Chapter 8
Alice
The sharp point sticks into my fingertip, but I barely feel the sting. With blurry eyes, I hold the welling bead of blood up to the test strip. The numbers begin to tick down while I wipe my finger clean.
I rest my elbows on the table, head in my hands. I’m so fucking tired.
This exhaustion has nothing to do with my first week of being a nanny. So far, it’s the best job I’ve ever had. Nellie is so sweet and charming, and the work is easy.
Bonus, I only see Sutton for a few minutes in the morning and five minutes during the silent ride home. Since Arizona’s DVS finished processing my fees on Friday, I’ll no longer need his taxi services.
It’s the blood sugar spike at—I peel open one eye to check the clock above the stove—twelve thirty in the morning that’s interfering with my sleep.
I groan and close my eyes again. When the alert woke me, my level was 187 and going up. Now, it’s… I check the manual glucose monitor.
223
Dammit.
I fucking knew I should have bolused that last piece of brownie better, and now I’m paying for it.
The CGM app on my phone disappears as an incoming call takes its place. Sutton’s name scrolls across the screen.
I check the time again for good measure, in disbelief that he’s calling me this late at night. If he’s getting called in to work, I’ll have to quit. Or get fired. I shouldn’t drive over there right now. Not until I get my blood sugar corrected, and that could take hours.
Licking my lips, I slide the answer button and put it on speaker.
“Sutton?”
“What’s wrong?”
His demanding tone throws me, and my brain short-circuits.
“I think I should be asking you that question? You called me in the middle of the night.”
“Your alarm thing.” Oh, damn. His voice is thick with sleep, deepening the rich tone. “It woke me. What’s wrong?”
It takes my brain a minute to catch up with what he said. Not only am I tired, but the high blood sugar tends to leave me a bit foggy.
“I’m fine, Sutton. I should have warned you about this when I set up the app. My blood sugar is just high.”
“So bring it down.”
I bristle at his sharp tone. “I’m trying.”
“Do you need a doctor? I can call you one.” His voice is tight.
The sound strikes me then. Sutton doesn’t sound mad. He sounds… concerned? I blink heavily as if that will clear the fog. No way is he actually concerned about me. I’m pretty sure he hates me. I glance at my glucometer like I should check my levels again for good measure.
“I just need to change my insulin pod.” I yawn. It should have another day left, but I’m pretty sure the site has failed. My knees pop as I straighten from the chair to gather my supplies.
“Does that take a while?”
“Changing it? No, not really. It’ll take a bit to come down, though.”
“I’ll wait.”
Ignoring the burn in my chest, I roll my eyes. “You’ll be waiting a while. How’s Nellie?”
“She’s looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.” A pause. “She will be seeing you tomorrow?”
“Yes, Sutton. I’ll be good as new by morning.”
Most likely. But I don’t tell him that. The man is nervous enough.
“Good. She won’t stop yapping about you. You’ve become the coolest thing next to those little gems she sticks every-fucking-where.”
My hands pause over my insulin. “She has a bedazzler?”
“Shouldn’t have told you that.”
“Oh, we’re going to have so much fun!”
“I regret opening my mouth.”
I laugh softly. “Don’t worry, Sutton. You’re already at your sparkle quota for the month.”
He grunts. “Shut up.”
A rustle comes across the line, filling my quiet kitchen with the sound of bed sheets. My eyes nearly bug out of my head as I stare at the black screen.
Sutton’s lying in bed.
Of course, he is, you big dumb idiot! It’s nearly one in the morning!
I don’t know what’s worse. Sitting in the place he sleeps night after night while Nellie reads to me, or picturing him lying there while talking with me on the phone.
He’s probably shirtless. Oh god. Maybe even nude. In my head, his sheets are stark white, clashing with the soft tan over his rippled abs.
I cannot be picturing my boss in his bed. That’s like, unethical. At the very least, it’s impolite.
“Ms. Thompson? Are you okay?”
“Hmm?” I snap back to the present.
“I asked if you’re all right?” he bites out, sounding very much like a grizzly bear after a deep hibernation.
I clear my throat. “Yep! Sorry, I’m just focused. Almost done here.”
I prep a new site on my abdomen with an alcohol pad and attach the device.
“Better?” he asks, and I get the sense he’s ready to drop this call.
“I will be. If not, I can always go for a late-night jog,” I joke.
Movement on the other side of the phone evokes images of Sutton sitting, standing, or racing to throw clothes on.
“I’m coming over there.”
“Whoa, calm down. I’m only half serious.”
The sound of his sigh sends the hair on my neck on end.
“That’s what I’m afraid of. You’re just crazy enough to do it.”
“If you’re asking if I’ve ever gone on a run at midnight to lower my blood sugar the answer is yes. But that was also back when I had roommates and didn’t have to go alone.”
“Don’t go alone.”
I throw away the discarded packaging in the trash can beneath the sink and toss my sharps into the labeled bucket beside it. “Can I ask why?”
“For one, Nellie would be devastated if you so much as tripped and skinned your knee.”
My heart warms at the new tidbit of information.
Sutton continues, “And if you don’t report to work in the morning, I’m the guy who has to go looking for you.”
“Because you’re my boss?”
“Because I’m a cop.”
“Ah.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Well, you can rest easy. I’d put on a workout video long before I set foot outside in a strange neighborhood.”
“I appreciate it.” The grit in his voice sends a pulse to someplace it shouldn’t.
“I’m all fixed now, so you can go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Sutton exhales deeply across the line.
“Seven o’clock, Ms. Thompson.” Sutton effectively replenishes the distance between us.
“See you then.”
“Night,” he says gruffly and ends the call.
I blow out an audible breath. That was fucking unpredictable to say the least. This is not an angle I considered when I gave him access to my monitoring app, but a tiny part of me doesn’t mind it.
I’ve been in charge of my survival for a long time. Too long. Ever since my mom got tired of my diagnosis in my teens and left me to fend for myself.
Having someone check in, even if it’s just to confirm he’ll have a functioning nanny come morning, feels good. Nice even.
If I ignore the fact he’s just about the last person on earth I should ever want to care.