For a good portion of the last twenty minutes, I’ve heard JP throw up multiple times. I’d be concerned that he was sick, but given the bottle of Scotch he was holding last night, I know that’s not the case.
This means, he got completely wasted last night and he’s battling the effects of it this morning.
Why did he get drunk last night? Why was he talking about polar bears and pigeons? Well, probably because he was drunk.
He also said I was beautiful, and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me feel all warm inside. Because it did.
Either way, it kept me up all night, and now, this morning, as I sit on the couch, rereading the same sentence in my book over and over again because I can’t concentrate, I’m waiting for him to come out of his room.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I see it’s a text from Lottie.
Needing the distraction from my thoughts, I pick it up.
Lottie: How was the date last night? Ellie said Derek had a good time. You haven’t said much. Not feeling him? Also . . . remind me to tell you what Ellie told me about JP.
That last part has my attention. I quickly reply.
Kelsey: Date was good. Derek is really sweet. Not sure if he’s feeling me. Didn’t kiss me again last night, but he did give me a hug. I don’t know. It’s kind of awkward. What did Ellie say about JP?
Lottie: He didn’t kiss you? Sheesh, talk about taking it slow. Oh, she said her friend is a bartender who was at the Mayor’s Ball. She served JP a Scotch and overheard a conversation between him and Regis Stallone.
The conversation JP wouldn’t tell me about. Immersed in my phone now, I text her back immediately.
Kelsey: What happened? What did JP say?
Lottie: I don’t have it word for word, but she said JP was incredibly hot when he spoke to Regis. Regis was staring out at the dance floor while JP stared at him. She mentioned his carved jawline and how tense it was as he spoke through clenched teeth. She heard him say that you’re a valuable part of the team, and if he fucks with you, then he’s done. That’s paraphrased. Basically, JP was putting him in his place.
I lean back on the couch, rereading Lottie’s text over and over until it sinks in.
He was defending me? I know Regis doesn’t like me, but from what Lottie’s saying, JP won’t settle for that.
Kelsey: Wow, I had no idea.
Lottie: Yeah, and then she heard rumblings later about how JP wasn’t taking any shit from Regis. It was the gossip of the party. One of the main reasons no one fucks with Cane Enterprises. So, I guess, consider us lucky. We somehow got on the good side of some of the most powerful men in the country.
Kelsey: I guess so.
The scuffling of approaching feet grabs my attention, and I look up just in time to spot JP appear in the living room, tugging on his wet hair, looking like hell, but clean hell at that.
I set down my phone and say, “Good morning. How are you feeling?”
When he speaks, his voice comes out raspy. “Been better.” He winces, as if he has a headache, and asks, “Did you hear me?”
“I did. I’m assuming your trip to the bathroom was a result of the bottle of Scotch I saw you with last night?”
His shoulders droop as he walks farther into the living room. “Unfortunately.”
Knock. Knock. “Room service,” someone calls out from the other side of the door.
“That would be my garbage plate,” he says, walking over to the entryway. He opens it and lets the room service attendant wheel in a cart of food.
“Good morning, Mr. Cane. Everything you ordered is here. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” JP says as he signs the bill.
When the door is shut and we’re alone again, JP rolls the cart into the living room, nudges the coffee table out of the way, and then takes a seat next to me on the couch.
“I ordered you some things, in case you didn’t eat breakfast yet.” He takes a few tops off the plates and reveals a pile of croissants and a tray of beautifully cut-up fruit, and then he moves a tray of hot water, tea, honey, and jams toward me.
“You got this for me?” I ask in awe.
“You seemed like a tea-and-croissant kind of person. If you don’t like it, I can get you something else.”
“No, this is . . . well, this is lovely, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He takes the top off his plate and I can’t help the queasy look on my face.
“Not to be rude, but, uh . . . what is that?”
“Hangover cure.” He picks up a fork and points at his plate. “Hash browns with refried beans, bacon and steak, eggs scrambled and over easy, drenched in a V8 sauce.”