Mastered (The Enforcers #1) (25 page)

“I can't find that steak anywhere,” she said in frustration. “Drake wants me to cook tonight and he likes steak, so I thought I'd buy some Wagyu steak and grill it. But I can't find it anywhere.”

Justice chuckled. “No, of course not. But tell you what. I'll make a phone call right quick. Have Zander take you back to that restaurant and ask for the chef. He'll know you're coming and he'll hook you up.”

“Really?” Evangeline whispered, in awe of the obvious connections not only Drake had, but his men as well. Was it really that simple and had she wasted an entire hour when a simple phone call would have provided her with instant results?

“Yeah, really. Let me go so I can make that call. By the time you get there, the chef will be expecting you.”

She ended the call and handed the phone back to Zander. “Um, he says to tell you to take me to the restaurant where he took me to eat Wagyu steak the other day.”

“Fuck me. You're making Drake Wagyu steak tonight and I'm not invited?” Zander asked in a cute, sulky tone.

“No, but if you're nice to me the rest of the day, I'll save you some leftover dessert. It's even better than my cupcakes. Promise.”

Zander groaned. “Drake's a lucky bastard. I hope he knows that.”

“I hope so too,” Evangeline murmured, low enough for Zander not to hear.

Judging by the arched brow and curious look sent her way, she hadn't been that fortunate.

“Oh, he knows,” Zander said softly. “Don't ever think otherwise, Evangeline. If you think he's this way with other women, you're wrong. You're special to him, even if you haven't realized it yet.”

She wasn't at all sure what to make of that statement, so she let it go as they began the short walk to the restaurant.

As Justice had told her, when Evangeline and Zander arrived at the restaurant, though it wasn't yet open for lunch hours, they were immediately let in and led back to the kitchen, where they were met by a middle-aged man she assumed was the chef.

He smiled when he saw her and enfolded her hand between both of his.

“Justice tells me you enjoyed my steak the other day.”

“It was the most wonderful steak I've ever had,” Evangeline said honestly. “I wanted to cook it for dinner tonight but haven't been able to find it anywhere.”

The chef went over to the counter where a butcher-wrapped package lay out, and then he wrapped it in plastic wrap so it wouldn't leak and handed it to Evangeline.

“The secret is in not undercooking it,” he explained. “These steaks are heavily marbled, so if a person normally eats their steak rare, I would suggest cooking them medium rare. But don't overcook them either. You want the fat to dissolve just enough and to be warm all the way through. If they aren't cooked enough, you end up with jellylike consistency from the marbling instead of the juicy succulence you should
experience. Overcook it and, well, you have a burned mess that has none of the wonderful taste that it should.”

“Thank you so much,” Evangeline said, smiling radiantly at the kind older man. “I have no doubt dinner will be a wonderful success thanks to your generosity and expert advice. How much do I owe you for the meat?”

The chef blinked and immediately looked discomfited. Zander smoothly inserted himself and said, “Drake has an account with the restaurant. He'll be billed. You don't need to worry about it.”

People had accounts with restaurants? For that matter they had relationships with the chefs that made it possible to get what was no doubt proprietary meat from the chef to cook at home?

The more she saw into Drake's world, the more aware she was of just how clueless she was when it came to having money and connections. It all sounded like something out of a ridiculous movie. Not real life and definitely not
her
life.

Then she surprised the already bewildered chef by impulsively hugging him.

“Thank you for doing this for me. I have no doubt dinner will be superb tonight, thanks to you, and rest assured you'll get the credit for providing such an amazing meal.”

The older man flushed. “It was my pleasure, Miss Hawthorn, though from what I hear of your culinary expertise, I'd take you on and put you to work in my kitchen any day of the week, although I'd probably fast be out of a job.”

It was her turn to blush, and she wondered how on earth this man knew anything about her cooking.

“I won't keep you any longer,” Evangeline said. “I need to get home so none of what I've purchased is spoiled. Thank you again.”

