Page 10 of Obsessed Heir

For a second, all is well in the world. Miss Opal will be okay with proper rest. This mortifying incident won’t end in a complete disaster. Things could have been so much worse.

“How did this happen?” Barron asks, bringing that fleeting second to an abrupt end with the question I’ve been dreading.

I open my mouth, prepared to offer an explanation and accept the consequences. To my horror, not a single word comes out.

“I stepped back, admiring this magnificent ship,” Miss Opal breaks in, recapturing everyone’s attention as she recaps the details of the accident, “and caught my heel on the backpack. I tried to regain my balance, but my ankle just folded right under me.”

Barron’s brow furrows as he focuses on the offending item. “Backpack?”

My stomach clenches with another wave of dread.

“It’s mine,” I confess and swallow hard, casting my gaze to the ground as guilt washes over me, then I face him. “My backpack.”

Those dark, unflinching eyes bore straight into me, the disapproving weight of Barron’s glare making me feel utterly insignificant. The light breeze brings a chill that goes all the way to my bones.

I can’t tear my gaze away from Barron’s hardened expression, knowing with certainty I’m about to get slammed against the cliffs by the tsunami.

“You’re supposed to be watching her,” he growls, each gravelly word dripping with disdain.

A succinct summary of my existence, in just half-a-dozen scathing words. Words that leave me feeling painfully inadequate and ashamed.

I reflexively tighten my grip on the shoe and stocking still clutched against me, as if they’re my only lifeline. I have no defense, not when I’m the reason my employer is about to be taken on board the ship in a wheelchair.

“I-I turned around for just a se-second,” I stammer out feebly. My voice cracks with the strain of holding back a wave of tears. “She left her passport in the shuttle. I went to get it, and?—”

“It wasn’t Abigail’s fault,” Miss Opal comes to my defense. She leans forward, reaching out to grasp my trembling hand. “I’m just a silly old lady who should have been watching where I was going.”

She gives my fingers a reassuring squeeze, but I can barely focus on her through the haze of mortification clouding my senses. The sting of shame brings tears to my eyes, blurring Miss Opal’s concerned features.

I’m mere seconds away from completely losing control, setting the stage for what will undoubtedly be an utterly humiliating spectacle.

“I was fortunate that our wonderful driver caught me before I could hit the ground,” Miss Opal continues.

Barron’s piercing attention finally shifts to the shuttle driver, granting me a desperately needed reprieve. I suck in a shuddering breath, forcing more oxygen into my burning lungs, now that Barron’s withering glare is no longer pinning me in place.

“Thank you,” Barron says to the driver, his voice losing some of its hard edge as his jaw relaxes slightly.

“I’m just glad I got to her in time, sir,” he replies with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the tension radiating off Barron.

Barron pulls out his wallet. He draws several bills, the top one a crisp hundred, and presses the money into the driver’s hand.

The man’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Thankyou, sir. That’s incredibly generous.”

Miss Opal smiles warmly, patting his arm affectionately. “I’m terribly sorry to have kept you, young man. I truly can’t thank you enough for rescuing me.”

“Not a problem at all, ma’am,” the driver replies with an easy chuckle, not a hint of impatience or irritation showing. “All part of the job. But I should get going and let you folks get on board.”

He glances at me expectantly as he jerks his head toward the line of idling shuttles. “You about ready to head back, miss?”

Oh God, yes. More than anything, I need to get out of this mess with what little dignity I have left. I’ve been silently praying for an excuse to escape, to put as much distance between myself and Barron’s overwhelming presence as humanly possible ever since realizing he was coming down to deal with the aftermath of my blunder.

But Miss Opal has other ideas. She tugs on my hand, drawing my attention back to her.

“Well, dear, now Iwillneed you to accompany me,” she says in a tone that’s all warm, grandmotherly insistence.

The world stops spinning as I process what she’s said. I gape at Miss Opal in utter disbelief.

“I’ll be helpless for most of the trip, according to the doctor.”

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