Chapter 911

[ 679 words ]

Xander’s eyes bore into her, sharp and probing-Yvonne felt as if he could see straight through every pretense she’d ever worn, leaving her suddenly exposed.

“Why… why are you staring at me like that?” she stammered, feeling oddly vulnerable.

“Not bad,” Xander replied, his tone unreadable.

Yvonne frowned. “Not bad? What’s ‘not bad’?”

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of Xander’s mouth. “It looks like you’re finally done with him,” he said quietly.

She realized what he meant; she hadn’t lost her temper around Dan lately. If anything, the moment she realized she’d wrongly accused him, all she felt was awkwardness—no guilt, just a bit of embarrassment. And when she directed her team to double their efforts, she’d done so without a hint of hesitation.

“Of all things to mention, why do you have to bring up that loser?” Yvonne huffed, wrinkling her nose. Could her recent actions be any less subtle? Did they really still need proof that she was over Dan?

“Are you feeling sick?” Xander asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“Huh?”

“You ate a lot tonight,” he pointed out.

Yvonne bristled, crossing her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you calling me a glutton now? Women hate being told they eat too much, you know.”

Xander gave a dry little laugh.”I just don’t want you to feel sick, that’s all. With all the stress you’ve been under, your stomach’s been off lately. Every time you eat, you throw up.”

Truth was, her appetite had been wild these past days, stress gnawing at her insides. Tonight, she’d devoured more hot wings than she cared to admit.

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

“You really don’t feel sick after all that?” he pressed.

“Nope, not at all!”

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“Maybe it’s just that the food I had the last few days didn’t agree with me,” Yvonne said thoughtfully. “But tonight was different-honestly, I didn’t expect to find such amazing hot wings in all of Litamark.”

While Yvonne and Xander mused about her stomach, Dan, outside the restaurant, was bombarded by yet another round of tense phone calls. Sweat prickled at his brow as he listened to someone rant in his ear, then hung up-barely restraining the urge to launch his phone into the nearest wall.

“Christ. What the hell else is going to go wrong tonight?” he muttered, shooting a frustrated glance at the darkened street.

In a fit of irritation, he lashed out at a flowerpot by his feet, sending it spinning. He fished out a cigarette, flicked his lighter open, and took a long, bitter drag.

Behind him, Carroll appeared, standing stiffly at attention. “Sir.” His voice was low, heavy with warning.

Dan felt the irritation churning inside him-seeing Yvonne had already fouled his mood, and now this.

“What?”

Carroll nodded toward the street. “Look.”

Dan blinked. “At what?”

Carroll’s gaze was fixed on something down the sidewalk. Puzzled, Dan followed his line of sight squinting until two familiar figures came into focus. Susanna and full had just gotten out of a sedan.

.n

Susanna was trailing close behind Hull, clutching his hand almost, desperately. “I must’ve dropped it in the restaurant,” she was saying, her lower lip jutting out in a pout.

Dan froze. Was that really…?

He turned to Carroll, who replied quietly, “This morning I got a picture of Ms. Tucker. That’s Susanna.”

Dan reeled. Susanna? And…? He looked again—Hull’s hand wrapped protectively around hers.

It was as if someone had socked him right in the gut. At that moment, Hull looked up and locked eyes with Dan-his gaze dark, razor sharp, a warning in itself.

Dan felt as though an ice-cold rod had been jammed into his ribs. Unable to pull his eyes from Susanna and Hull, he stood frozen in place.

Susanna caught sight of him, too. The blood drained from her face-clearly, she hadn’t expected to see him here.

With his nerves still jangling, Dan broke the heavy silence. “Mr. Miguel? This is…”

He choked off, his gaze sliding helplessly back to Susanna.

Hull fixed him with an arctic stare. “This is what?” he snapped.

Dan floundered, irritation and bewilderment swirling together. “You’re really going to stand there and ask p me what? Shouldn’t you at least give me a decent explanation?”

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