Page 37 of Just Say (Hell) No
“Maybe you can put in a big mirror,” he said. “I’m fairly certain you’re a rainbow.”
It took her a minute. “Unworthy of you,” she finally said. “After I told you my secret. And that I can’t see myself.”
He had the grace to look slightly ashamed. “Tell me what color, so I can brace myself for the worst.”
“Orange. I’ve always wanted an orange room.”
She didn’t have any trouble interpreting that expression. “No. Absolutely bloodynot.”
“Marko.” She took a step closer and put a hand on his forearm. The bunched muscles tensed even more, and she took her hand off again.Whoops. No touching.She went on fast. “We’ll paint again, Ella and I, before we both leave. After the baby. This room, and hers, too, if you really hate the yellow. The painting will be good for her, a good step. It’ll mark the transition, be a way for her to know she’s moved on, that she’s entered into a new phase. And you’ll have white walls again.”
“I’d think she’d already have a fairly good idea that she’s moved on,” he said, “considering that there’ll be one less person inside.”
“I don’t think it happens that fast. Change is a process, right? Your mind can be the last part of you to complete it. You were injured last year. How long did you take to adjust to that?”
He went even more still before he said, “Not long at all. I’m used to being injured. And is that what it’s going to be like with you here? Are you going to be saying things like, ‘change is a process?’ Bloody hell.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “It’s going to be just like that. Unless you give me the sack.”
What would a man actually have to do to impress her? Or even to make a bloodyimpression?He was intimidating. That was his job.
He didn’t want to intimidate her. Not exactly. He just…
He stood there, dimly aware that the kitten was kneading his shoulder and purring like she had a motor under there, and did his best to gather his wits.
Heshouldsack her. Advertise. Get some older lady with spectacles. On one of those beaded chains. Who would cook. She’d cost more, but she’d be guaranteed not to walk up the stairs in front of him with the curves of the most bite-worthy arse he’d ever seen in his life showing under her tiny shorts. Not to mention that she wouldn’t put her hand on his arm, lean in close, look up at him with those eyes, and push his self-control all the way to the screaming limit.
Which would be why he said, “Of course I’m not sacking you. And cheers for the suggestion about the background check. Although if I do it now, I’m removing all the satisfaction from it, since I’m pretty sure it won’t turn up anything exciting.”
“You’ll turn up that I’m skint,” she said. “And that my car’s fifteen years old. Both of which you already knew.”
“Right, then.” He put his hands on his hips, looked around, and sighed. “Going downstairs for the tallboy and the rest of it. Make me happy and tell me you cooked my tea and it’s waiting in the fridge.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I’ve been painting all day. Not a good housekeeper, remember? Ella went to Eden Foods and picked up a few things, though, when she registered for school. Which she did by herself, by the way, so you might mention it. She got yoghurt, I think. Apples, too.”
He definitely needed the lady with the spectacles.
When he went back upstairs an hour later to collect the two of them, things didn’t look much better. Ella’s mattress was out of Nyree’s doorway and on the floor together with Nyree’s smaller one, and the tallboy stood in the corner where Nyree had directed him to put it, but the passage was still crammed with boxes, bags, and a rolled-up carpet.
He didn’t say anything, because there was no point. Instead, he said, “Tea’s ready.”
Ella bounced off the mattress and said, “Awesome,” and Nyree said, “Give me five minutes.” Victoria had left a while ago.
When they came downstairs, Nyree had changed out of the shorts. Unfortunately. She must have taken a shower, because her hair was wet and pulled back in a ponytail, from which tendrils were already escaping like nothing could contain her energy. She’d changed, too. She was dressed in a pair of black leggings, a thin purple jumper that clung to her breasts and revealed a lace-edged something, and the black silk dressing gown he’d seen in her bedroom before.
This was bad.
Did she notice his reaction? She did not. Instead, she joined him at the sleek black induction cooktop and said, “Smells yum. I was afraid to touch this thing. You have a seriously scary house. What did you make?”
“Venison stew. Extra veggies. Greens. Bread, if you like.” He dished up a heaping bowl for himself, and put it on a plate.
The bowl and plate were both white, because it had been easier than figuring out anything else. He was sure she’d say something about that, but instead, she just asked, “No bread for you?”
“Nah. Not tonight. I’ll have extra of this instead. Nutrition, eh.”
“Oh.” She considered that for a minute, then said, “Guess you won’t be eating any of Ella’s and my ice cream, then. Always a bonus, especially as it’s chocolate.” Then she hacked off a slice of ciabatta loaf, buttered it extravagantly, and took her plate to the third stool in line.
Ella eased herself onto the middle stool, pulled out her phone, held it in one hand and her spoon in the other, and started to text. Nyree put down her own spoon and said, “Well, no.”
