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He catches up with one long stride. “If I needed help, would you feel burdened by me?”
I tilt up my head, leveling him with a look that says I know where you’re going with this.
He raises his eyebrows and shoots me a cocky smirk, knowing he made his point.
“And what about your recovery?” he says, lowering his voice. “Who’s going to help you while you’re healing?”
I pause, scrambling to give him a solid answer. Ford won’t be content with just any made-up answer, but that’s all I have to give him. Because the only option I have is to hire help, which is more money that I don’t have. Not to mention the days of work I’ll miss for the procedure and recovery. “I’m not 100% sure I need the procedure, and if I do, the downtime is nothing. I’ll hire help if I need it.”
One of his dark—but perfectly groomed—eyebrows shoots up. “Won’t that be expensive?”
I release a sigh that turns into a groan. “I’m an adult, Ford! Let me figure it out.” I know my annoyance is misplaced and he’s just trying to help. But it sucks being the needy one here. Ford can try to reverse our roles in theory, like he’s the one who needs help, only to make me see his point. But the fact is, he doesn’t need help. He never does. He’s stupidly successful and I hate asking him for things. I suppose it’s my pride getting in the way, but what do I have left if not my pride?
CHAPTER
FIVE
FORD
Amber is sulking. Why is this woman so stubborn? I’m not trying to treat her like a child, I just want to help. I have millions of dollars sitting in my bank account and she needs money. Problem solved! Except this ridiculously independent woman wants to do everything herself.
We walk in silence, something I’m usually more than comfortable with, but I hate that she’s upset. I wanted to ease her worries, not add more to them. I glance at her right as we pass by a colorful shop window. By the look of the window display, it seems to be a furniture and decor store. Amber’s face finally brightens.
“Oh, my gosh. Let’s get some things for your house.” She grabs my wrist and tugs me along behind her.
Now, of course, I could easily resist her. I’m a 250-pound, 6’4” professional hockey player…and she’s a foot shorter than me and a good hundred-ish pounds lighter to boot. But now that she’s smiling again, I’m not about to ruin it.
As soon as the door shuts behind us, I’m hit with a dozen different scents. I school my features, trying not to scrunch up my nose. I look to my left and see a candle display filled with candles of varying scents, shapes, and colors. That’s probably where the overwhelming smell is coming from. I remind myself it still smells better than our locker room.
To my right, there’s a large red sofa with so many pillows on it, there’s no way anyone could actually sit on it. Amber is eyeing the same couch, but her expression is delighted.
What is it with women and throw pillows? What’s the point? You need two throw pillows exactly. One for each end of the couch.
Amber squeaks a sound of excitement. “Ford, we have to get you some pillows.”
I’m not sure what expression my face twists into at that moment, but it makes her laugh.
“A little color will brighten up your living room. Just trust me.”
I heave a resigned sigh. “Fine. Two pillows.”
She places her fists on her hips. A difficult pose to pull off with a baby strapped to her front. “Five.”
“Three.”
“Four,” she pleads, making her green eyes all big and round and pretty.
I clench my jaw. “Okay, four.”
She claps her hands together above Nella’s head, then turns around and gets busy picking out four pillows. She holds one up that has a flamingo on it, complete with actual feathers. She touches the feathers with an evil grin on her face.
“No.”
She tosses it back into the pile and grabs a pale yellow one with a pineapple on it.
“Does everything in this shop have a symbol for swingers on it?” I ask with a groan.
She slaps her free hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” she whispers, looking around just as an older woman with a name tag walks over toward us.
