Page 10 of The Billionaire's Angel

“What the fuck is in this stuff?” Gage asked, his eyes narrowed on his mug as if he was plotting the best way to destroyit.

“I have no idea, but it’s horrible,” I said. Saliva pooled in my mouth and I swallowed. I needed something to get rid of thistaste.

“Are you sure she’s not prankingyou?”

I thought about it. It was possible. “No, I don’t think so. I control Amelia’s access to cookies. I don’t think she’d risk cookies to teaseme.”

“You control her access tocookies?”

“She’s diabetic. It’s not severe, but she has to limit sugar. Amelia is serious about her sweets. And sneaky. I search her room every day for contraband. I don’t think she’d risk dessert just to see me squirm. Especially since she missed theshow.”

“Good point.” Gage stood. “I’m going to pour this out. Want to come find something to wash the tasteaway?”

“Yes,please.”

I followed Gage down the hall to the kitchen, holding my breath so I didn’t inhale the steam wafting off the tea. Whatever was in this, it was the foulest brew I’d ever smelled. I tipped my mug over the sink with relief, turning on the faucet to wash the teaaway.

Gage picked up the box on the counter and turned it over, looking for the ingredient list. “It’s all in Hanzi,” he murmured. Then, louder, “It’s in Chinese. I can read some Chinese, but I don’t know any of thesecharacters.”

“Herbal medicine wasn’t included in your Chinese lessons?” I asked, rummaging through the cabinets for something to clear our palates. There was no way I’d sleep tonight if I couldn’t get the taste of this tea out of mymouth.

“Not exactly,” Gage said with a wry smile. “I don't need to know what they put in this tea. All that matters is it tastesdisgusting.”

Gage handed me his cup to pour out in the sink and crossed the room to rummage in the cabinet above the electric kettle. Pulling out a box of tea, he handed it to me, saying, “Here, make two cups of this. I'll be right back. I've got anidea.”

He strode out of the kitchen, making a face as he swallowed hard, trying to get the taste of that tea out of his mouth. I did the same. I should've known anything that smelled so bad would tasteworse.

Again, I filled and started the electric kettle. Gage had given me a box of decaffeinated English breakfast. I wondered what his plan was. Decaf English breakfast wouldn't be my first choice to cure insomnia. I usually drank a chamomile based blend that was supposed to be relaxing. It wasn't bad, but it didn't do much to help mesleep.

Gage was back a minute later, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He went to the pantry and returned with a jar ofhoney.

“Tell me that's not your brother’s whiskey,” I said, eyeing the bottle cautiously. Just a few weeks ago Charlie Winters's fiancée, Lucas Jackson, had stopped by to ask Aiden's blessing for his proposal to Charlie, and after receiving it had made off with Aiden's best bottle ofwhiskey.

Though, apparently, that had actually been his second best bottle. His best bottle had been stolen by Charlie six months before. Aiden Winters was not easygoing on the best of days, and he was not happy about losing two bottles of expensive liquor. Secretly, I thought it was funny, and suspected that deep down he might too, but I was an employee. The last thing I wanted was to get caught raiding the liquorcabinet.

Gage turned the bottle over in his hands and his lips quirked up. “I heard about that,” he said. “It'll be a while before he finds something good enough to replace the bottle Lucas took. This is just the company whiskey from the library. I usually try not to drink when I can't sleep, but I don't think tea alone can scrape the taste of Amelia's tea off mytongue.”

“Good point,” I said. I watched as he poured hot water over the teabags in our mugs, added a generous dollop of honey to each, and a much bigger slug of whiskey than I would have. Almost to myself, I said, “I don't usually drink when I can't sleep either. I'm not much of a drinker anyway, and I'm up almost every night—” I trailedoff.

“I know what you mean,” Gage said. “It feels like asking for trouble. Because if itworks—”

“Then you're just trading insomnia for a drinking problem,” Ifinished.

Gage nodded, his blue eyes meeting mine in understanding and sympathy. He gave a final stir to my mug and handed it over. Still cautious after the last sip of tea, I took a careful taste. Whiskey was not my favorite drink, by far, but the thick honey and familiar English breakfast smoothed the edges just enough. It was delicious, and even better the bite of the whiskey washed the taste of Amelia's tea from my mouth.Heaven.

“Have you always had insomnia?” Gage asked. I looked up to see his eyes on me, measuring and curious. I didn't want to answer. Alone with him in the dark and cozy kitchen, sipping the tea he'd made, I’d been lulled into a sense ofsafety.

I didn't realize how far my guard was down until I heard myself say, “No. I was always a good sleeper. My mom used to say I was sleeping through the night at two monthsold.”

“Me too,” Gage said. “I got even better in the Army. Nothing teaches you to catch sleep where you can like the Army.” He took a sip of tea and looked at me over the rim of his mug. “We both know why I can't sleep. What about you? How long have you had troublesleeping?”

How to answer that question? Was there any way I could tell the truth without giving away too much? Stalling, I took another sip of thetea.

“Sophie?” Gage asked. He was being nosy, and I could've told him it was none of his business, but I could hear the concern in hisvoice.

Maybe the whiskey loosened my tongue, because I said, “It started after I gotmarried.”

Gage's eyes went hard and flashed to my left hand. I knew what he was looking for and I said, “He's dead. He died in a car accident almost two yearsago.”