Page 11 of The Woman

I make some kind of grumbling noise, thinking about what my grandfather would have to say about that.

“So, you found an assistant?” he then asks. “That’s good.”

“Yes. I need to call him and have him come in for some training tomorrow while I’m away from the office.”

“All right, well, I have to get back to this. I’ll see you soon. Call me if you suddenly pull your head out of your ass.” I grunt in reply, and he chuckles as he hangs up.

Once I find the paper on my desk, I make the phone call to my new assistant and then get back to the rendering on my screen.

Chapter 6

Knowing that I’d probably be forced to leave the office if I tried to stay late again, I ended up leaving at a decent time, despite being frustrated about scrapping the same rendering I’d been working on again and knowing I needed to get it done.

But after Patrick dropped me in front of my building, I waited until he drove away and then walked to one of the bars nearby to spend my evening eating dinner alone.

I sat in a darkened booth toward the back of the bar, swallowing down a few strong drinks before my food arrived. Unfortunately, besides the slight buzz from the alcohol lightening the tight knots in my shoulders a fraction, I am no more enthused to be going home than I was earlier.

I listen for the sounds of the blonde intruder as I slide off my shoes, but just like the night before, there’s only a heavy silence filling the air. It never seemed to be there before she arrived, or if it was, it never bothered me to notice it, but it’s as if now that I know someone is there, my mind tells me I should be hearing something.

I step out into the main living area to see Avery sitting on the couch with one of the books I left on the side table in her hands. I don’t miss her quickly dropping it beside her or the way her eyebrows draw together and her mouth turns down at the sides for a brief second when she first sees me, but then it all pulls in the opposite direction to form a smile.

“Good evening,” she greets. “You missed dinner again.”

I don’t bother answering and instead walk into the kitchen to pour myself a tall glass of water. I lean my hip against the counter while I contemplate the look on her face and the way her voice sounded slightly off, but then I decide that I shouldn’t be giving it any thought and shove it to the back of my mind.

Lifting the jug, I think – not for the first time – how convenient it would be to have bottles of alcohol we could purchase and bring home to drink. I’d be pouring that instead of water right now.

The sudden sound of her voice right behind me asking me if there is anything I’d like her to do has my arm holding the water jug, jerking, and knocking the glass onto the floor. The piercing sound of the glass hitting the large white tiles echoes throughout the otherwise quiet apartment, followed by a small shriek from Avery behind me. Water sprays in every direction along with the shattered pieces.

“Shit.”

“I’m so sorry,” Avery breathes out and starts to walk closer to the mess with bare feet.

“Stop.” I hold my arm out, pushing her back so she doesn’t step on any of the glass and hurt herself. “You’ll cut your feet.”

She looks down as if just realizing that it is a possibility. But why would she think about it? Why would she think anything?

I crouch down to pick up the bigger pieces, hissing when one of the sharper ones pierces through the skin on my finger.

Avery still stands there watching with her hands twisted together in front of her while I throw the gathered pieces into the trash. Next, I get my broom, sweep all of the glass mixed with the water into a pile, and scoop it up with the dustpan.

Once I’ve cleaned and dried the area as much as I can, I lift my hand to squeeze the muscles in my neck that have been giving me trouble ever since I found out I’d be forced to pick a woman. Avery’s gasp has my eyes swinging to her just as she pulls my hand away from my neck.

“You’re bleeding,” she exclaims, examining my hand. “I’ll run it under some water and make sure there is no glass in it.”

“It’s fine.” I pull my hand back, intending to go shower and deal with it afterward, but she quickly takes hold of it again.

“I should clean it for you and get it covered.”

I attempt to free my hand again. “I told you it’s fine.”

“Will you stop resisting and let me look after you?!”

We both freeze, our eyes locked, hers appearing frustrated before transforming to shock and mine in a state of uncertain curiosity below my lowered brows. Did she really just raise her voice at me and demand I do something? Is that normal for a woman? I wouldn’t have thought so.

But then, barely a few short seconds later, the vexed appearance of her face turns into that blank smile again as if it never happened. “It’s my responsibility,” she adds softly.

I’m still apparently stunned by her outburst because I find myself no longer resisting as she pulls me along to her bathroom, and I say nothing as she presses me back to lean against the counter.

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