Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
I tried to swallow and failed.
She was more perceptive than my childhood friends. They’d taken far longer to discover my secret.
For the first time, I wasn’t amused by Farrow Ballantine.
I was worried.
There was nothing more dangerous in this world than a smart woman.
“Petroleum jelly.” She withdrew a tub of Vaseline. “Bingo. Hey, why is most of it gone?”
Fucking Ollie.
I mustered the courage to examine the skin slowly melting from my hand. Bright red. Purplish at the edges. Swollen and blistered fingers.
I’d seen worse, but she probably hadn’t.
Farrow deposited the Vaseline on the counter, continued sifting through the kit, and swore.
She dumped the contents onto the marble and snapped her fingers. “Up on your feet.”
I stood without question.
Not sure when I’d started taking orders from my own maid, but here we were.
Her finger darted beneath the faucet, double-checking the temperature.
“Put your hand under the running water. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” She wagged a finger in my face. “I swear to god, Zach—if you move an inch from this place, I’m going to find you and smother you with a bear hug.”
With that, she left.
The cool water felt good against my skin, which surprised me, since I rarely felt anything at all.
I heard Farrow moving in the nearby kitchen, slamming drawers, cursing in… Hungarian?
It wasn’t lost on me that I should’ve been more disturbed that she knew my secret. Maybe because I knew all of her secrets and could dangle her own weaknesses in her face.
No.
The truth was, I kind of trusted the little shit.
Farrow smacked the door to the bathroom open, holding a roll of Saran Wrap in her hand and a jumbo bottle of Advil in the other.
She discarded the painkillers on the counter and turned off the tap. Then, she plucked out a cotton swab, smeared it with Vaseline, and applied a thin layer to the scalded area in long, gentle strokes.
She pulled out a strip of the film and tore it with her teeth. “You better throw in a bonus for all the stuff I do for you.”
I ignored her. Farrow opened a hydrogel pad and clamped it to my hand, careful not to make physical contact with me. The burn intensified, licking at my flesh like fire. I groaned.
“Stay still,” she instructed. “Don’t worry. I’ll wrap you up without touching you.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that a woman like her couldn’t possibly worry me, but now wasn’t the right time to be prideful.
I shut my trap and extended my arm her way. She maneuvered the roll of film with surgical precision, managing to wrap the affected area and hydrogel pad without touching my skin with hers.
A foreign sensation exploded from my hand, shotgunning to my gut.
Pain?
Something I hadn’t felt in so long that I almost didn’t recognize it.
I didn’t know whether I liked or hated that I felt pain when she was around.
Her deft fingers worked another layer of film over my skin. “Was this a hot date?”
I scowled, leaning against the sink. “Are you trying to be punny?”
“Succeeding,” she corrected. “A hot date. Get it? Because you got yourself burned.”
“Funny people don’t have to explain their jokes, and it wasn’t a date.”
“Thank God. You were really cold and unapproachable. I would’ve bailed at hello. And that house tour? Dude, you are not the President. No one cares about the decorative driftwood in your master bedroom.”
I pinned her with a warning glare.
She ignored me. “If it wasn’t a date, what was it?”
“A possible business arrangement.”
For absolutely no logical reason, it felt deeply wrong to talk to her about Eileen.
“Does Natalie know?” The corner of Farrow’s mouth coiled into a smart-ass smirk. “She kind of has a thing for you.”
“I have a thing for her, too.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Boredom.”
“Poor Natalie.” She shook her head, applying a third layer of the film around my skin. She nodded to the wrap. “Can I pin it with my finger? I’ll have to touch you.”
She would have to touch me through three layers of polyethylene. I’d survive.
Despite all efforts to fight it, a hint of heat crept up to my cheeks. “It’s fine.”
Her thumb dug into the wrap at my pulse. I watched in awe as her nimble fingers worked the clear sheet.
It still felt uncomfortable to be touched, but I didn’t mind it so much through a barrier.
She collected the Advil bottle from the counter, gathered two pills, and discarded them into my healthy hand. “Swallow those while I secure the film.”
I popped them in my mouth and gulped them dry, glaring at her.
Why did Farrow tending to my burn wounds excite me more than eating triple-yolked mooncakes with my immaculate bride-to-be?
This made no sense at all. And sense was the one thing I could always count on.
I slanted my head, watching the film ripple as her breath fanned across it. “What I don’t understand is, how can you be so poor when you don’t have to pay rent and utilities, co-own a relatively successful small business, and have a side hustle as a fencing coach?”