Zander herded her from the kitchen and out of the restaurant, where once more she blinked and squinted at the bright autumn sun.

“You need a pair of damn sunglasses,” Zander muttered.

She shot him a strange look and then shook her head. But as they headed down the sidewalk, Zander stopped at a name-brand boutique and dragged her inside, where he proceeded to make her pick out a pair of outrageously expensive designer sunglasses that horrified her once she saw the price tag.

She mutinously shook her head, refusing to even consider buying such an extravagance. He merely ignored her and since she wouldn't make a choice, he chose the two he thought looked the best on her and just gave her a look she was becoming well acquainted with since it was one Drake and all his men wore like a second skin. The one that said,
You won't change my mind
.

After he paid for them, he plucked a pair and slid them on Evangeline's nose, adjusting them to his liking before they stepped from the shop. He seemed rather pleased with himself and Evangeline didn't have the heart to put a damper on his mood, so she kept her thoughts of the ridiculousness of paying hundreds of dollars for a pair of sunglasses to herself. A five-dollar pair from a grocery store or pharmacy would have certainly sufficed.

But what she wore was a reflection on Drake, and she doubted he would be pleased to see her wearing anything but what he considered the best.

And it was because of her exasperation and her inattention to her surroundings that she tripped as they headed down the sidewalk and went sprawling before Zander could catch her. The impact of hitting the concrete took her breath away as Zander's colorful curses filled the air.

“Jesus Christ, Evangeline, are you all right?”

His concerned face filled her vision as he gently turned her to look at her. She reached up, worried she'd broken her sunglasses and when, in fact, they came away in two pieces, she nearly burst into tears.

“I broke them,” she said tearfully.

“Fuck the sunglasses,” he said, fury lacing his words. “I'm more concerned whether you broke anything on you. Can you get up? Do you hurt anywhere?”

She let him help her up, wincing when she stretched her leg to its full length.

“Just my knee,” she said. “I think I just scraped it. God, I'm so sorry. I'm so clumsy.”

Zander bent right there in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing her to hold on to his shoulder for support as he examined the tear in her jeans and moved the material right and left so he could assess the damage.

“You're bleeding,” he said grimly. “I can't fucking see well enough to know how deep the laceration is or if you'll need stitches. I need to call Drake.”

“No!” she burst out. “For God's sake, Zander. I scraped my knee. The world isn't ending. Drake does not need to be disturbed at work because I'm an idiot who fell and scraped her knee. He has a very busy day and said he had several meetings and that he'd be late arriving home. I don't want to disrupt his schedule over something so insignificant.”

Zander frowned, having no liking for her response. He knew Drake well enough to know that if Evangeline was involved and especially if she was hurt, he wouldn't give a fuck about some goddamn meeting. But she looked like she was on the verge of a complete meltdown, and given that she'd already been on the receiving end of a pissed-off Drake this morning, he could well imagine why she wouldn't want to risk provoking his anger again even though Zander knew damn well Drake would be anything but pissed.

“Zander, please,” she begged. “This is embarrassing enough without involving Drake.”

His expression softened and then he shook his head before picking his phone up. To Evangeline's dismay, he seemed to have not been moved by her entreaty.

“Yeah, Zander here. I need you to come get me and Evangeline and have Drake's doctor on standby. I'm taking her to get checked out.”

There was a long pause.

“No. She doesn't want Drake to know. She just took a fall. Her knee hurts but I can't exactly examine it in the middle of a fucking public sidewalk. Just get here.”

After Zander gave whoever he was talking to his and Evangeline's location, Zander ended the call and then gathered the bags he'd dropped when Evangeline fell. Then he curled his huge tattooed arm around her waist.

“Lean on me and try not to put much weight on your hurt leg,” he said. “We need to get somewhere you don't get knocked over by some asshole pedestrian in a hurry. Preferably somewhere you can sit so you aren't putting any strain on that knee.”

