The move shatters my tense little trance. I dash after him. Holy shit, Mina’s going to lose her mind if she sees this! “Mr. Tolyan!”
He keeps walking. His long legs carry him farther and farther, and I have to jog to catch up to him.
“Give me the tray. You shouldn’t be doing that.” I look around the small hallway for employees. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here, either.”
His gaze flicks in my direction. “I can be anywhere I want. And you looked like you were about to faint.”
I did?
“You haven’t eaten.” The words are clipped and brusque.
“How do you know?” I ask. I’m pretty good at faking being okay. People get uncomfortable when they can sense you’re not okay.
“Your stomach growled.”
“Oh.” My face warms, and I try not to squirm. Still, I can’t stop myself from clearing my throat. “I didn’t think you heard.”
“Most wouldn’t have.”
Right. Maybe this means he has some level of empathy despite how coldly he treated the redhead earlier. He might be amenable to a request for help, especially if I offer to pay him…
He takes the tray to the kitchen and puts it down. Then he points at one of the chefs. “You. Make a sandwich.”
Oh. Maybe he’s here not because I looked like I was about to faint, but because he didn’t get anything to eat in the ballroom. I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or not.
The chef stares at him blankly, probably stunned that a stranger is bossing him around in his kitchen. He quickly regains his composure and bristles. “Who are you?”
Tolyan gives him a lazy look. “The person signing off on the bill for the event tonight.”
Is he in charge of the Pryce Family Foundation? How…unexpected. I thought the blonde who made speeches was the one running the show.
“Okay,” the chef says, slightly mollified. “What do you want on it?”
Tolyan looks at me. “Allergies or anything you don’t like?”
“Me?” I squeak.
A hint of amusement flashes in his pale eyes. “You.”
“Well, uh…nothing. I like everything.”
He turns to the chef. “You heard the girl. Toasted whole grain bread. Loads of roast beef, four strips of bacon, lettuce and tomato. Mild Swiss. Horseradish sauce. No mayo. Steak fries with ketchup. Plus sparkling pear cider to drink.” Tolyan might as well own the hotel.
The chef grunts grumpily, but makes a tall sandwich with fries and puts the whole thing on a clean white plate, which he places on a tray. Another staff member places an elegant glass of fizzy drink next to it.
Tolyan takes the tray and starts to walk away from the kitchen. When I stay rooted to the spot and stare, he crooks his index finger. “Come.”
I follow, managing to match his pace. He turns into a small hallway, moving like he knows exactly where he’s going, then opens a door. We’re in a smaller ballroom, not the main one. It’s empty, but set up with tables and chairs.
“Sit,” he says, setting down the tray on one of the tables.
His steely voice doesn’t invite a refusal. I park my butt in the indicated chair, then look at the plate in front of me. The smell of the bread and beef is getting to me, and my mouth waters. But instead of reaching for the food like I’m itching to, I look up at Tolyan. He remains standing, towering over me. His eyes grow cooler as time ticks by.
“Eat,” he says finally.
“You want me to eat this?” I squeak like an idiot. I guess I understood he was getting the food for me at the kitchen, but it’s just…weird to receive this type of thoughtful kindness from a man who is looking at me with such cold eyes. In my experience, when people want to feed someone, they tend to smile and appear a lot friendlier.
“Yes. You’re hungry, aren’t you?”