Page 3 of Fake Maid

She bites her lip as she looks down, plump mouth curled in a faint smile, her uninjured arm sweeping over the surface of the desk. It must be the least dusty surface in all existence by now, but neither of us are in a hurry to move.

A thought occurs to me, and I stiffen.

“Do you always work when you’re hurt? I know for a fact that I offer paid sick leave.” My voice has come out too harsh, too clipped, and I know I’ve gone wrong again when she straightens up.

“Very good of you,” Coral murmurs, turning away and wandering to the windows. “But I’m not sick. I can clean just fine.”

“Not with both hands.” I’m not making this better, but I can’t seem to stop myself once I settle into an argument. “If you needed to lift something, or move a piece of furniture, you’d have to call someone away from their own work.”

I don’t care about that. So why do I feel the need to win this? To win everything, even as her pretty face clouds over and her eyes narrow at me over her shoulder. She sweeps the corners of the window panes, searching for non-existent cobwebs.

“I’ll be sure not to disturb the other staff members, sir.”

I clench my jaw, but keep going. God help me, I keep on pushing.

“Don’t you see how that’s more selfish than calling in sick? Everyone else will have to pick up your slack.”

Her heels smack against the floorboards as she rocks down from her toes. And even though I’m her boss, even though I could fire her in a second, Coral Walsh strides from the room without another word. Her dismissal is clear, her reproach echoing in the silence, and I clench my uninjured fist as I watch her leave.

Fuck.

I could fire her.

But I’d never be able to look at myself in the mirror again. Not when, by the churning in my gut, I know I’m in the wrong. And besides—if I fired her, there would never be any hope of stumbling upon her in my library again.

Instead, I suck in a deep breath, counting to five before gusting it out.

This was not an argument worth having. And now the first distraction I’ve had since my fall is gone.

I rub my clenched fist over my sternum.

Well, she can run. But this is my house.

Coral Walsh can’t hide from me.

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