Page 40 of Mayhem and Minnie

“Minnie!” I call out and chase after her when I see she’s already on the first floor and heading for the exit.

She’s fast, I’ll give her that. For such a little thing, she’s quite nimble.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I demand as I reach her and grab her by the arm.

She turns those big eyes toward me and they’re full of animosity. Her lips are pressed tightly together in annoyance and I wonder if she’ll hit me.

Not that I don’t deserve it. I probably do.

Hell, I almost want her to hit me.

“I’ll find another old house to sleep in for the night,” she says as she pushes her chin up.

“No. You will not. You’ll stay here.”

“Why? So you can insult me more? I’ve already told you I’m not a prostitute, but you’re stuck on this idea that I must be some dirty and disease-infested person…”

She’s not wrong there, but I will not confirm it to her face—again.

“Why would you even offer me a place to stay if you’re going to be such an asshole?”

“Being an asshole is a specialty of mine,” I say and flash her a smile.

It doesn’t seem to move her.

A part of my brain tells me that perhaps this is for the better, that I should let her leave and wash my hands clean of her. After all, she’s nothing but a troublesome little thing that I have neither the time nor the disposition for. I offered, so I did my duty. If she refuses, then it’s on her.

Yet I can’t bring myself to do that.

It would be the easy way out.

But the more I look at her, the more I don’t want to ever imagine her sleeping in a cold, dirty-ass place or eating food from a dumpster.

It’s for your own peace of mind, Marlowe.

That’s right. If she’s here, living comfortably and eating clean, healthy food, then I will not have to obsess over her situation for days, maybe weeks—perhaps months—to come.

This is the smart choice.

“I’m not the most pleasant individual to be around. I admit,” I reluctantly say. “And I apologize if I offended you in any way.”

There it is. It wasn’t so hard. I can’t remember the last time I apologized to someone. Yet here I am, saying those words to someone I’ve just met—someone to whom I’m not indebted in any way.

Odd. But it’s another odd thing in a string of odd occurrences. As long as I can prevent spiraling down into another one of my episodes, I’ll have to make this concession.

She narrows her eyes at me.

“Do you mean it?”

I smile. But before I can say anything else, she continues.

“I suppose I overreacted,” she says in a low voice. “But I didn’t like your insinuations.”

“Noted. I will not make similar assumptions in the future.”

She nods. “You’re very concerned with cleanliness, are you not?”

“I am.”

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