough to go on a little detour, or do you want to go straight home?”
“A detour? Where?”
He smiled. “I want to show you something.”
Truthfully, all I wanted was to go home, take some stomach meds, and nap, but I’d already put a bit of a damper on brunch and didn’t want to put Rick out any more than I already had. Swallowing my nausea, I put on my best fake smile.
“I like surprises. Sure. Why not?”
