Chapter 10
Ash
I knew what I was doing. I couldn't pretend otherwise.
I knew exactly what I was doing and I did it anyway. I shot a helpless glance at my sling. "Can't do much, can I?" Not waiting for Zelda's response, I continued, "Help me take this off and wash up."
Her lips parted as if she intended to reply but she stopped herself to stare at my busted shoulder. Maybe if she stared hard enough, she'd solve that problem the way she solved everything else.
"And—and by that," she stammered, "you mean what, Ashville?"
I shot an eyebrow up, silently challenging her to read between the lines.
Which was all kinds of deranged since I'd drawn a line in the fucking sand and then spent the morning being a dickface jerk to her.
That, and freaking the fuck out because she was still making noise about leaving to crash on some random couch.
Leaving. Fucking leaving. I could manage many things but the idea of her slipping out of my grasp wasn't one of them. Not without knowing exactly where she was going and seeing to the comfort and security of that couch myself.
But I couldn't do it and I'd tried. For thirteen and a half seconds this morning, I'd lied to myself about that being the best choice. When that was over, she'd taken it upon herself to chastise me so hard, I was already plotting ways to earn my next punishment. Already asking for it.
What the hell was it about this woman? She had some blue hair and a lot of earrings. Her work history was insane. She was going somewhere but she was also stopped, suddenly rooted in my world. None of it made sense. She didn't make sense and when I was close to her, neither did I.
I wanted an assistant. I wanted distance and proper boundaries. I wanted to scream at her about her ambling, directionless professional life.
And I wanted to feel her skin against mine so badly, it seemed like I was suffocating without it.
It didn't matter how many times I gathered these line items and attempted to make assets and liabilities of them, they wouldn't balance.
I'd stood on the pedestal, glaring at her reflection in the mirror while the tailor stuck me with a thousand pins and mentally clicked through the if-then tree from hell.
If she left, then I'd lose my fucking mind because—because I would and there didn't need to be a reason.
If she left, then she might never come back and I'd never know why this woman mattered and that was unfuckingacceptable.
If she left, then I'd find her. Then I'd bring her back, which made fine sense to me even if it did sound like an abduction plan.
If I brought her back, then I'd never let her out of my sight again and that also made fine sense while sounding rather criminal.
If she stayed at my apartment, then I'd want to touch her because she was a living, breathing magnet.
If I wanted to touch her, then she'd let me because she needed it as much as I did.
If she let me touch her, then I couldn't have her work for me because there was a limit to the number of complications I could supervise at any time.
If she couldn't work for me, then I'd lose my fucking mind. And I still didn't need a damn reason.
That'd pissed me off to no end, right up to the point when she'd stood in my entryway, looking like she didn't know where she belonged.
Right here, I wanted to say. You belong right here.
Instead of saying that or anything close to it, I made a half-assed suggestion about taking a shower.
Deranged. I was absolutely deranged. And the worst part?
I'd dedicated ten solid minutes to this sideshow.
I still didn't have a functional watch to confirm that but I knew.
I knew what seventeen percent of a billable hour felt like.
"I can help you out of your sling." She reached for me with both hands but stopped herself before making contact. Stepped back. Folded her arms. "I can do that, if you want. If that's what you're asking."
"Come here." I beckoned her closer. She didn't move. "Zelda, please. I can't do it by myself."
A shaky breath burst from her lips. Then, "I bet you can. You're very capable, after all. You don't need anyone and you're the first to remind everyone of that fact."
"You should know by now I need you more than I care to admit.
" I scratched my jaw with the one useful hand I had left.
"It's rather convenient for you. Is it possible you're the reason I was knocked on my ass in the terminal?
Now, tell me the probability of you setting off the chain of events that sent me cartwheeling over a kid. "
She untangled her arms as a laugh shook through her body. God, she was pretty when she laughed. "I'm not calculating those odds."
I took a step closer. She did the same. "I thought you liked a challenge," I said. "I thought you liked to invent statistical proof for your mental math games."
She pursed her lips and bent an eyebrow as she started loosening the sling. "And I thought you were busy performing a one-man show. Go on. Show me how you do it all yourself."
