Page 41 of For You, Sir

Sir furrowed his brow and folded his hands, his levity gone. “What do you mean?”

My heart tripped staccato. Sir’s sternness was sexy in my fantasies, but not if he was truly angry with me. But I wouldn’t back down. We had to talk about this eventually. “I mean, if you tried writing another scr—”

“Jun,” Sir interrupted. “Stop.” He uttered the word with grim finality.

I clicked my tongue in frustration. He gladly took my advice on other aspects of his life, just not the one that mattered most. “Apologies, Sir,” I mumbled.

“What about you?” he asked. “Did you tell the Olsens you’re keeping the money?”

I glanced away from him and back to the pan. It wasn’t time to flip the egg yet, but I aimlessly poked the edges with a spatula.

Sir’s chair scraped across the floor as he stood up, then strode over to me. He turned off the burner with a snap and held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

I was flummoxed by the command, but fumbled it out of my pocket. “You’re not calling the Olsens, are you?”

“No. I won’t do anything bad.” He reasserted his hand. “Give me your phone. Unlocked.”

“What are you going to do?” I trusted him enough to hand it over, but hovered anxiously beside him, watching.

Sir went into theCallfunction, then pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his contacts. “Youare going to call my lawyer and ask her to represent you. Carmen is a goddamn boss. She’ll fight for you.” He started punching in the number on my phone.

“No, Sir!” I pleaded. “It’s too expensive.”

Both phones clattered onto the counter as he dropped them with a growl of exasperation. “Jun, I’ve got money, but it doesn’t mean a damn thing unless I can do nice things for the people I care about!”

We stared at each other. Sir’s last words lingered in the air like perfume.You care about me?

I cleared my throat. “That money also afforded you a butler, Sir,” I said with a modest smile. “And I’m very glad that it did.”I care about you, too.

Sir slumped against the counter, the tension of the moment released. “It was my professional fuck-up that got me a butler,” he muttered. “So forgive me if I’m not in a hurry to undo my mistake.”

I blinked at him with dawning realization. All this time, I’d seen his return to writing as a way to keep my contract with him from getting cancelled. But what if Sir thought a return to writing would make the studio revoke my services because he’d made a full recovery? My chest warmed at the thought that we both wanted the same thing, even if we’d been pulling in opposite directions.

“But we’re not talking about me. Or being rich.” Sir ran his fingers through his hair, and I couldn’t help but notice the pop of his bicep as he did. “This is about you. Just call her.”

My heart clenched at the thought.I tried to turn the stove back on, to return to being useful, but Sir shoved his arm in my way. “Stop it. Why can’t you accept help for once?”

“I…” My throat tightened. My parents’ voices swarmed in my head, telling me to keep my head down, to never ask for too much. There were already so many volatile emotions in that house, a bucket of gasoline just waiting for a spark. If I was too demanding, my needs could be the friction that ignited the fuel and burned us all.

“I would feel terrible,” I choked out.

“Why?”Sir looked genuinely baffled. “You’re allowed to have nice things, you know.”

I ducked my head and turned away, suddenly fascinated by the weeds in the backyard.

“You know that, right?” he said from behind me.

The ache in my throat grew and grew, and I didn’t trust my voice, so I said nothing.

“Look at me.” Sir grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around, making me face him. His grip was hard, his blue eyes soft.

“Jun Kim.” He spoke clearly and deliberately. “You are a wonderful, caring person. And you deserve to have nice things.”

The pressure in my chest ruptured, and my tears spilled over.Damn it!I covered my eyes with a cupped hand. He should have stayed out of it, left me alone.

Sir released his grip on my shoulders and pulled me in for a hug. I stiffened as his arms slid around me; I’d never been much for hugging. But then I remembered Sir embracing me when we were naked, how natural and pleasant it felt. I let myself relax, reframed Sir’s arms as a shield instead of a cage, and my tension ebbed. It wasn’t so bad. My tears soaked into Sir’s cotton T-shirt, hiding the evidence of my shame.

“I feel selfish,” I finally mumbled into his shirt. “I keep thinking, ‘What if the family needs it more?’”

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