Page 11 of The Grump's Assistant

“Exactly. I’m glad we had this pep-talk.”

Cutter grunts, then I hear rustling in the background. “Shit, she’s awake,” he whispers in a panic.

“Breathe, buddy. She’s just a woman. And she’s about to be sent home, right?”

“Yeah. Totally. She’ll be gone before dinner.” He sounds less and less sure of his plan with each word.

“Good luck,” I say before he rushes out a goodbye and hangs up.

Poor guy. A month ago I would have scoffed and told him he was delusional for letting a woman get him all twisted up. Now? Well, now I’m fucking tangled up in my own woman, and I don’t even know what she looks like. So much for this call being a distraction from Juniper. God help me for whatever comes next.

5

JUNIPER

Mr. Sloan won the lottery when he gave me a second chance last month. Not that he’d ever admit that, of course. But I think we work brilliantly together. I translate his grunts and growls into actionable tasks, and he pays me enough money to take care of my mom. I’ll even have money left over at the end of the month to throw into savings. It’s a beautiful relationship.

I groan and open up the freezer, sticking my head inside to alleviate my sudden blush. We’re not in a relationship. He wouldn’t tolerate my existence if I wasn’t so damn good at my job. But that doesn’t seem to register with my brain.

Mr. Sloan doesn’t even know what I look like. He finds me irritating and nosey. He’s grunted about my sass every single day, and he’s never once said thank you. I think I might faint if he actually praised me.

Oh Lord.

Now all I can think about is his deep, velvety voice calling me a good girl while bouncing me on his lap. Holy hell, what is wrong with me? I’ve never had these thoughts or urges before. Never wanted approval from any man. Never felt my clit throb,begging for relief. I can never get there on my own. It’s like my body knows only Vincent can unlock my pleasure.

In other words, I’m screwed. Not literally, of course. I may find release that way, but it would only open up another can of worms. I’ve never been with anyone, never dated, never even kissed a guy. If, by some miracle, Vincent was my first… I’d want him to be my last.

Crazy, irrational, and silly, right? He’s a jerk. He treats his employees like they are faceless robots doing his bidding. Then again, they all listen and nod their heads, never pushing back or questioning his judgment. Unlike me. No wonder I frustrate him so much.

“Find anything good in there?”

My mother’s voice snaps me back into the present. I realize I’ve been standing with my head halfway in the freezer for several minutes. My cheeks and nose are cold, but it’s a welcome sensation from the heat that was prickling my skin earlier.

“I’ll need to go grocery shopping soon,” I answer, tugging out a bag of nearly empty frozen berries. “I have enough to make us some breakfast smoothies though. Does that sound good?”

“Sounds wonder—” She stops mid-word, and I spin around to look at her.

“Mom!” I exclaim, rushing over to her side.

“I’m fine,” she says weakly as she leans against the kitchen island. “Just got up a little too fast and made myself dizzy.” She smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I’ll help you to your chair. You’ll feel better after you have something to eat.”

Before my mother can protest, I loop my arm around her waist and guide her back to the living room. She gives me most of her weight, which isn’t saying much. The cancer has made her waif-thin, even though she used to be on the curvier side, like me.

“You need to get ready for work,” Mom says as I adjust the pillows on her recliner and drape a blanket over her lap. “I’m fine, Juniper. Just a low energy day.” She pats my hand and closes her eyes.

There have been far too many low energy days lately. We have an appointment with her oncologist next week, and hopefully we can start on a more aggressive treatment plan now that we have money in the bank.

I place the back of my hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. She’s a little warm, but not enough to be alarming. “I’ll be right back with some water,” I say softly.

“I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you,” she murmurs. “I’m your mama, after all.”

“I don’t mind taking over for a while.”

Mom blinks one eye open and gives me a tender smile. I return it with all the love I have for the woman who raised me. She’s kind and beautiful and sharp as a tack when she’s not battling brain fog. Looking at her now has me swallowing back tears. She’s far too thin and her once bright eyes are dull and sunken. I’m holding out hope, but each day gets harder and harder to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I give her hand a squeeze and head back to the kitchen to make her fruit and wheatgrass smoothie. Setting the glass down on her favorite tray, I arrange some crackers and protein bars, along with a bottle of water.

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