Chapter 234
“Don’t call me that,” Carmen grumbled, shielding her eyes from the glare off the windows. “I’m a storm cloud.”
He slid a plate onto the marble island — fluffy eggs, sliced avocado, buttered toast.
“Eat,” he said. “Then we talk logistics.”
Carmen climbed onto a barstool and took a bite. It was annoying how good it tasted.
“My car is at my apartment,” she realized mid-chew.
“I’ll drive you,” Justin said. “Or I can buy you a new one.”
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He said it like a joke. His eyes didn’t laugh.
“I don’t need charity,” Carmen said, stabbing a piece of avocado. “I need a ride.”
“Ride it is,” Justin said. “But first, coffee.”
He poured a mug and slid it across the island toward her.
Gaston walked into the kitchen, reading something on his tablet. He glanced up at Jocelyn.
“Mrs. Gable called you twice.”
“Oh?” Jocelyn reached for her phone. “I should call her back.”
“She left a voicemail,” Gaston said, pouring himself an espresso. “Something about the ER.”
Jocelyn froze. Her hand stopped halfway to her face.
“The ER?”
Justin led Carmen to the private elevator. She felt ridiculous in the borrowed pajamas, holding her ruined dress in a plastic bag, but she was too hungover to care.
“I can take an Uber,” she insisted for the third time.
“And risk vomiting in a stranger’s Camry? No,” Justin said, pressing the button.
The doors opened to the garage — less a parking structure than a private showroom.
A small boy came running toward them, clutching a toy drone.
“Dad! Can I come?”
Carmen stopped. She looked at the boy. He had dark hair and bright, intelligent eyes.
“Aaden,” Justin said. “Say hi to Miss Golden.”
“Hi,” Aaden said, studying Carmen with unabashed curiosity. “You’re wearing the guest pajamas. The silk ones. Dad says those are for VIPs.”
Carmen choked. “I’m… a charity case.”
“Aaden, stay with Mrs. Higgins,” Justin said firmly. “I have business.”
“But you promised to fly the drone!” Aaden whined.
“Later. Go.” Justin pointed toward the elevator.
Aaden stomped off, muttering under his breath.
Justin opened the passenger door of a black SUV — enormous, armored, the kind of vehicle that looked like it belonged in a presidential motorcade.
“Sorry,” he said as he settled into the driver’s seat. “He’s spirited.”
“Where is his mom?” Carmen asked, buckling her seatbelt. The leather was cool against her skin.
Justin paused. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. The air inside the car shifted, suddenly feeling heavier, pressurized.
“She’s not in the picture,” he said.
Carmen looked at him and assumed the worst — divorce, death, abandonment. A pang of sympathy settled in her chest.
They pulled out into the city traffic. The car was silent, insulated from the noise of New York.
“So,” Carmen said, leaning her head against the window. “You’re single, rich, and powerful. What’s the catch?”
“I’m possessive,” Justin said, glancing at her. “And I hold grudges.”
“Sounds like my type,” she muttered, not entirely sarcastically.
Justin smiled — a small, dangerous smile. “Good to know.”
.