Silence again.
Then, begrudgingly, “I’ll send them in the future.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I ended the call before he could reclaim footing. I remained seated for a moment, studying the quiet room. It surprised me that Tripp had been insolent. It surprised me more that he had underestimated the relational dynamics at play. A man raised in proximity to wealth should have understood network consequences. He should have known better than to antagonize a client with deeper pockets than his.
I rose from the desk and stepped back into the hallway.
Belle was still asleep on the couch, her breathing slow and even. The television cast soft, shifting light across her face. She had shifted slightly onto her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other resting loosely near the brace.
She looked younger when she slept. Less armored.
Tomorrow, I would take her to retrieve the check regardless. I preferred resolution in person. I preferred to observe the variables directly. And if Tripp Whitaker believed this was a minor inconvenience he could leverage, he was mistaken.
I turned off the television and returned to her side, lowering myself carefully onto the couch once more.
She stirred as I settled in. Her hand found my chest automatically. I allowed it. And I made a quiet promise to myself. This problem would be nipped in the bud.
The next morning began ordinarily,which should have warned me.
I was in the shower, steam curling along the tiled walls, water beating down over my shoulders in a steady rhythm that usually helped me order my thoughts. I had a meeting scheduled later in the day. A follow-up call with Columbus. A dozen small fires that required measured responses.
I was rinsing shampoo from my hair when I heard it.
A thud.
Followed by a sharp, breathless cry.
The sound of her startled voice sliced through the steam like a blade.
I shut the water off immediately, barely registering the chill as I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my waist. I didn’t bother drying fully. Water tracked down my chest and back as I moved.
“Belle?”
Another small, frustrated sound from the hallway. I reached the top of the staircase and saw her halfway down, crutches tangled awkwardly, one hand gripping the railing, the other braced against the step. Her brace had caught the edge of the stairs. She hadn’t fallen far, but far enough.
My pulse slammed once, hard.
“Do not move,” I said, already descending toward her.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” she muttered, but her voice wavered.
She finally looked up, taking me in as I descended the stairs. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes widened. A small gasp left her mouth, and I willed my dick not to twitch beneath this towel.
I crouched in front of her, hands hovering for half a second before settling carefully at her waist and beneath her arm.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“I thought I might dust the library.”
A low growl rumbled deep in my chest. “Have I asked you to return to your cleaning duties?”
“No but?—”
“No buts, you are still injured.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. But when she tried to adjust herself, she winced.
