Jeanette, a recently heartbroken entrepreneur meets famous English billionaire Daniel Hearst. Together, they ignite a fiery love affair built in power, ambition and passion.
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In the heels of a dead-end relationship, Jeanette meets Daniel - a pow...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
On the corner stool by my counter, I sat. My head on my hands and my stomach feeling like it’s been torn from the inside out. The smell of coffee is loud and I feel it at the back of my throat to the point where I’d forgotten how the smell of coffee used to excite me for the day. I feel weightless and heavy at the same time.
The sizzling and the on-coming smell of sausages wasn’t much help either and made my head pound even more. Trying to keep my eyes open became more of a chore than a subconscious act. I am never drinking again.
“If I’d gotten your voicemail earlier I would have probably picked you up myself considering...you didn’t sound too sober,” Daniel tells me and I looked up watching him slide a white mug of coffee my way. I stare at it, considering throwing it down the drain. The smell is revolting.
“That wouldn’t have surprised me.” I said, picking up the cup only to cringe at the smell—I drank it nonetheless knowing that it would help.
I looked up, my mouth all dry and there was Daniel, flipping eggs and pouring beans into a plate. The toaster went off and he swiftly went and grabbed the toast, placing them on the same plate.
“As much as I appreciate you doing this, Daniel,” I started and he looked at me whilst he wiped his hands on the apron he found. Truthfully, I don’t remember it being there since I never use it when I cook. “You don’t have to do this. Get back to work or something. Don’t you have a deal to close or something.”
I furrowed my brows, feeling my guts turning at the second sip of coffee that I took. Daniel slides the plate of beans, toast, eggs and sausages. If it weren’t for the lack of mushrooms and tomatoes it would have been a full English breakfast. Though, I presume I’m out of those. Looking at it, I know I need the food, but just the smell makes me want to go to bed and just sleep it off; that won’t be too bad considering I was abruptly awakened
“There’s this thing they call phones. It makes me work wherever I please. And right now, I am pleased to work whilst helping you get rid of that hangover.” He tells me, leaning on the counter and then tapping my nose. I frowned before lazily picking up the fork hoping to force some food down my system.
“You do know I am a doctor right?”
“I’ve come to know that doctors make bad patients.” He says, watching his hands. He turns to me.
I looked at him quizzically.
“One of my cousins’ a surgeon. He’s not particularly nice about hospital visits.” He sighs with a smile, untying his apron and folding it next to the sink.
He’s not wrong about that. As per me not having enough energy to actually argue, I let it be and continued to tear the eggs apart still forcing myself to eat. On a natural day with a hangover like this, I would usually drink some Advil and stay in bed until my headache runs cold. Usually after one or two advils I’d still be throwing up. Surprisingly, I have only taken one since I woke up and the vomiting never came around. I guess breakfast is helping.
