Page 30 of Sexy as Sin
“I do. And projects all over the place, including here, if you recall. I’m going to be stuck someplace for a while, though, because I’m not travel-ready, and I like it here, despite the ocean and the sharks. I like the way the air smells. I also find that I don’t hate the people, at least some of them.”
“Oh.” Some more silence. How bad had that been last night? She couldn’t have believed that jerk. That had been the asshole and the beer talking all the way, as obviously as if the guy had written it in marker on his forehead.
“And I’d like,” he said, making another of the lightning decisions that seemed crazy, but actually came from your mind going faster than your conscious thoughts could keep up, “to hire somebody to bring me my meals, since I’m not going to be driving. Know anybody like that?”
“Takeaway,” she said. “Delivery.” She was starting to sound breathless, though. Good.
“Boring. Let’s see. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Say breakfast and lunch are done ahead—I’m not a picky eater, other than the organ meats, and I’ll be on crutches and not helpless, so I just need something ready for me to cook, because the grocery store’s out—and dinner’s prepared at my house. I’m fairly sure I can promise a decent kitchen. Three meals, simple ones. I don’t really like fancy, to tell you the truth. A good cheeseburger works for me. Not every day, sadly, though if you want to make Boston cream pie... well, I’ve been thinking about that for a week. Two hours or so? A hundred twenty dollars a day?”
“A... hundred twenty?”
“Wait. Exchange rate. A hundred sixty-five. Plus the cost of the groceries, of course.”
Silence, then, “Brett. That’s too much. That’s a mad proposition. And how do you know the exchange rate like that? In your head?”
“It’s my job, and no, it’s not. Not when I’m asking you to do more after your work day. And if you want to make some extra dinner and eat it with me, that’ll be your choice, and my bonus. And, no, this isn’t through your company. I don’t want somebody taking their cut they didn’t earn. This is all you.”
“But... why?” she asked.
“Because I like you, and I trust you. I like lots of people. I trust almost nobody.”Wait.He hadn’t meant to say that part.
“That’s a lonely way to live.”
“It’s the way I’m made.”
“What about... what if...” She didn’t go on.
“No strings,” he said. “No entanglements unless you want them. If you do? We’ll get as entangled as you like.”
“You have a rod in your femur.” She had some laughter back in that blue-skies voice, at least, for the first time tonight. Like a woman who was starting to believe. “And dressings. There’s a limit. I’d kill you.”
“I know. Believe me, I’ve spent enough time lying here thinking about the limits.” You didn’t promise so much that she’d run, but you had to promise something, especially over the phone. Forget caution. She was wounded, she was wary, and it was time to lay it on the line. Time for some sincerity. “I won’t be fragile forever. Otherwise, the limits are where you draw them. But for me, cards on the table? The sky’s the limit.”
Willow had her hand on her heart again, and she’d long since sunk down into a kitchen chair. Opposite, Azra had stopped eating one of her endless salads and was staring at her, her fork poised over her plate.
“That would be...” Willow cleared her throat. “That would be fine.” Half of her was doing sums. A hundred sixty-five times seven days times three weeks... Amanda had been right. She wasn’t good at maths. It sounded like a lot.
Wait.“You got this idea fromPretty Woman,”she said.
“Research,” Brett said, all that humor back in his voice, and all that certainty, too, “is my life. I’ll text you the address. You can text me your schedule. I’m flexible. Can’t wait.” And hung up.
“We’ll do a sponge bath before you go home,” the aide on the day shift, an efficient brunette, told Brett the next morning, filling a plastic tub at the sink. “As you’ll have another day or so before they want you getting into a shower.”
Brett eyed the pile of cloths and two thin towels and said, “Thanks, Esther, but I have an even better idea. I’ll do it myself. Just leave the stuff there.” He’d thought about this. He’dlongedfor this. He didn’t smell like anything good, his hair felt disgusting, and Willow was coming over at six tonight. He might not be anybody’s dream date, but at least he could graduate to “not physically revolting.”
Yeah, he wanted a bath, but as far as he was concerned, there were two times in his life when having somebody else bathe him was acceptable. As a baby, which he fortunately couldn’t remember, and when he was in the home and his mind was far enough gone that he wouldn’t care.
And, yes, he might have control issues. It had been mentioned.
“The idea of the sponge bath,” Esther told him patiently, “is that you do it where you can get help to reach all of yourself. And where we don’t have to worry about you toppling over.”
“No, thanks,” Brett said. “You could do my feet, though, if you don’t mind. Lower legs, maybe. That’s going to be a little tough to reach. I’m still going to hate it, but I’ll do my best to be grateful.”
“Brett...” Esther sighed. “Has anybody ever told you that you’re stubborn? I’ve seen it all before, and I’ll be letting you wash the naughty bits yourself, no worries. You may be a bit more scenic than my average patient, but I’m still not excited.”
He laughed. “No extra charge for the ego deflation?”
She grinned. “Nah, I throw that in gratis. Right, then. I’ll do your feet and your legs, and then I’ll put everything on the washstand.Ifyou use the walker, and that’s not negotiable.”
