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She returned to the faucet and flicked it on, setting the water temperature to cool but not cold.
While she waited for the temperature to change, she started tossing open cabinets, searching for something.
“Upper cabinet to your left.” I slid my back down the wall, sitting on the floor and clutching my wrist. “What kind of idiot keeps their first aid kit on the lower level?”
“Maybe the same one who voluntarily gave himself a third-degree burn because he doesn’t like being touched but doesn’t have the balls to own up to it,” she snapped, popping a red-and-white box open and rummaging through it.
I tried to swallow and failed.
She was more perceptive than my childhood friends. They’d taken far longer to discover my secret.
For the first time, I wasn’t amused by Farrow Ballantine.
I was worried.
There was nothing more dangerous in this world than a smart woman.
“Petroleum jelly.” She withdrew a tub of Vaseline. “Bingo. Hey, why is most of it gone?”
Fucking Ollie.
I mustered the courage to examine the skin slowly melting from my hand. Bright red. Purplish at the edges. Swollen and blistered fingers.
I’d seen worse, but she probably hadn’t.
Farrow deposited the Vaseline on the counter, continued sifting through the kit, and swore.
She dumped the contents onto the marble and snapped her fingers. “Up on your feet.”
I stood without question.
Not sure when I’d started taking orders from my own maid, but here we were.
Her finger darted beneath the faucet, double-checking the temperature.
“Put your hand under the running water. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” She wagged a finger in my face. “I swear to god, Zach—if you move an inch from this place, I’m going to find you and smother you with a bear hug.”
With that, she left.
The cool water felt good against my skin, which surprised me,since I rarely felt anything at all.
I heard Farrow moving in the nearby kitchen, slamming drawers, cursing in… Hungarian?
It wasn’t lost on me that I should’ve been more disturbed that she knew my secret. Maybe becauseIknew all ofhersecrets and could dangle her own weaknesses in her face.
No.
The truth was, I kind of trusted the little shit.
Farrow smacked the door to the bathroom open, holding a roll of Saran Wrap in her hand and a jumbo bottle of Advil in the other.
She discarded the painkillers on the counter and turned off the tap. Then, she plucked out a cotton swab, smeared it with Vaseline, and applied a thin layer to the scalded area in long, gentle strokes.
She pulled out a strip of the film and tore it with her teeth. “You better throw in a bonus for all the stuff I do for you.”
I ignored her. Farrow opened a hydrogel pad and clamped it to my hand, careful not to make physical contact with me. The burn intensified, licking at my flesh like fire. I groaned.
“Stay still,” she instructed. “Don’t worry. I’ll wrap you up without touching you.”
