Page 19 of Rush of Jealousy

“Dammit,” he sneers.

I drip a trail of blood as we enter the restroom as a team.

Graham picks me up around the waist and places me on top of the long sink vanity. He turns on the faucet, and the rush of cold water feels so good that I don’t want it to stop. My blood mixes with the pooling water at the bottom of the basin and makes the white sterile sink look poisoned.

“Hey,” Graham says, cupping my chin with his free hand, pulling my attention to him. “You are going to be just fine, Angie. It’s just a cut.”

My lower lip trembles as I choke out the words, “Am I going to need stitches?”

“Hmm, I would bet yes,” he says softly, still holding my gaze.

“I hate needles,” I admit.

“I know, baby.”

A whimper escapes my throat. “Like really hate them.”

“I’ll be right here with you. It’s going to be okay. The doctor is on his way.”

In between whispering hushed words of comfort to me, Graham barks out a few orders to his men. The contrast in his tone toward me and them is like black and white.

He looks me in the eyes and tries to calm me, but I just cannot keep them open.

“Tie it tight,” Graham instructs. “It has to last until Dr. Saber can get here. He is about five minutes out.”

His voice is calm and controlled. And because he is not freaking out, I try my best to just sit still and not look.

I feel the pull of the fabric over my palm and wince at the makeshift tourniquet. I hear my name chanted soothingly into my ear, but I keep my eyes sealed shut. Warm fingers graze over my clammy cheeks. I focus only on them—willing myself to ignore anything else going on around me.

I feel safe. Cared for. I want the feeling to last forever, but logically I know that it can’t. Graham is incapable of bending. No matter how good his hands feel in the moment, it is just that. A moment. One speck on my timeline.

“Put your arms around my neck, sweetheart.”

I do as I am told and am cradled against Graham’s broad chest. I snuggle my face into his neck and revel in the feeling of being this close to him. I would be lying to myself if I pretend that I do not miss this closeness. He is everything I want and don’t want wrapped up into a package of a man.

Within seconds, I am transported out of the lobby’s restroom, onto an elevator, and up to Graham’s main office. A female staff member gives us a nod and follows us as we travel down the hallway. I assume she’s Hanna’s replacement.

“Mr. Hoffman, your two o’clock—”

“Cancel it,” he says sternly.

“And your two thirty ap—”

“Reschedule it,” he snaps.

“Mr. Hoff—”

His body goes stiff beneath me, and I cringe over what he is going to do next. He squeezes me tighter, takes a deep breath, and then turns back to her.

“Please just clear my schedule for the rest of the day. Decide on your own what needs to be canceled versus rescheduled. When Dr. Saber arrives, please send him in right away. Afterward, take time for your lunch break. Double it.”

Her shoulders slump, and she seems to let go of the breath she must have been holding. I imagine working for a hard-ass like Graham has to be stressful. All of his employees should receive hazard pay to account for his mood swings.

And then it clicks. Hanna. I instantly connect the dots between her cold words on the street and the fact she was carrying a box with what I assume were desk items.

I pull my head up to look at Graham, as he kicks the door shut to his private space—closing us in.

I have been in this office three times now, and every time I enter, I leave with more confusion than when I first arrive. I wonder if this trip will be the same.

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