“Don’t touch those.”
Talbot rubs his face and kicks the box. “We’re not doing any more work for you if you can’t keep your side pieceout of the way.”
“Fuck off.”
He stands there, blocking the door, arms crossed.
I flex my hands, trying to relax my fist. I can’t afford to be blacklisted by the Wynter brothers. They’re… resourceful.
Talbot inclines his head to acknowledge my acquiescence then turns on his heel.
I don’t see him out.
Screw him.
I never should have let myself get wrapped up in Jenna’s nonsense. She’s meaningless. I should have stayed the path.
Truman trots into the study, tail waving like a flag, like he owns the place.
“You’re happy to be back in the land of the sane, aren’t you, boy?” I stroke the dog’s silky fur. Well, mostly silky. There are mashed potatoes in his paws.
I sponge him off, then I’m pouring a glass of Glenfiddich scotch when the penthouse door opens.
“Are you giving me my refund after all?” I shout to Talbot.
But he’s not there. Instead, Jenna, soaking wet and reeking of burnt fish, squelches into my living room and throws all her shit on the floor.
I take a sip of the scotch as she stands there, dripping at me.
“Don’t say it,” she sputters. “I don’t want this to be any harder than it has to be.”
“Cupcake, what the hell happened to your eyebrows?”
Jenna squawks, clapping her hands to her forehead.
“My… Oh… Oh god! It doesn’t look that bad, right?” She’s anxious.
If she hadn’t just cost me serious money, I’d say it was adorable.
As it is…
When I pry her fingers away from her face, I bite back a hiss.
“The parts that haven’t been burned off look fine.” I run my thumbs over her face, checking for injuries. Just because she is standing doesn’t mean she isn’t having a delayed reaction. Fortunately, her eyebrows seem to have taken the brunt of the damage.
“I really can’t believe I’m asking this because, believe me,” I say, stepping back, “I don’t care, but…how?I ran through the flames, and I’m not missing my eyebrows.”
“This isn’t from the house fire.” She’s suddenly cagey.
“Which one was it?” Rage floods me.
“Which one what?” she squeaks, flapping her arms.
I’m back up on her. “Which of your ex-fiancés did this to you?”
“Why do you always assume the worst?”
“Stop fucking with me, Cupcake. I’m not in the mood.”
