Page 9 of Never Say Yes To Your Boss

Yes, I know what Darius Anderson looks like without a shirt on, and the image will always be burned into my brain. He was so intensely muscled that I thought I would black out all over again. I know the spots where the metal of the car cut into him, and then, later, where the doctors and surgeons did—so many scars. The pain must have been nearly unbearable. How can it not hurt now? Is he lying about that?

He looks nothing like his freaking twin brother, and for that, I’m truly thankful. If I ever see Bradford again, I’m going to kick him in the junk. I really should have done that in the church and ran.

Darius is concentrating. His jaw is locked, and his eyes are down. He doesn’t look amused. I follow the trajectory of his gaze and realize his clenched teeth aren’t because I’m a brat for asking for that kind of money and threatening him but because he seems to be having a hard time with his knife. His fingers are clenched around the handle, but it’s like his hand has no power in it. He’s working it over his steak, but not much of anything is happening.

I can literally feel the goon tensing over Darius’ shoulder. Like he wants to step in and do it, but he would never shame his boss that way. I can feel the frustration radiating from Darius like a roaring bonfire throwing heat. His body tenses, and I expect him to explode and fling the knife across the room, but he just sets it down to the right of his plate, stabs a potato with his fork, and looks up at me.

He stills, and I remember thinking that his brother reminded me of something predatory in the church. Darius doesn’t have the same vibe about him. How I could have ever trusted Bradford is beyond me. Darius might be darker and have thatclichéd black-as-night aura going on overall, but his eyes lack the same light that I once took for kindness in his brother’s. It wasn’t. It was calculation. Beneath that black sheep exterior, I bet Darius actually has a good sense of humor.

I bet he’s actually alright.

He realizes I’m watching him, and his lips thin out. His arm isn’t exactly a secret, so I take a chance because I’m too caring. It comes from years of having to survive, to be a mom to my sister because our mom was out working, and then later, constantly worrying about them both. I notice the smallest details because it’s practically ingrained in me. “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?”

With his good hand, he nods and rubs at his jaw, which is clean-shaven. “I’m sure. It just gets stiff, and it locks up sometimes. My fingers are useless as fuck tonight.” He meets my gaze, and I squirm under the intensity of it. It’s intense but not unkind. “I can grasp anything, but it’s like there’s no power in it. It’s incredibly frustrating.” That admission costs him, too.

I drop my voice to a whisper as the goon behind the chair shuffles his feet. What was his name again? Hans? Was that it? It should be Scary Dude or Mr. Tattoo Bald Head. Or Badass Mess You Up. “You could ask the kitchen to cut it up for you.”

He shakes his head, and his darker skin tone can’t hide the color that rises in his cheeks. “No, it’s fine.”

“Ask him to do it.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not hungry anyway, and it’s the middle of the night. No one eats like this in the middle of the night.”

Aha, so I was right about that.

“That’s too bad.” I study my plate and the steak I’ve already cut up. “This one is kind of underdone for my taste. Yours looks a little tougher. Want to switch?”

His expression says an eleventh toe just sprouted from my forehead. A hairy toe. Shudder. I dart my hand up to feel the spotwhere his gaze is burning a hole through. Nope, no toes, no hair. Nothing.

“Because I’m starving,” I go on. “But this is just…a little bloody. Too raw. It really looks quite awful. You’d be doing me a real favor if you gave me yours.”

I’m being suspicious. I shouldn’t be nice to someone who just bait-and-switched me, although it looks like he got the short end of the deal with his brother, too. It looked like he was eating glass when he confessed to me. And it looked like he was eating glass times ten when he took his shirt off and showed me his ruined arm like a truce so I would trust and believe him. It was like baring his soul, way too intimate. His arm might not hurt anymore, but his pride took a huge blow.

“For the love of god, Darius, just give me your plate. I’m hungry.” I snatch it from him before he can fight me on it, thrusting mine in front of him. Despite his proclamation about not having an appetite, he falls on that steak fast enough, jamming two pieces into his mouth and chewing.

I happily cut his, which is every bit as rare as the one I just had, and I no doubt prefer it that way or even less cooked. Even after everything, I can still appreciate the work and skill that went into making this meal because I haven’t had one like it in years. Every bite is delicious. I even let out a little moan, which I’m embarrassed about, and try to cover up. “So, are we in agreement? Because if we are, I’m going to need it in writing. And I want half up front now and half later. You can forget the healthcare for my sister. I’ll cover that with the money, obviously.”

“What’s wrong with your sister?”

It’s not a rude question and not nosy. Just honestly curious. I suppose that maybe, if he’s going to be the one padding my bank account, and we’re going to have to spend the next six months together, there are a few things I can tell him.

Great. You’re already accepting this, as fucked up as it is.Do I have any other choice at this point? Did I before? It was either this or becoming homeless in a few months and watching my sister suffer without the treatments she needed.

“She has cancer.” His fork clatters to the table at my words, and yeah, I kind of feel like gagging on the delicious steak I just swallowed. “Non-Hodgkin lymphoma.”

He slowly folds his hands in his lap. His lips purse, and he says nothing. The way he looks at me though, it’s enough to stop my heart completely. It’s his eyes, always his eyes. They’ll probably haunt me for the rest of my life because they’re so beautiful, so calm, so understanding. No one has ever looked at me this way before. One who understands the depths of pain, fear, and helplessness of another.

Except, I’m no longer helpless. I have the power to give Heather everything she needs if I go through with this.

“I’m sorry.” The words are so soft that they cut deep into my tender skin, which suddenly feels way too exposed.

“She was diagnosed over a month ago, and I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get her the treatments she needs. The tests were expensive enough, and she doesn’t have health insurance. We were…well, young and healthy, and it was expensive. I have insurance through work, but Heather is a waitress, and she doesn’t. I’ve been trying to get her some kind of coverage, but of course, no one is biting now because she’s already been diagnosed. The only thing working in our favor right now is that it’s not super aggressive. My mom and I have been trying to save up some money for her to get treatment. We’re just waiting until we can even partially afford the first one because they’re regular after that. The doctors agreed we could wait a few weeks, but not much longer than that.”

“Christ.”

I can feel the goon tensing up in the corner of the room. I don’t even have to look at him because he’s radiating some seriously killer vibes over there, but I think it’s a sympathetic kind of energy if that makes sense.

“My mom is working three jobs right now. She took another one after we found out Heather was sick. I was working two. And…and oh my god. I need to…I called in sick tonight, but I’m going to have to call and officially quit. And obviously, my job working as Bradford’s assistant is over. I guess I don’t have to call in for that one.” Oh, look, tonight does have one small bonus.

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