Sunrise Kisses (The Kisses 8)

“Thanks, Elijah,” I replied and then quickly turned and ran into the house to find my dad.

Chapter 13

Light fluttered on my face and woke me from an unpleasant dream. In my dream, Dad and Bastian were sitting on the beach, but Chad kept chasing me away from them. No matter how much I ran, he never let me get to them. Then the flying pineapples came, and I was just glad I had woken up.

I stretched my arms up over my head, but they caught on the arm rest of the couch. I sat up slowly, my back groaning and complaining as I shifted my weight and figured out where I was.

I was on the couch in the room with the Morisot painting. I didn't remember falling asleep, but my computer was tucked up neatly on a coffee table with the rest of my gadgets and supplies and there was a light blue blanket draped over me.

I scrubbed my face with my hands, feeling dirty and exhausted. I still had on the same clothes from the bar the night before. The last thing I remembered was sitting down on the couch to try and get some work done while Dad rested. I had thought I was too ramped up on worry to sleep, but apparently I had been wrong.

I looked down at the blanket and knew I hadn't brought it to the room. Someone else must have come by and seen me passed out on the couch and covered me up. I smiled. It was probably Charlotte. She'd be that sweet.

I stretched again, feeling the bones in my spine attempting to realign themselves. For being such an expensive couch, it wasn't that comfortable and I had slept poorly. I stood up and shook my legs out before hurrying down the hallway to my father's room.

I slowly opened the door and peeked inside. My dad was asleep in the giant bed, still attached to the monitors while Dr. Verner snored gently in a big reclining chair beside him. The monitor beeped softly and steadily. No charges had been given.

I closed the door and sagged against it. Last night, Dr. Verner had said my father needed to go to the mainland hospital today. Bastian had already granted Dr. Verner access to his private jet to do so. I wished I was going with them, but dad had insisted I stay. I had to finish the job. He promised he'd be fine and Dr. Verner promised hourly updates. I was hesitant on both their promises, but I said I would stay.

If I didn't finish the job, Fairchild Auctions and Appraisals would be finished, and that really would kill my dad. I didn't really have much of a choice.

The front door rattled and I heard a curse before the door slammed. I walked quickly down the hall to see who was making such a ruckus. Charlotte stumbled in, looking hungover and absolutely miserable.

It took me a moment to hurry down the staircase to where Charlotte sagged in the main entrance. Her dress was lopsided and her long brown hair was pulled back, but terribly messy.

“How'd it go?” I asked cautiously, moving slow so I didn't startle her.

“It didn't,” she mumbled. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“What happened?” I took her hand and started leading her toward the kitchen. She looked like she needed a cup of coffee and a hot bath.

“After you left, I was so nervous, I chugged my drink,” she explained. Her voice caught. “I puked all over him about thirty minutes later.”

“Oh no!” I exclaimed, feeling absolutely awful for her. That was not at all what I had hoped would happen.

She looked up at me, the morning light glinting off her pallid skin. “How is it that I can handle Bastian's incredibly complex scheduling needs and telling investors to go suck it, but the minute I see Leo, I turn into a mush-brain?” She paused and then sobbed. “And now I'm hung over, too.”

“Let's get you some coffee,” I coaxed, pulling her toward the kitchen. She collapsed at the wooden table and cradled her head in her hands as I looked around the kitchen for coffee.

It only took me a moment to find it, as everything was neatly organized. I could see Bastian's hand in the kitchen. It made sense to me now that the kitchen felt homey while the rest of the house didn't. This was where Bastian spent his time, and thus he had redecorated it to suit his tastes. I certainly liked his tastes better than the stuffy, overdone opulence of the rest of the house. There was such a thing as too much luxury.

I opened up the fridge and pantry, finding eggs and a coconut while the coffee brewed. I was going to make poor Charlotte something that would make her feel better.

“Thank you for the blanket last night,” I told her as I started the stove. “I can't believe I fell asleep on the couch.”

“What are you talking about?” Charlotte half raised her head from her beneath her arms to look at me, but her gaze was unfocused. “Leo brought me home and I passed out in the guest house. I'm surprised I'm even moving right now.”

“Leo brought you home?” Bastian repeated, striding into the kitchen. He was wearing a full suit again, this time in a beautiful gray charcoal that made the blue in his eyes pop. His hair was still wet from his morning swim and it made butterflies fill my stomach. “That explains why you didn't answer your phone this morning and why Elijah was such a grouch this morning.”

“Hangry,” I supplied, and Bastian nodded. Considering the way Elijah had wolfed down his sandwich the other morning, I could only imagine how grumpy the bodyguard would be without one. Especially after being out all night.

“Yeah, Leo brought me home, but only after I puked on him,” Charlotte groaned, putting her head back down. He sat down at the table next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. His face was creased with concern and brotherly love. It completely melted my heart and made me like him that much more because he so obviously cared for his little sister. Despite the initially cold exterior, he had a warm and caring heart.

I realized that he must have been the one to put the blanket over me last night, and I nearly turned into a puddle on the floor. Dad and Dr. Verner hadn't left the room all night, and Charlotte had been out puking on Leo. He was the only one who had been home.

To distract myself from turning into complete mush, I turned to start cooking up the eggs. I remembered that Bastian liked his scrambled and I stirred the yolks before I could stop myself. I hoped he was hungry, because scrambled eggs were one of the few things I actually knew how to cook well.

“Would you like some eggs, Bastian?” I asked, thrilling at his name. It was silly and I knew it. I was crushing hard, but I couldn't help it. At least I hadn't made out with my pillow, imagining it was him. Yet.