The cab ride home was a blur of city lights and muffled conversations. I stared out the window, watching as we moved from the sleek high–rises of Midtown to my more modest neighborhood. My mind kept bouncing between thoughts of Alexander, my mother’s impending discharge, and my upcoming meeting with Caroline.
What would Caroline tell me about Katherine? And more importantly, did I really want to know?
“Here we are, miss,” the driver announced, pulling up to my apartment building.
I paid the fare and stepped out onto the sidewalk. My building wasn’t fancy but had good security and decently sized apartments. After the opulence of Alexander’s world, it felt almost comforting in its ordinariness.
Once inside, I kicked off my heels with a sigh of relief and headed straight for the shower.
The hot water felt divine against my skin, washing away the tension of the day. I closed my eyes, letting the steam envelop me as I shampooed my hair. My thoughts drifted to Alexander, the way his hands felt on my body, the intensity in his eyes when he looked at me. I shook my head, trying to clear the images. I reminded myself that this arrangement was strictly business. A mutually beneficial agreement with clear terms.
So why did my heart race every time he was near?
After my shower, I changed into comfortable cotton shorts and a loose tank top. My hair was still damp, but I couldn’t be bothered to blow dry it. The clock on my nightstand read 8:15 PM. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and my stomach growled in protest.
I padded to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to assess my options. Half a carton of eggs, spinach, and a suspicious–looking container of leftover pasta were in there. Grocery shopping had fallen to the bottom of my priority list lately.
“Omelet it is,” I muttered, pulling out the eggs.
Just as I was about to crack the first egg into a bowl, the doorbell rang. I frowned, not expecting any visitors. Maybe the old woman next door needed to borrow something again.
I wiped my hands on a dish towel and went to the door, peering through the peephole. A young man in a delivery uniform stood outside, holding a large paper bag.
I opened the door cautiously. “Can I help you?”
“Delivery for Madison Harper?” He held out the bag, which emitted a mouthwatering aroma.
“I didn’t order anything,” I said, confused.
He checked his phone. “It says right here, delivery to Madison Harper. It’s already paid for, including tip.” He shrugged. “Someone must really like you.”
I hesitated before taking the bag. “Thank you, I guess.”
“Enjoy!” He gave me a cheerful wave and headed back toward the elevator.
1/3
Chapter 205
+15 BONUS
I closed the door and carried the mysterious delivery to my kitchen counter. The logo on the bag was from Tavolino, an upscale Italian restaurant. Inside, I found containers of mushroom risotto, garlic bread, and tiramisu, all still hot.
The rich aroma of truffles and garlic filled my kitchen, making my mouth water instantly. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that moment. But who would send me dinner from one of the most expensive Italian restaurants in the city?
My first thought was Hazel. She knew I often forgot to eat when I was busy. However, Tavolino was way out of her budget; she complained about the price of coffee at Starbucks. My mother was in the hospital, so it was definitely not her.
Could it be…?
My phone buzzed with a text message. I wiped my hands and checked the screen.
Alexander: Enjoy your dinner. I figured you’d be too tired to cook after your hospital visit.
I stared at the text, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. The gesture was unexpected but thoughtful.
Me: Was this your doing? The Italian feast that just arrived at my door?
His response came quickly.
Alexander: Who else would be sending my sexy girlfriend dinner at this hour? Don’t tell me you were expecting food from someone else. Perhaps your friend Jackson?
I rolled my eyes. The possessive edge in his text was unmistakable. Even through a screen, Alexander Knight managed to stake his claim. It was simultaneously irritating and oddly flattering that he remembered Jackson’s name from our brief conversation about him.
Me: I wasn’t expecting anything from anyone. The delivery was a surprise.
I paused, wondering how he knew I’d be home now. Had he been tracking my movements? The thought sent a small shiver down my spine. I knew he had resources, but just how closely was he monitoring me?
Me: How did you know I’d be home from the hospital by now?
Alexander: I pay attention to details, Ms. Harper. It’s what makes me good at what I do.
That answer was both vague and revealing. I pictured him smirking as he typed it, knowing exactly what effect his words would have on me.
Me: Thank you for the food, but I already ate dinner.
It was a lie, and I suspected he knew it. The risotto’s aroma was making my stomach growl loudly in protest.
Alexander: Eat it anyway. You’ll need the energy for tomorrow. I have plans for us.
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