Chapter 6
Gabe
With the first book signing event under our belt, I’m feeling more confident that I can keep Izzie safe while she’s at the bookstores. As we head to our hotel, I say, “Remember, no going out of your room without me. We’ve got adjoining suites, so you can knock on my door anytime, even if you just want to run down to grab a Starbucks.”
Her lips tip into a frown, and she glares at me from her position in the back of the limo. “I will remain safely sequestered in my room at all times,” she huffs.
I sigh. “Izzie, if you want to go out, you can. As long as I’m glued to your side.”
She nods. “You’re right. I’m just a bit cranky after the long day.” Her stomach emits a loud growl to accompany her words, and her cheeks turn pink as she puts her hand over the offending body part.
“I think the term is hangry,” I tease. “Shall we pick up some dinner or order room service?”
“Would you mind if we just picked something up and brought it to our room?”
Considering I’m driving a stretch limo, going through a drive-thru might be a challenge, but I’m up for it. “Sure. What are you hungry for?”
Nibbling on her bottom lip, she stares at me, our eyes connecting in the rearview mirror. “Um, well...”
Her hesitation intrigues me. What dietary concoction could she possibly want that she’s embarrassed to admit?
“Come on! Your secret hankering is safe with me.”
A small smile sneaks through her serious demeanor. “Promise not to post this about me on social media?”
I grunt. When was the last time I posted anything on social media? Never. Holding up two fingers, I say, “Boy Scout swear.”
“That’s the peace symbol, not the Scout salute,” she teases.
“You know what I mean! Now, what food are you hungry for?” I grumble, feeling a bit hangry myself.
“I’d like to pick up In-N-Out Burger,” she whispers, as if the vehicle is bugged and her millions of fans are listening to our conversation.
My eyes go wide, and I bark out a laugh, expecting her request to be something like Chipotle, Panera Bread, or Au Bon Pain. Burgers, fries, and a shake? Now that’s a food group I can get behind.
“Alrighty, then. Let’s see what our friendly GPS lady says about where the nearest In-N-Out Burger is.” I speak the request and an Australian voice informs me that we’re within a few miles of the restaurant. Within minutes, we’re idling in the drive-thru line.
When I pull up to the order window, the kid’s eyes bug out, but he recovers quickly.
“What would you like to order, sir?”
“Two double cheeseburgers, two fries, one chocolate shake, and one strawberry shake,” I say, having already gotten Izzie’s order out of her.
“Extra ketchup on one of the burgers, please,” Izzie says, her head popping through the divider window so she can be heard.
She hands me a black credit card, one of those high-end cards reserved for the rich and famous. When I provide the card, the kid swipes it and hands it back along with the receipt.
“Pick up your order at window two ahead. Have a nice evening.”
The girl serving our order giggles when she spots the limo. Leaning out the window, she tries to peek through the limo’s dark windows to see who’s riding inside. Handing me a white bag with the name In-N-Out Burger splashed across it in red letters, she says, “Who’s in the car?”
“Someone who wants to remain anonymous. However, I can tell you that her first name is Martha,” I say, then pull away.
Laughter floats from the back seat. “Oh my! Gabriel, you’re incorrigible,” Izzie says, as her hand appears through the open window. “I’ll take the bag.”
Before I can reply, a hand sporting bright red fingernails grabs the bag and disappears as she slumps back in her seat. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I see Izzie’s pulled out one of the packets of fries and is popping them into her mouth as quickly as she can.
“Don’t touch any of my fries or you’ll be in big trouble, Miss Harrington!” I warn.
Her hand pauses. “I’m not responsible for my actions where fries are concerned,” she says in a prim voice, then continues eating.
“Turn right at the next intersection. Your destination will be on your right,” the Australian sounding female voice interjects.
“See! We’re almost to the hotel. I want my fries back when we get there,” I say, watching as she readies herself for embarking from the vehicle, collecting her purse and laptop bag along with the food.
After we park, Izzie thrusts the takeout at me then sprints off to the reception desk, leaving me behind. “Wait!” I shout to the wind. Thankfully the parking lot is well lit and there’s no sign of any stalkers.
After confirming my fries appear to be intact, I retrieve our bags from the vehicle. Thankfully Izzie insisted on only bringing one of her bags into the hotel, so I was able to juggle the luggage along with the takeout sack.
As I join her at the check-in desk, Izzie completes the fastest check-in I’ve ever witnessed. Delicious aromas float from the bag in my hand and my stomach rumbles.
