Justice For Abby by Cate Beauman Read Free Book Online Page A

her problem. Jerrod knew plenty about her situation, but he didn’t have to know everything. She could hardly expect him or anyone else to believe she was normal if she bombarded him with another one of her one hundred and one neuroses. “It doesn’t matter.”
    “I can take it off.”
    She shook her head. “If we didn’t need it, it wouldn’t be there.”
    “Abigail—”
    No more . “I want to make you breakfast. How about an egg white omelet with spinach, tomato, and a sprinkle of feta?”
    He raised his brow. “Do you think I’m foolish enough to turn that down?”
    She smiled, relieved that the air was clear and he was going to let the bar issue go. “Give me a minute to change out of one of two thousand-fifteen’s hottest summer looks, and I’ll get to it.”
    “Isn’t Monique supposed to be wearing that?”
    “Yes, but she’s sick, and we wear the same size. I wanted to check the fit and make sure I didn’t need to make more in-depth alterations.”
    He looked her up and down. “It’s kinda skimpy. And tight.”
    She beamed. “I know. It’s perfect.”
    “It doesn’t exactly scream ‘casual day at the office.’”
    She laughed, delighted with his critique. “I certainly hope not. This is for the woman who’s a little more daring. She would wear this for a night out with the girls or maybe that special guy. It’s casual, fun, flirty.” She gave him a playful wink and poke to the stomach.
    He grinned.
    “The sundresses, slacks, and other office attire are hanging with Lily until the show.”
    “I’ll leave the fashion to you.”
    “And the omelets. Give me just a minute.”
    “I’m gonna catch a quick shower.”
    “Let the washing commence. I’ll begin my culinary masterpiece in twenty minutes or less.” She walked to the privacy screen, gathered up her nighty and robe, and made her way to her room for a shower of her own.
    Thirty minutes later Abby stood in the kitchen in her red tank top and snug black workout pants, singing along with 2014’s Top 100 Countdown while she whisked a bowl full of egg whites and one yolk for color. She dumped the eggs in the hot pan and gave her hips a wiggle as she grabbed three slices of bread from the whole grain loaf and popped them into the toaster. She broke into a series of kick-ball-changes, spun, and slid backwards in socks, pulling off a decent moonwalk, whirling when she collided with the solid mass in the center of the kitchen. Smiling, she continued her dance, breathing in Jerrod’s fresh, soapy scent, eyeing his still damp hair and freshly shaven face, his Levis and light blue Polo shirt. “I love this song. It screams girl power, ya know?”
    “I guess.”
    “I know it’s not all gritty and electric guitary like the stuff you listen to.” She rolled her eyes. “No wonder you never smile. You wanna dance?”
    “No.”
    “Aw, come on, big guy.” She moved in closer, taking his hands, placing them on her shoulders. “We’re perfectly safe here, bodyguard, so let’s mambo .” She settled her hands at his waist and moved backwards with several jerks of her hips, pulling him with her as she broke into the dance. “It’s quick, quick, together like this.” She stepped forward, crashing into his chest when he made no attempt to reverse his position. Pursing her lips, she shook her head mournfully. “Bump on a log.” She turned away to save the eggs from burning. “One of these days I will succeed in teaching you the dance,” she said in a thick Spanish accent.
    He chuckled as he grabbed two glasses. “Do you want orange juice?”
    “Mmm, just a little.” She added chopped spinach, tomato, and a sprinkle of feta to the pan and folded the eggs over, well used to omelet preparations. The cheap meal had been a staple in Gran’s house. “We’re about two minutes away from a five-star breakfast.”
    “I’m going to get the paper.”
    “Okie-dokie.” She cut off a fourth of the enormous omelet for herself, placing two