I’m gonna be fired.
“Fired?”
My eyes swing over to the man again, because I hadn’t even realized I’d spoken aloud. I hold up the power pad still in my hand and wiggle it back and forth. “I’m two minutes late with the delivery. My boss already told me, one more write-up and I’m done for.”
“Ah.”
He doesn’t say more, and I feel hot tears well up in my stormy eyes. “I really needed this job, you know?” I tell him on a sniff as though we’re good friends and not the complete strangers that we really are.
His own eyes widen, which I realize are the exact shade of butterscotch—my favorite candy. “What is happening right now?” he mumbles, both annoyed and wary.
The first tear leaks down my cheek. “It’s that damn bitch, Patricia!” I say, and I plop both the stick and the power pad onto the edge of his desk. His gaze follows the movement before flickin’ back up to me. I drag my injured foot up onto my opposite knee and yank off my sock to find a small gash where the stick cut into my skin.
Takin’ the top part of my sock, which still looks relatively blood and muck free, I wipe at the blood. Across from me, the man leans over so he can see.
“What are you doing?”
“I tripped over your damn stick out front,” I say, still tryin’ to clean myself up as much as one can with only the fabric of a dirty sock. “Damn, that’s a lot of blood.”
“Stop that,” he snaps before I hear him yank open a drawer. In the next second, he shoves a box of tissues and a flask toward me.
“Thanks,” I say, pickin’ up the flask with my free hand and poppin’ the top off with my thumb. I tip it back and chug.
The taste hits me, and the stuff is so bitter and rancid that I nearly spit it all out. Luckily, I’m a lady who knows how to swallow the bitter pills that life hands her.
“Ugh, that stuff tastes like it’s been chewed up and spit out,” I say with a grimace.
He cocks a blond brow. “It’s an acquired taste, but I meant that for your wound,” he drawls. “The alcohol will help sterilize it.”
“Oh, right.”
Sheepishly, I tip the clear liquid onto my foot, immediately lettin’ out a hiss as it meets the cut. I put the flask on the desk and grab one of the tissues, and I use it to dab at my foot until I get all the blood cleaned off. It’s not so bad to look at now.
“You cut it open on your heel as well,” he says, still leanin’ over to give his large, well-muscled self a better vantage point.
“No, that’s not from the stick. That’s from The Rock. He bit me on the delivery before this.”
“Someone bit you?”
“Yeah. Well, no. It was a dog,” I explain as I clean up the small puncture wound on my heel too. Once that’s done, I debate about whether or not to put my mostly defiled sock back on. I suppose I can’t just walk around barefoot though. There’s no tellin’ what bacteria is hangin’ around on the floors of this dingy bar, but the sock ain’t lookin’ much more sanitary.
“So a dog named Rock bit you on your prior delivery, and then you came here and tripped on a stick, wounding that same foot, and now you’re going to be fired because you delivered this package late,” he says, like he needs to summarize my shitty day.
“Yep.”
I hold up the bloodied and alcohol-dampened tissue, waggin’ it around a bit until he sighs like he’s put out and then grabs the small waste basket from under his desk. I toss the tissue into it and then decide to just pull my now holey sock back on before I get to my feet.
“Sorry for intrudin’,” I say as I get up. “It’s been a day.”
“I can see that,” he says, his eyes softenin’ slightly. I do an internal sigh. He really is handsome. I glance down at his finger and see that it’s weddin’ band free, and I’m shocked that someone hasn’t scooped him up yet.
Gatherin’ myself up, I grab the power pad and stylus, shovin’ them back into the holster before I pick up the long stick. “I’m keepin’ this,” I say sternly, because it’s not up for debate. “I tripped over this thing and came to bodily harm, so it’s only fair.”
His eyebrow arches again, and I swear I see the corner of his lip twitch. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, that’s so,” I say with one hand on my cocked hip. “You’re lucky I’m not makin’ threats to sue.”
“We have insurance,” he says drily.
“Well...still. I’m sure I’m savin’ you mountains of paperwork and such.”
There’s that lip twitch again. It makes my stomach do a little flip, because a hot, stern man with a teasin’ smirk really gets me. “Of course,” he says smoothly.
I nod primly and then turn to go, stick in hand. I should want to burn this thing in a campfire since it not only tripped me and cut my foot, but also added to me bein’ late. Yet I feel attached to it, like it’s a hard-won battle trophy that left me wounded but stronger. Well, I don’t know about the stronger part, but wounded is right.
I don’t even know how I got a damn cut from it to begin with. The wood is charcoal gray, with some silvery metal bands and caps on each end. There’s no jagged pieces in sight. I take in the details of the thing, now that I’m not in such a hurry. It looks too fancy to be part of some mundane cleanin’ apparatus like I originally thought. Definitely not a broken mop.
I pause at the doorway to look over my shoulder, and I give my new stick a friendly stroke. “Have