As we ride the elevator, I say in a firm, brook-no-argument voice, “Izzie, you have to stop running off without me. What if your stalker was waiting in the parking lot? You left me in the dust, and I couldn’t protect you.”
I expect a complaint, but she nods. “I’ll do better, Mr. Martin.” We walk to our adjoining suites and Izzie opens her door. “Come to the connecting door and we’ll distribute the food,” she says, nodding her head towards the door to my suite. She grabs the handle of her suitcase and disappears inside.
That command doesn’t sound like we’ll be eating together. I guess she still considers me her employee and not an eating companion. My heart takes an unexpected nosedive.
When I get inside my suite, she’s already opened the adjoining door. Striding over, she relieves me of the food bag, pulls out her portion, and heads back towards her suite.
“Want to eat together?” I ask, pointing towards the table in my room.
She hesitates for several beats, the decision apparently a difficult one. Am I that awful of a companion?
“Promise I won’t eat with my mouth open or belch,” I add.
She rolls her eyes. “Sure. Why not.”
Even though we’re both still wearing our suits, we immediately sit at the table and start inhaling the delicious burgers. At this point, food trumps comfortable clothing.
Hopefully my burger won’t leak any ketchup because this is the only suit I brought. Deciding that I can’t risk it, I shrug out of the suit jacket then resume eating.
Izzie eats daintily, taking much smaller bites than me. My burger and fries are gone before she’s eaten half of hers.
“You were hungry,” she says with a polite smile.
“I should have ordered two burgers,” I say, then stroll over to the mini bar located at the back of the room. I snag a sleeve of Oreos and a bag of Doritos, then rejoin her at the table.
“You know those aren’t complimentary, right?”
“Yep. But my employer’s credit card is the one on file for the room,” I say, grinning like I just won the lottery. She mutters something under her breath, and I start munching on the chips. When I open the sleeve of Oreos, her expression turns wistful . Is Izzie a secret fan of these snack cookies?
“Want one?” I say, holding the package towards her.
She hesitates several beats again, the decision playing out across her pretty face. If only she knew that she’s like an open book, every emotion visible. I don’t recommend Izzie play poker.
Jiggling the package back and forth, I break the logjam in her decision-making process.
“Well, if you insist,” she says brightly as she takes a cookie. “Too bad we don’t have a glass of milk.”
Shaking my head, I say, “Ismeralda Harrington, you’re a conundrum.”
She smiles. “I may have a teensy, tiny sweet tooth. And I loved eating these cookies with milk when I was a kid.” Emotions flit across her face again, and I wonder how long it’s been since she just let herself relax and enjoy the simple things.
“Your secret is safe with me,” I add.
Surprisingly, the conversation flows easily after that as we discuss several of the quirky attendees at the book signing.
“I almost busted a gut when those eighty-year-old twins said you were their idol,” I say. “It sounded like they’ve watched every one of your YouTube videos. My grandmother doesn’t even know what YouTube is.”
Giggling, Izzie adds, “Especially when they weren’t wearing an ounce of makeup. Not even lip gloss!” She sips her chocolate shake, drawing the last contents noisily through the straw. “What did you think of the overalls-wearing guy?”
Ah, yes, the farmer. At least that was my assumption when I saw him. When I first spotted the man, I was worried he was the stalker, but afterwards I wasn’t so sure. “His purchase seemed totally out of character. But wasn’t he a polite fellow?”
Izzie’s nose wrinkles. “If you count a man in his seventies calling me ma’am.”
I chuckle. “‘Yes, ma’am. Fetching book cover, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.’” I repeat the string of greetings he used throughout the transaction.
“He did have flawless skin, which is rare in a farmer,” Izzie says. “He must be following my skin care routine.”
Mentally, I add the overalls guy to my list of possible stalker suspects. If he turns up at another signing, I’ll have him detained so I can interrogate him, flawless skin or not.
After all our food is gone, Izzie morphs from a friendly eating companion back to my serious employer. She hops to her feet and walks briskly to the adjoining door. “Have a nice evening, Gabriel. We need to leave at six o’clock tomorrow morning. See you then.” The door shuts behind her with a loud snick!
The silence in the room once she’s gone makes me feel lonely. I retrieve my laptop to organize the security we’ll need at our next stop. I’ll also check her email account for any more threatening missives. Knowing I won’t fall asleep for hours, I decide to also see if I can figure out where those emails are coming from, but it’s doubtful I’ll find much because cyber stalkers tend to be good at covering their tracks.
A sudden image of a lingerie-clad Miss Harrington snuggled in her bed sound asleep assails me. At least one of us will sleep like a baby. It’s going to be a long night.