“Nugget, no, sir!” I scolded and tucked him back away. “I don’t know why he did that. He’s been super sweet since I found him at my door.”
“I’ll see what we have, but can you take him out of here? No animals in the kitchen.” The chef—Armand, according to his name embroidered on the breast of the coat—smiled tightly and pointed toward the door.
“Sure, sorry.” I mumbled my apology and backed out the door. When I banged into a solid chest, I froze.
“Oh, there you are!”
An unfamiliar masculine voice laughed over my shoulder, freezing me in place.
“Where did you find him?”
I spun around a little too quickly, and a wave of dizziness washed over me with alarming speed.
“Oh, s**t, you’re pale.” The stranger grabbed me by both shoulders and steered me toward a chair.
But we didn’t make it.
