Page 69 of Filthy Rich

By now he’s propped up against the pillows, his color high and his clothes a wreck. As for his expression? Turbulent and vulnerable.

“You’re not walking out my life, Tamsyn. Don’t think that you are.”

I can’t tell if it’s a simple statement of fact, a command or a plea, and I’m not sure it matters.

We stare at each other until the urge for me to get the hell out of there and go somewhere safe overtakes me. It’s not that I think he’d ever physically hurt me or anything like that. It’s just that I don’t know who either of us are when we’re together, and I fear he may be right.

I feel trapped suddenly.

I let myself out of his cabin and go back to mine, my steps speeding up the closer I get. I don’t know what’s going to happen between us, but I don’t need to figure it out right now. I just need to get to the safe cocoon of my own world. Put my head down and try to get a good night’s sleep. That’s part of why I feel so overwrought right now. I haven’t gotten more than four hours of sleep a night since we started hooking up.

I’ll be fine. I just need some distance from him. A little clarity.

Relief floods through me as I finally make it inside, clicking on the light and kicking off my shoes. I’m glad to be back in my own cozy space, with my own little bed. And maybe a shower before bed. Yeah, good idea. I’ll take a quick shower, maybe grab a glass of wine and a snack from one of Mrs. Hooper’s gift baskets. I’ll decompress. And things will be better in the morning. They always are.

Perfect. I have a plan.

I cross to the bathroom, unbuttoning the front of my dress, and that’s when I hear it:

The familiar rustle of one of Mrs. Hooper’s nocturnal visits to the bathroom next door. But there’s something off about it. Her footsteps sound too fast and too hard. There’s a bump and the urgent sound of items being knocked over and pills rattling.

I don’t know what’s going on, but I know I don’t like it.

I’m already on my way toward our connecting door when I hear the unmistakable thump of a body hitting the floor and a shout of pain.

“Mrs. Hooper,” I cry, flying through the door.

A loud moan answers me. There’s just enough light coming from the cracked bathroom door for me to assess the situation. She’s on all fours by her dressing table, with several of her toiletries littering the floor and a whining Juniper pacing back and forth beside her.

“Oh my God, what happened?” I say, hurrying over. “Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

Thank God. “What happened?”

Her head comes up. “I need my medicine, Tamsyn,” she says, focusing on me with difficulty. “You forgot to give me my bedtime doses.”

I drop down beside her. “No, I didn’t. Everything’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay, you silly girl. My knee is killing me. Help me up.”

“Just hold still,” I say. “Let me call for help. I don’t want you making anything worse.”

“I’m fine,” she says, then moans again when she tries to straighten her right leg. With that, she rolls onto her back and stares up at me, panting. “Get my medicine, Tam. I don’t want to wake up dead from a heart attack or a stroke. And get something for my knee. Some ice.”

I take her hand and squeeze it. “Mrs. Hooper, you already had all your meds. I think you’re just a little confused.”

“Oh,” she says, her expression clearing. “I’m confused?”

“I think so.”

“Am I confused about my knee hurting?”

“Probably not,” I say. “We’ll call for some help with your knee. And we’ll call Penny and let her know what’s going on. Maybe get the doctors to check you out when we get home. See why you’re a little confused these days.”

“I like Penny,” she says, easing down and closing her eyes, although she maintains a firm grip on my hand. “She’s always been so good to me. I should move to Florida to be near her. Maybe live with her.”

“That’s a good idea, Mrs. Hooper,” I say, relieved that she’s begun to see the light and talk sense.

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