Chapter 233
“She’s done with you,” he said into the receiver. “Lose this number.”
He tapped the screen, hung up, and blocked the contact in three swift motions.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Carmen pouted, her lower lip trembling. “I had more insults ready.”
“He’s not worth the breath,” Justin said, handing the phone to Jocelyn.
Carmen stared up at him, trying to bring his face into focus. He was just a tall, blurry shape in a very nice shirt.
“You’re kinda bossy,” she slurred.
𝖱𝖾а𝖽 𝗳r𝘰m y𝗈u𝘳 𝗉𝗵on𝖾 𝗼n 𝗀𝘢𝗹𝘯о𝘷е𝘭𝘴.𝘤o𝗆
“He’s my brother,” Gaston said, stepping in with a glass of water and positioning himself between them. “And he’s a pain in the neck. Here, drink this.”
“Senator… fancy,” Carmen giggled, the word muddling itself on the way out.
Then her eyes rolled back. Her head lolled to the side. The adrenaline crash arrived all at once, and she passed out right there on the rug.
Gaston looked down at her.
“Is she dead?”
“Just rebooting,” Justin said.
He bent down and gathered Carmen into his arms with no visible effort, as though she weighed nothing at all. Her head came to rest against his shoulder.
“I’ll carry her to the guest room,” Justin said.
He walked down the hallway in silence, his steps soundless against the floor, carrying the woman who didn’t remember him — the woman he had been waiting for.
Sunlight hit Carmen’s face like a physical slap. She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. Her head felt like someone was drilling for oil behind her eyes.
She sat up slowly. The room was unfamiliar — high ceilings, cream walls, heavy velvet curtains. The bed was enormous, the sheets softer than anything she owned.
She looked down at herself. She was wearing a silk pajama set. Navy blue. Definitely not hers.
Panic spiked in her chest. “Did I sleep with someone?”
The door opened. Jocelyn walked in carrying a tray with a glass of water and two white pills.
“Relax,” Jocelyn said, reading the terror on Carmen’s face. “I changed you. You got sick on your dress.”
Carmen flopped back onto the pillows. “Oh god. Kill me.”
“Drink this,” Jocelyn ordered, setting the tray on the nightstand. “Electrolytes and aspirin.”
Carmen sat up and drained the glass. Her throat felt like sandpaper.
“Where is the suit guy?” she asked. Her memory was a hazy reel of shouting and a deep voice.
“Justin?” Jocelyn smiled. “He’s in the kitchen making omelets.”
“Why?”
“He says he makes the best Recovery Breakfast in D.C.”
Carmen dragged herself out of bed, her legs unsteady beneath her. “I need to go home.”
She followed the smell of bacon and coffee down the hallway and into the kitchen, still wearing the borrowed silk pajamas.
Justin was at the stove, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms that looked surprisingly strong for a politician. He flipped the pan with practiced ease, his movements unhurried. He looked fresh and alert.
It was deeply irritating.
“Morning, Sunshine,” he said, grinning over his shoulder.
.