Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
While collecting our menus, the waiter asks, “Dessert?”
Sammy’s eyes are back on me, intense and unwavering. “We’ve not yet decided on what we want to splurge on.” His words are for the server, but his demoralizing stare is solely for me—regrettably. “Perhaps after we’ve eaten, we will have a better idea.”
He’s lying. Sammy has made his decision, and despite my plumped out midsection, he wants to eat me for dessert.
The server nods and scurries off to place our order with the chef, and I take a sip of my water, endeavoring to calm my nerves. This is just another part of the job, I remind myself. I can handle this. It’s just weird being undercover while my stomach wiggles excessively. The baby is as appreciative of Grayson’s stellar cooking skills as my taste buds were when I devoured every morsel of food he served me today.
While waiting for Brandon’s reports to be completed, Grayson and I cooked, ate, and talked. For almost three hours, the weight on my chest lifted enough for me to secure an entire breath. I felt like I was living for me, not just existing to find my sister.
It’s been a while since I did that without guilt. I am confident, however, that the same man was responsible for the changeup.
As we wait for our food, Sammy makes small talk. He asks me about my interests and hobbies. I give him vague answers, not wanting to reveal too much about myself, before steering the conversation back to him, hoping to gather some helpful information.
“So, Sammy, what do you do for a living?” I use his self-appointed nickname with the hope it will encourage him to open up to me. It always works to Grayson’s advantage.
Samuel chuckles before leaning back in his chair. “I dabble in a bit of everything.” His eyes glisten with concealed truths as he runs off a list of accomplishments I’m certain he’ll never achieve. “Real estate, investments, you name it.”
I fake bewitchery. “Sounds fascinating. You must be very successful.”
Samuel smirks, loving the attention. “I do all right.”
As he continues bragging about his accomplishments, my thoughts drift back to Grayson. I’m not solely conjuring up his cocky attitude. It is my understanding that he would be furious if he knew what I was doing, but I couldn’t risk him interfering with my investigation. This case has been solely mine for months, and I need to see it through—even if it means giving birth and attending a debrief with Markwell on the same day.
Our food arrives, and we commence eating. The chef nailed the filet mignon, but I can hardly taste it. I am too focused on the task at hand. I need to get Sammy to talk, to slip up and reveal something incriminating.
If I can do that while still seated at this table, I will take it.
Regretfully, my confidence slips with each passing second. Samuel is practically inhaling his food. I’m not even sure he is chewing. That’s how eager he is to take our date elsewhere.
While pushing my vegetables around my plate, I try again to get him talking here instead of in one of the many rooms above us. “Do you have any big plans for the future?”
Samuel raises a brow, intrigued by my question. Or is it frustration? “Why do you ask?”
I shrug before taking another bite of my steak. “Just curious. You seem the type who always has something in the works.”
He chuckles, pleased by my flattery. “I have a few projects in the pipeline right now.” His tone is conspiratorial. “But I can’t reveal too much just yet.” He winks at me, and I smile, hiding my disappointment with a nicety he doesn’t deserve.
I need more than a gigantic ego.
I need something concrete that paints him as the villain his extensive file portrays him as.
As the evening wears on, I feel increasingly uneasy. Samuel is dark and brooding, yet also charismatic. He could woo any lady out of her panties, but even if I weren’t looking at him through the eyes of an agent, I would still see something sinister lurking beneath the surface of his rugged exterior. I can see it in his eyes and the way he watches me. It is like a predator sizing up its prey.
Right before I ask another question, trying to postpone Samuel’s umpteenth suggestion that we take our “dessert” elsewhere, his phone buzzes.
He glances at the screen, his expression darkening. “Excuse me for a moment.” He pushes back his chair with force, stands, then heads toward the restroom, his strides urgent.
As he leaves, my mind races with possibilities as to what could be so important that he left in limbo what he is confident is a surefire one-night stand. This could be my last chance to gather evidence while surrounded by enough people to keep the fiery situation modestly contained.