Club Prive: Sweet Escape (Kindle Worlds Novella) by Leslie Johnson

investigation.
    He responds almost immediately: Do you still want background on Miss Beck? Pictures?
    I look at the woman in front of me and type: No, but thank you. Please invoice my accountant as normal.
    Avery moans again, and I soothe her by stroking her hair. Gently opening her mouth, I check her tongue and throat, happy to see the swelling is nearly gone.
    This is my first day on the job, and I have a million things I need to be doing right now. But I take a seat, her hand still in mine and tap on the attachments Dan sent me. With a heavy heart, I read the details of her childhood as she sleeps.

Chapter Twelve – Avery
    I’m still on the couch where Brooke planted me when we got home, refusing to let me lift a finger. A soft afghan is covering my legs and pillows are at my back, a kettle of tea on the table beside me. We’re both eating the soup — a gift from Sir — that had been delivered only ten minutes before.
    The buzzer sounds for the second time since I’ve been home and I stop eating my soup to look up at Brooke. She gives me an “I have no idea” shrug of her shoulders and steps over to the intercom.
    “Delivery for Miss Beck,” a man’s voice says and Brooke buzzes him up. A few moments later, two men are in our apartment, setting a number of bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. “You’ll want to freeze these quickly,” one says, pointing to a bag. “And refrigerate those.”
    Brooke digs into the brown paper bags, pulling out two cartons of ice cream, a gallon of orange sherbet, and four varieties of popsicles. There’s also enough fruit and vegetables to feed a small country. And a Vitamix blender! That gets my attention in a big way. It’s been on my bucket list for several years.
    Brooke is laughing as she puts everything in our small fridge, trying to make it all fit. When she tries to tip the men, they refuse, saying it’s already been taken care of, “courtesy of Sir.”
    Closing the door behind the men, Brooke gives me a wide-eyed look. “What did you do to that man last night? I need me some of that special fairy dust.”
    I giggle. Giggle! Yes, a tee-hee-hee just came out of my throat. That hasn’t happened in years. Brooke is just picking up her bowl of soup when the buzzer sounds again.
    “Good heavens!” she says and sets the bowl back down. She’s on her feet and a few minutes later is carrying a large bouquet of flowers into the room. They’re stunning, an assortment of sunflowers and pink tulips along with red Alstroemeria and purple aster. She waggles her eyebrows when she hands me the card.
    “They’re from the ICU staff,” I tell her. The note from Tabitha nearly makes me cry: Please be better soon. You mean the world to me and I’d never ever hurt you on purpose. I hope you know that.
    I do know that and don’t blame her for a second. Gray is probably right and I’ve developed some new allergy, which can happen in an instant. It’s strange how our bodies are. A person can be stung by bees all their lives, then boom, one sting and they’re down.
    Picking up my phone, I take a picture of the flowers and send the image to Tabitha with a text: You mean the world to me too. This isn’t your fault. Do *not* blame yourself. See you tomorrow.
    She responds immediately. You better keep your pretty self in bed all day tomorrow and rest. If you show up here, we’re barring the door.
    Another text follows: Told ya that cute doc likes you. There’s a series of emojis. Winking man, along with a cat with heart eyes, and a rainbow with a pot of gold at one end.
    I’m tempted to send her the middle finger one back, but as close as I’ve grown to her, I still haven’t known her very long. He is cute, isn’t he?
    She responds: Sigh.
    Brooke and I are both digging into the soup again when the buzzer goes off once more. She says nothing, just pops up and pushes the button.
    “It’s Gray.”
    She whirls around, but I’m already on my feet, straightening my hair