Page 32 of Hate You Forever (Hate 1)

Deciding I’d rather him not bleed out on my floor, I grab his arm and lead him back into the bathroom. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“No need. It’s just a minor cut.” He tries to pull out of my grasp but I latch onto him harder.

“I’d rather your blood not be all over my apartment,” I say pointedly.

“It’s barely bleeding. It’s not like it’s gushing everywhere.” He’s trying to act tough. Also, he’s right; there’s hardly any blood, but it’s better to be safe.

“Forensic testing only needs one drop to link you to a crime.” I tend to crack inappropriate jokes, though I think it’s pretty funny.

“You planning on killing me?” His voice has an air of caution to it. Probably a good thing. He doesn’t know me, and I can be unpredictable at times.

“Haven’t decided yet. I’ll leave that to be determined.” I shrug, leaving him with a worried look. I close the lid to the toilet and gesture to him to sit down. He’s way too tall for me to clean up the cut if he stays standing. Reaching into the bathroom cabinet, I pull out my first aid kit.

“You a doctor on the side?” He’s eyeballing my extensive kit. I have everything imaginable in this thing, from ointment to needles and thread for sutures. Sometimes you never know when you’re going to need to clean yourself up after a bad injury.

“Something like that.” It’s easier to be vague than tell him the real reason I have a kit rivaling a hospital-grade one.

“Well, thanks. It’s not needed, but I appreciate it.”

I step closer to his body, feeling the heat radiate off him. He smells like fresh laundry, and looks even more handsome this close while I’m inspecting his face.

“No problem. I am kind of the reason you got hurt.” He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me with those gorgeous brown eyes while I get to work. “You need to work on not getting distracted by a bare pussy though. That was your downfall.”

“I was not distracted,” he grunts, his face scrunching up as the alcohol hits his open wound.

“Mmhmm, whatever you say. Maybe we could work on that together.” The words come out of my mouth before I realize how they sound. Maybe he won’t catch the fact that I basically offered up my pussy to help him in his training. There’s a knowing look in his eyes, and I realize I’m fucked. “I-I, uh... didn’t mean it like that. I just meant we could train together since we’re apparently going to be spending some time together,” I backtrack.

Thankfully, he lets it go, just giving me a small smile. I finish cleaning up the cut and grab a Hello Kitty bandaid from the box I keep in case Amelia ever needs them, and put it on him.

“There. All good.” I step back, trying so hard not to laugh at the bandaid.

“Thanks.” He stands up and starts turning to look in the mirror, but I distract him with a question.

“So what exactly did you come here for?”

“Nix wanted me to drop some things off. I left them in your dining room.” I take note that he calls him Nix instead of boss or Mr. Taylor—they must be close.

Rushton leads me to my tiny kitchen and dining room area. Lying on the table are scattered papers and a manila envelope. It looks like he threw them down in a hurry, likely after hearing me scream.

“He wanted me to give you a copy of the contract and supporting addendums. He also wanted me to give you this.” Rushton picks up the giant envelope and shoves it my way, looking slightly nervous to give it to me.

“What is it?” I ask, slowly opening the envelope. Inside is a small teal Tiffany’s box. There’s only one thing this box could be, which instantly irritates me—Marnix couldn’t even give me this himself. “Seriously? He made you drop off my engagement ring?”

Rushton looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than here with me right now. “He had a meeting today, ma’am.”

Ma’am? This guy is way too well-mannered to be putting up with Marnix’s assholeness.

“It’s Tara. No need to be so formal.” I pull out the box, opening it to see a large oval diamond on a slim band that’s covered in smaller diamonds. This thing is fucking massive, probably at least eight carats and one hundred percent not my style. It’s way too flashy for me.

“This is what he picked?”

“Uh, no ma’am—I mean, Tara—he had the jewelers pick one for you.” He’s shifting on his heels, looking at me warily, like he’s ready for me to punch him again.

“How thoughtful.” The sarcasm in my voice only thickens the tension in the room. So Marnix couldn’t be bothered to pick the ring or drop it off. I put the box down on the table, taking a deep breath in before I get even more agitated.

Looking over the paperwork on the table, I see a list of things I need for the wedding. Marnix made a fucking list of shit I have to do for our wedding? So much for not letting myself get agitated. Jesus, maybe I should see if I can back out. He’s already a groomzilla.

“What the fuck?” I scan the document and see I have to get a dress that’s not too revealing—like I’d listen to that—and meet with his mother to plan the wedding and pick a cake—but nothing with lemon apparently?—and so many other demands.

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