Page 96 of Angels Are Falling

Kai returned to work the following Monday. I assumed the intensity of his attention would waver once he resumed his normal business hours. His reputation as a mega tycoon was well-earned. He demanded excellence from everyone, and most of all from himself. He worked long hours, yet somehow, he still showed up to my work with lunch.

I hadn’t told him what time I took my lunch. It meant that when I got to the parking lot and found him at the curb, it was either a result of spying or something adjacent to it.

“How did you know I was going out for lunch?” I asked in lieu of saying hello.

“I called the hospital.”

I glared at him with the energy of someone who had a great deal to say and was choosing to say it in the correct order. “You called the hospital.”

“The receptionist was helpful.”

Jo. I could picture her exactly, eagerly giving Kai all the information he requested.

There was a semi-smile as he held up a bag. “I made it myself.”

I sighed as he followed me to a public bench. I generally ran to a local deli for food if the ER was slow. It wasn’t the most convenient, as the commute cut into my lunchtime. I could pack my lunches, but I always forgot. It was a vicious cycle I couldn’t break free from.

I glanced at him. Of course, he was already watching me with a stupid, cocky grin. Although I’d never admit that the chicken sandwich tasted like heaven, I nearly moaned when I tasted the fig jam, truffle aioli, and brie combination on sourdough. I caught the sound before it fully escaped and turned it into a cough.

Too late.

“Good?” he asked, not looking up from unwrapping his own sandwich.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” he repeated like he was trying the words on and finding them two sizes too small. He finally looked at me, and there it was, that maddening, knowing tilt at the corner of his mouth. “You made a sound, Princess, that made it seem more than just okay.”

“I did not.”

“You did.” He took a bite of his sandwich, unbothered, victorious. “Twice.”

I chewed with as much dignity as a woman could summon around brie this good. I’d have rather died than tell him it was the best sandwich I’d ever eaten. He knew anyway. He always knew.

Lunch continued with a side of our usual lukewarm banter, most of it my attempt to claw back the ground I’d just surrendered for a sandwich. I turned it over in my hand and studied it like evidence. “Do you know what this is?”

“Lunch.”

I rolled my eyes. “This is an old-man sandwich.” I took another disloyal bite.

“Is that right?” he asked dryly.

“Think about it. A man your age chooses fig jam and truffle.” I held up the offending half like exhibit A. “Twenty-three-year-olds do not choose brie, and least of all, sourdough as the base. We eat cheese that comes wrapped in its own square of plastic. Whereas you chose a soft French cheese. You probably own a cheese knife, too. Probably have opinions about bread as well.”

“You’re building quite a case for older men and their preferences.”

“All I’m saying is it’s a slippery slope. Today it’s truffle. Tomorrow you’ll wake up with a midlife crisis, and before you know it, bam!” I leaned in, warming to the verdict. “You buy a penis-shaped car.”

“Mm.” He wasn’t remotely offended. “And yet.”

“And yet what?”

He leaned back, unbothered as always. “And yet this old man fucked you so many times last night that you had to walk crooked this morning.”

My jaw sagged. He was so crude. And also sort of funny.

His humor was simply like that, no windup, no smile to soften it, just the thing itself delivered at full force and then gone, as if it hadn’t meant to surface. He didn’t try to be funny. He simply was, but only when he was relaxed. You couldn’t buy that quality or manufacture it. You either had it or you didn’t, and he did.

His gaze flicked down, then up. “You’re welcome, by the way.”