casino resorts. I had no clue which ones and a Google search on my MacBook had been as unsuccessful as the one on my iPad.
“I thought he was the…” Not knowing the correct phrasing, I went with, “House chef?”
“I am,” Freddy said. “I develop. I cook. I train. I slice, I dice, I even julienne.”
“That is a lot.”
“I like to feed people.” He tapped his spoon on the pot. “If this is good, I’ll serve it for lunch.”
I grinned, my stomach growling before twisting.
I’m hungrier than I thought.
Freddy looked pleased with my reaction. “You like my food?”
I almost gave him shit about the rosemary nightmares, but that would’ve been unfair. He was likely following orders.
I went with honesty, bordering on enthusiastic food fangirling. “I love it.”
His chest puffed out. “Good. Is there anything you’d like me to make this week?”
“I thought you didn’t take requests,” Ash grumbled sullenly.
“I don’t for bastards who steal my jerky.” He tilted his head toward me. “But if she appreciates the food I make with my own skilled hands, she can choose whatever she likes.”
Ash crossed his arms. “I appreciate your food.”
“You dipped an exquisitely marbled, dry-aged porterhouse in A.1.”
“I had a taste for it.” Ash stormed back into the pantry and reemerged with the Cheetos, giving Freddy a wide berth so he couldn’t reach him without abandoning his risotto. “You won’t take my requests, I’m taking your Cheetos.”
“Asshole.” Freddy’s tight expression smoothed out as he looked back to me. “What would you like?”
Since it seemed like this was a one-time, rare-as-a-blue-moon thing, I considered my options carefully before deciding. “I’d love some mac and cheese.”
“Done,” Freddy said with a firm nod.
My stomach did another grumble and flip in anticipation.
“Ready to get back to the exciting world of variables?” Ash asked me.
“You and I have very different ideas of exciting,” I mumbled. I started to follow him before turning back to Freddy. “Thanks for the chocolate.”
“It’s straight from Belgium. If you like it, I’ll get more.”
My mouth watered as I returned to the table with Ash. I sat and was about to rip into the package when my stomach twisted. Only that time, it was followed by a clench that stole my breath.
Oh shit.
No, not right now.
Staying in the house, all the days had begun blurring together. I’d lost track.
“What’s wrong?” Ash asked, his snacks forgotten as he went alert.
I jolted up before things got real embarrassing, real fast. The quick movement caused another cramp to squeeze my stomach like a vise. Wrapping my arms around myself, I blinked away tears.
“Juliet.” Ash stood and held my shoulders, panicked. “Are you sick? Does something hurt?”
Yes, my uterus is rioting and tearing apart the baby nursery it spent a month making.
I shook my head. “I need Ms. Vera.”
“I can help, just tell me what’s wrong.”
Yeah, not happening.
The situation was quickly deteriorating, and my panic went into overdrive. I probably looked like my head was going to start spinning around like the girl from The Exorcist. “Send Ms. Vera to my room.”
Realization must’ve dawned because his eyes widened. “Ohhh, got it. She’ll be right up.” Moving fast, he headed through one of the mystery doors.
I hauled ass as quickly as I could while keeping my thighs pressed tight together, waddling like a penguin.
We’re at critical levels of oh-shit. Code red.
Code-fucking-red.
No longer waddling, I took off at a run and didn’t stop until I was in the bathroom.
Stripping down, my stupid hormonal tears irrationally increased when I saw my cute polka dot undies were ruined. My leggings hadn’t fared much better.
I turned the shower on as hot as I could stand before stepping under the scalding jets.
It felt glorious.
My muscles loosened as I turned my back toward the hard spray. I leaned my forehead against the wall, taking slow, deep breaths.
I’d just relaxed when someone knocked. Tension tightened my body again as I braced. “Who is it?”
“Ms. Vera. Can I come in?”
“Yes,” I called since the glass was frosted and she couldn’t see anything.
The bathroom door opened and closed. “Mr. Ash said you needed me. Is it that time?”
“Yes.”
“There are supplies in the second drawer under the sink.”
“There’s already supplies?”
“Of course. We’re women. Women bleed. Men would die from their first cramp.”
I laughed through an emotionally charge sob.
“Stay in the shower as long as you need. Where are your clothes?”
“I’ll take care of them,” I insisted. “I’ve been doing laundry since before I was tall enough to reach the buttons.”
“Where are they?”
“I can handle it.”
“Where?”
“In the hamper. But I