Page 115 of The Reluctant Hero

By the time I get my breathing under control, he’s shut himself in his meat locker isolation again.

“How can I help?” He asks me in a normal, uptight tone.

“By going away?” I mutter hopefully. If he starts in with the emotional crap again, I might hit him in self-defense.

“I need something to do.”

I look at him, seeing the dark circles under his eyes. His gaunt face. He may sound right, but he doesn’t look ok.

“Take a nap?”

He gives me a flat look.

“For real,” I tell him softly. “You look exhausted. Go home and take a personal day.”

“No.”

“Then stay here and take a personal day,” I roll my eyes. “The couch looks comfy. Sleep there.”

We stare at each other, and my eyebrow slowly climbs the longer it goes on.

“If you keep staring, I’m going to start calling you Ace.”

His lips twitch up in a smile, and he leans back in the chair. Then he frowns and readjusts, trying to get comfortable. This is a perfect opportunity to give him shit. I would feel bad about it, but being his therapist has to have a few perks.

“Aw, can someone’s rich ass not get comfy in a normal chair?” I fake pout in sympathy.

He scoffs, “If you sit in my chair, you’ll take it home with you.”

“That’s an idea. Get in your chair and make Mikael wheel you home. He’s strong enough to see the job done. We can take bets on how long it will take.”

He laughs, relaxing back and then starts shifting again.

“Oh my God, you spoiled little shit. Go lay down on the couch.” I crack up at the disgusted look on his face.

“How have you been sitting here? No wonder you’re always in a bad mood,” he gripes.

“And I thoughtIwas dramatic,” I scoff. I get up and pick a pillow from the couch to toss at him. “Now I’m protecting your delicateass. This job is the worst.”

He gets up and places the pillow down while I gape. I was joking, and he’s so pompous his ass can’t meet metal.

“Look at this,” I gasp with wide eyes and pull a blanket out of a hidden cubby on the couch. “So tempting.”

He glares at me and slides a folder in front of him, stealing the only highlighter for himself. Then he stares down at the file and doesn’t move. I can see him going down the rabbit hole of his own thoughts again.

I fling the blanket at him in frustration. It lands over his head. The move startles him until he stands and throws it off with an enraged glare.

“Nap time,” I point at the couch defiantly.

“Fuck off,” he snaps.

“I can’t trust you with anything work-related. You’ve been drinking.”

“Yougave it to me,” he gapes in disbelief.

“And I will give you another one if you come lay down,” I raise a brow.

“I didn’t want the first one.”

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