He all but carried her and the bags a short distance away under the awning of a restaurant and settled her into a bench intended for waiting customers. When the woman manning the door would have protested them sitting, Zander sent her a ferocious glare that promptly had her shutting her mouth and retreating hastily to her post.

“Who did you call?” Evangeline asked.

“Justice. He's not far or he would have called someone who was closer than he was to come get you.”

“Is a visit to the doctor really necessary?” Evangeline asked with a frown. “We should just go home. I can doctor it myself. It's not serious. It doesn't even hurt that much anymore.”

“We
are
going home,” Zander said calmly. “Drake's personal physician has a clinic on the second level of Drake's building. He has a practice, but his primary job is to see to Drake and Drake's employees' needs. And believe me, we're a full-time job,” he added with a grin.

But Evangeline didn't return his smile. Her brow furrowed in thought over what Zander had told her. Drake required a personal physician?
As in one who looked after the needs of him and his men? Were their jobs that dangerous? For that matter, she had yet to figure out precisely what Drake and his men did for a living. Surely owning a nightclub didn't command the kind of wealth Drake and his men possessed and certainly wouldn't be cause to have a personal doctor to patch someone up on a regular basis.

She felt faintly ill, wondering just what she had gotten herself into and if she was already in way over her head.

“How bad are you hurting?” Zander asked bluntly.

She looked up at him, squinting when her gaze met the sun beyond Zander's broad shoulders. He frowned and dug out the other pair of sunglasses and promptly perched them atop Evangeline's nose.

“It just stings a bit. You're completely overreacting,” she muttered. “One would think I got shot.”

Zander wasn't amused, and it was the fact that his expression became as grim as it did that made her wonder if being shot was a possibility. Was her coming to harm why Drake was so overzealous when it came to her having protection any time she left the apartment?

If she thought for a minute she'd actually get an answer, she'd ask Zander just that question, but she knew he'd bite off his tongue before ever telling her anything. So she sighed and resigned herself to a visit to the doctor.

She was surprised when only five minutes later, a sleek car she didn't recognize the insignia for pulled up, and to her further surprise, not only did Justice step from the car but so did Silas.

And it would appear Silas's presence came as a surprise to Zander as well, judging by his reaction.

Justice shrugged as they neared where Evangeline still sat on the bench.

“Silas was with me and when he heard what went down, he said he was coming.”

Unspoken was that no one ever likely refused Silas anything.

“I just hope to hell he doesn't scare the shit out of her,” Zander muttered so only Justice could hear.

Evangeline immediately bristled and shot upward, wincing as her knee protested the sudden and unexpected movement. She pointed her finger at Zander. “To date, you are the only one who has frightened me. Not to mention how rude you were. And you dare to suggest that a man who has impeccable manners and who made considerable effort to ease my embarrassment after I dumped a cupcake all over his pants—which was
your
fault, by the way—would somehow frighten me? Quite frankly, I'm better off with him.”

Silas stood staring at Evangeline as though she were an alien, surprise written clearly on his features. And then he simply walked to where she was shakily standing and put one arm around her.

“How much does it pain you?” he asked quietly.

“Enough,” Evangeline muttered. “I just want to go home. It's not that bad and it certainly doesn't warrant a visit to Drake's doctor who also conveniently has a practice in Drake's building. Hell, Drake probably owns the entire building.”

“He does,” Silas said in his somber voice.

Evangeline closed her eyes. She shouldn't have gone there. It was her own fault for opening herself up for that.

Silas squeezed her, giving her silent reassurance. She wasn't so sure why the others seemed to have a healthy fear of and respect for this man. Well, the respect he had no doubt earned, and it was owed. But the fear she didn't understand, nor did she understand why they would think she would be afraid of him when he'd been nothing but gentle, kind and compassionate with her.

And because she was thinking those things and because whatever she thought always seemed to make its way out of her mouth, she put it out there before she could think better of it.