I couldn't stop myself from asking, "You're staying, right?"
She glimpsed up at me while disengaging the cinches and straps, her lips still pursed. "I don't have to. I don't want to invade your space and—"
"You're staying," I interrupted.
"That seems like a not-great idea," she replied. "It isn't a problem for me to call some friends. It might be better that way."
"It might be better if you stay," I argued.
She slipped the sling from my arm and flattened her hands on my chest. Aside from the fact everything hurt like hell, it was exactly what I needed. A million more doses of this and I'd be right as rain.
"Tell the truth," she said. "You're after one of my breakfast sandwiches."
I pressed my hand on top of hers. "Let me introduce you to the café on the ground floor of my office building. You'll never eat another serving of pocket eggs again when this place is through with you."
She grinned at me but then her gaze shifted, sliding down to the spot where my hand covered hers. "You couldn't wait to get rid of me yesterday."
"That was yesterday," I replied.
"You were extremely clear about my role"—the word sounded like a slap in the face, one I'd definitely earned—"this morning."
"That was this morning," I replied.
"And tomorrow? What will that bring?"
"I don't know," I admitted.
A brittle laugh filled the space between us as she shook her head. "Perhaps you can see my dilemma, Ash."
This was why I needed two functional arms. One to hold her hand to my chest, another to hold her close to me. To keep her. And fuck me if that made any sense. "As you've mentioned, I'm moody."
"I'm not going to be a casualty of your moods," she replied. "You can't try to get rid of me one minute and then—"
"Listen to me, Zelda." I shifted my hand to tip her face up, meeting her gaze.
"I'm temperamental as fuck and you're more than comfortable calling me on that shit.
None of that is changing any time soon. But here's what I know for sure.
I need you to put my office in order because it's a hot mess right now.
I need you to do your bizarre little Mary Poppins thing where you smile, blink, and fix my whole life.
But I'm not having you shuffling from one futon to another in Allston or Brighton or some other collegiate crime den when there's a perfectly good bedroom for you right here. "
Without missing a beat, she said, "And you'd like me to help you into the shower as well."
Yes. Yes was the answer, the only answer. I wanted her in my bed, my head on her shoulder, and yes, the shower. All those places where I could simply be.
But— "I needed you to get me out of that sling. I would've dislocated the other shoulder trying to do it by myself. I'm sure I can manage the rest on my own."
She closed her eyes as a knowing smile pulled at her lips. It looked like she was holding back a laugh. "Collegiate crime den," she muttered. "What…what does that even mean?"
"You know damn well what it means," I replied. I had no idea what I'd intended with that.
She took a step back, turned in a circle like she didn't know where she was, and power walked into the kitchen.
I tipped my head to the side, watching her hips sway in those vintage jeans.
I realized then I'd missed a critical amount of Zelda's assets in yesterday's audit.
I'd spent the flight focused on that streak of blue hair, the ink on her skin, her mismatched eyes.
At no point had this perky backside figured into my assessment.
Another reason I needed two functional arms: grabbing this woman's ass hard enough to leave marks. Now, that was a new urge.
"Just log me into your email and I'll figure the rest out myself.
Unless, of course, you don't want me in your email.
Which is also fine. I can start with your calendar.
Are you a Google Calendar kind of kid or are you all iCal?
While many things about you do scream 'Outlook!
' I doubt that's your preference. Right?
Where are you at with this, Ashville?" When she turned, my laptop bag in hand, she tracked my gaze to her backside. "Yes?" she asked, laughing.
"Do you have, you know"—still staring, I scratched the back of my neck—"office clothes?"
"Sure do," she replied. "Should I change now? Is that the ludicrous thing you need at this moment?"
Goddamn, I wanted to rub my face against that ass and I knew I'd never in my life thought that before. Not a single time ever had I wanted anything like that.
"Nope," I answered, moving toward her. I grabbed my laptop from the bag, opened it, and banged out my password. "All yours. Email is open." I backed away, moving toward my bedroom. "Go ahead and remove those job postings, if you don't mind."
She glanced up from the screen, her lips parted. "You don't want to leave them open? In case—"
"The position is filled," I said, closing the bedroom door behind me.