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I clench my fists.
I don’t know what his definition of ‘playing for keeps’ is, but I am done being toyed with by Mr. Philip McCoy.
No. I am not going to slide into his arms, or anybody else’s, this time.
It took being burned twice to teach me that I can trust nobody but myself with my heart.
I struggle to climb out of bed, biting my lower lip to hold in the whimpers of pain. I refuse to think about him, about anything.
I am wearing a large, oversized black T-shirt, and from the scent alone I can tell who it belongs to. The very idea of Philip changing my clothes makes my face
burn red.
Slowly, I make my way to the bathroom, my whole body screaming with agony.
It is only once I am done with all my basic necessities that I stare at myself in the mirror. The familiar sight of bruises on me sends me back to days past, and I see myself as a little girl looking in the mirror of that one room apartment, trying to figure out how to best hide all those marks on my skin.
However, this time I have nothing to hide them with.
My face looks slightly better, but I can’t see the bruising on my chest and stomach, because both are bandaged. I’ve spent days looking much worse than this.
I shrug back into my shirt and see a small box marked with my name.
Opening it, I feel a sense of relief at seeing the toiletries from my apartment.
Quickly brushing my teeth and fixing my rumpled hair, I walk out of the bathroom feeling more like myself.
Philip stands there, this time wearing a shirt. I suppress my disappointment at that. The look on his face is serious.
“The police are coming by in half an hour. You need to talk to them.”
“All right,” I reply, feeling awkward.
The police are involved now. Knowing who Philip is, they would actually take this investigation seriously.
He stands there just studying me, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, and I don’t like the way he is scrutinizing me, but he finally says, “You look better.” I blink. “I thought you would be more traumatized.”
“I don’t have time to be traumatized,” I sigh. “I have to get the shop back running within the week. I have to get in touch with the girls, tell them they can’t come in for the next few days. All the stock of perishables has to be handled appropriately. I’ve got too much work.”
Philip doesn’t comment on my list of tasks. Instead, he watches me, before finally saying, “You know, Agatha kept bringing me goodies from this amazing bakery that she knew. She never told me where it was. So, when I found out your address, and that you ran a bakery, I was quite surprised.”
I shrug.
“Yeah, well. I just hope I fix everything in time to get it back running.”
He frowns at me.
“I told you—”
“Yeah,” I glare at him, “I heard you the first few times of your desire to play the hero. Go ahead, Philip. I’ll pay you back each and every cent that you put in my place!”
The annoyance in his face mirrors mine as he steps closer to me.
“Just look at it as a bloody investment!”
I take a step closer, my brow knitted.
“I don’t want an investor!”
