Page 10 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

In a moment of weakness, I roll onto my side and masturbate into my sheets, but my lust doesn’t abate.

Millie Grant’s perfect curves will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Chapter 5

Millie Grant

Through the fog of panic and horror, I greet the young master and introduce his parents to my friends from the gym. A part of me laments my inability to celebrate our unexpected reunion with him—the family hired me to see them through the roughest months of their son’s cancer treatments about seven years ago—but the tingling in my extremities worsens and the urge to scratch until my flesh tears away grows, so after exchanging a few niceties and hugs, I make an excuse and slip away to the suite for the bridesmaids.

I change clothes, rush home, and fall apart in the shower. As I stand with the icy spray pummeling the back of my head—just like the rain that horrible day thirteen years ago—I relive every terrifying moment of the accident in slow motion. The cold numbs my body and curbs the urge to tear at my skin.

Despite the evening sun still shining in through the living room window when I emerge from the bathroom, I shuffle into my room, lock my door, drag my suitcase out from under my bed and block the door with it, and crawl under my blankets without checking the time. I wake sitting on the floor in the corner of my room with my notebook in my lap and my pencil pinched between my fingers. Disoriented in the dark, I just sit and breathe for a few minutes until my butt aches from sitting on the hard floor. Unwilling to fall apart again so soon, I scribble the date along the bottom, close the notebook, and set it and my pen on my bedside table before getting back in bed without turning on the lights.

I don’t need to see the picture with my eyes to know what I drew in my sleep. The vision of Artur lying in puddles swirling with crimson as I pumped his chest with bloody hands remains vivid in my mind.

I have never drawn the moment he took his first gasping breath because, even though the relief was immense, it didn’t last long. I almost lost both my mother and unborn brother mere seconds later. Guilt eats away at my insides.

I should have never left Artur’s side, but my mother needed me. Not only did Artur almost die because of me, but I also abandoned him. His hatred a few days later when I finally left my mother’s—and my premature brother’s—side hurt, but I understood.

Understanding doesn’t take away the pain.

I sigh and roll over. The movement awakens the phantom sensations in my arms and legs. If Artur also still suffers daily from the effects of surviving a high-voltage shock, then I don’t blame him for his reaction to me at Karey’s wedding.

The thought of explaining the accident to Summer fills me with nausea.

I need to stop thinking about the past. My roommate was right; finding a new client is best. Idle time equals too much rumination. I have too much pain and sorrow in my heart to allow myself to dwell for long.

Shannon lost her battle nine weeks ago. It’s time to find another child to help.

I unplug my phone and pick it up off my bedside table. Guilt worms through me at the number of missed messages. I worried my friends from the gym with my hasty exit.

After squeezing my eyes closed for a few seconds, I lie and assure them I’m fine before thanking them for caring and promising to see them at self-defense class next weekend.

With my heart in my throat and legs itching with phantom energy, I open my email inbox and click on the correspondence from the agent I spoke with yesterday. She has two families in need of immediate care. I sit up and brace my back against the headboard before clicking the first link.

To protect the client’s privacy, no names or addresses are included, but ages, diagnosis, level of required care, living conditions, and basic family information fill the pages. After a quick scan, I use my years of experience to create a decent picture of what daily life with this individual would be like, and despite the positive prognosis and ease of care, I hesitate to commit. The six-year-old girl is an only child but has an extended family of both sets of grandparents living in the house, and as much as I want what’s best for the child, I can’t help but listen to my intuition and avoid putting myself in a situation with too many opinions thrown at me at once. I hate confrontation—and family matters—especially with a sick loved one—but it can become heated in an instant.

It also means too many adult males sleeping under the same roof.

Plus, the patient doesn’t require the level of care most of my cases do. She would be better off with a nurse nanny who enjoys a lighter workload.

Refusing to mark her off my list of possibilities with such lame excuses, I close the tab and open the second link.

My fanciful thinking immediately conjures Lola’s face. A three-year-old girl with a robust medical history, numerous diagnoses, and several undiagnosed issues. She suffers from a variety of symptoms, including seizures and selective muteness, has a gastrostomy tube, needs full-time care, and lives with her father. Her mother is marked as deceased.

Disappointment and relief swirl behind my sternum. It’s not Lola O’Brian. Even though Regina wasn’t at the wedding, Artur did not look like a grieving husband, and I would have heard through the grapevine if my high school best friend had died.

I send an email and receive a reply within a few minutes.

Less than two hours later, I pull open the door to the agency and greet the receptionist. She pages the agent and leads me back to a chic conference room.

Pushing away my memories—the last time I sat in this room I met Shannon’s parents for the first time—I settle into a chair and prepare for the inevitable chat with my agent.

She rushes in before the receptionist clears the doorway.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Grant, I know this breaks protocol, but the first family already matched with a different nanny and he—”

A tall man with broad shoulders fills the doorframe. The walls close in and the agent’s rambling fades into muted noises as I meet eyes the color of fall harvest. Sunlight glints in Artur’s golden orbs.