Page 32 of The Auction Block

"Sure, I guess."

"Sit down. How's eggs and bacon sound?"

"Fine." I slide onto one of the stools and watch him as he moves around the kitchen.

He's graceful for a person his size. I stare, transfixed as he scrambles eggs and puts bacon on. I pull my eyes to the balcony, staring at the lightening sky. This must be how normal people spend their days.

"Here ya go." Blake sets a plate in front of me.

"Thanks," I mutter, picking up my fork.

We eat in silence. I haven't had anything in days and Blake's a good cook. The eggs are delicious and the bacon is perfect. I lay my fork on the empty plate, draining my coffee cup. He stands, picking up my stuff before I can protest and sets it in the sink.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"That's really none of your business."

"I'm making it my business. How long?"

"I don’t know, four days…maybe five."

"Five days?" The disbelief oozes in his words. "I understand this is hard for you, but . . . please eat. Don't starve yourself while you're living here."

His concern throws me. Not the anger I expected. "Okay."

"Do you have something to wear for the ball?" He leans casually against the counter.

"Uh, no. Jax and I discussed it, and I'll go out this afternoon to get something."

"I'll get you something." He pushes off the counter and sits on the stool next to me.

"That isn't necessary. I'll take care of it."

"Lily, you're only going to this because I am. Please let me."

"With a few conditions," I say, my hands trembling.

"Okay."

"Long sleeves. It has to cover my shoulders and back. I don't do the skimpy dress thing. Got it?"

"Yeah." He nods his head.

I stand and place my coffee mug in the sink and walk past him toward my room. I need some distance. Saturday is going to suck major ass.

"Hey, Lily?"

"Yes?" I stop at the bottom of the stairs and turn to face him.

"Why does it have to cover everything?"

I shake my head. "It just does."

†††

"Put her on the phone." Blake's voice travels into the hallway as I pass his office. "Hey, Nina. What's going on, sweetheart?" His voice is soft and coaxing, as if he's talking to a wounded animal or something.

I step quietly into his office, standing against the door frame. He's looking more like his usual self this afternoon— white button down shirt, hair in purposeful disarray. I'm certain he's wearing dress slacks. I look around his office.