Protected by Him (5 page)

“I can’t remember the last time I went out to breakfast,” I said.

“Brunch,” Colt said, glancing up from his menu.

“What?”

“Nobody calls it breakfast anymore, Princess. You’re on the East Side now. They call it brunch.” He reached into the wire basket that was sitting on the table and pulled out a cranberry muffin, split it in half and buttered it before placing one half on my plate. “Eat.”

“Bossy,” I said, rolling my eyes.

He raised his eyebrows at me, daring me to defy him. So I picked it the muffin and took a bite. Holy crap, it was good. “This is the best muffin I’ve ever had,” I admitted.

Colt nodded in satisfaction.

When the waiter came back, Colt ordered for both of us – omelets with bacon and cheddar, sweet potato pancakes, bacon, sausage, and an order of biscuits with gravy.

“That’s way too much food,” I protested once the waiter was gone.

“You need to eat. You need to heal.” Colt nodded toward my wrists. There was a touch of something in his voice, a hint of that same emotion he’d had last night. I took a sip of my orange juice and tried to calm my heart, which had started to pound my chest.

“Olivia,” Colt said.

“Colt,” I said back, trying to put a teasing tone in my voice, trying to stop him from saying whatever it was he was about to say. I wanted to connect with him, but I afraid it was going to be about us, about what happened last night. I wasn’t ready yet for this little fantasy world to end. So I tried to cut him off at the pass. “When are you going to talk to your uncle?”

“I already talked to him.”

“What?” I asked, sitting up straighter in my chair, my hands clutching the napkin in my lap. “When?”

“This morning.”

The waiter returned then with two tall narrow glasses filled with something cool and pink. “Strawberry pineapple smoothies,” he said, setting them down on the table. “Compliments of the chef.”

“Thanks, George,” Colt said. “Tell Zander I appreciate it.”

They made small talk for a few moments, and I clutched my napkin tighter in the lap.

“George, this is Olivia,” Colt said.

“Nice to meet you,” George said, nodding at me. He didn’t seem like he thought it was strange to see Colt here with a girl, and I wondered how many other girls Colt had brought here for breakfast after a night together. Ten, twenty, a hundred?

But I couldn’t think about that now.

Once George was gone, I immediately turned to Colt.

“What did he say?” I demanded.

“Who?”

“Your uncle! What did he say when you told him what you wanted to do?”

“He said okay.” Colt shrugged, then pushed my smoothie toward me. “Drink.”

I took a sip to appease him, because I knew he wouldn’t shut up about it unless I did. “So that’s it?”

He nodded.

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious. “You don’t seem that happy.”

George the waiter appeared at our table again, this time setting plate after plate of food down in front of us, biscuits and pancakes and omelets and sausage and bacon.

“So why aren’t you happy?” I demanded once George was gone.

“Who said I wasn’t happy?” Colt reached for the syrup and drowned his pancakes in it, then cut a piece and began to eat.

“Well, you’re not smiling. You’re not
acting
like someone who’s happy.” He sighed, then set his fork down and reached into his wallet, pulling out a crumpled up business card. He slid it across the table toward me.

“What is that?”

“Caleb’s card.”

“Caleb’s…” I reached over and picked it up off the table. Sure enough, it was the card Caleb had given me. “Where did you get this?”

“I picked it up off the ground yesterday when I found you outside Declan’s house.”

I stared down at the card. Caleb’s information was embossed on heavy cream-colored stock, the letters raised slightly in a deep and foreboding navy blue. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because,” Colt said, his voice serious. “Olivia, I want you to work with the FBI.”

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