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Carrie wasn’t the crafty type. She found it illogical at best, and a waste of time at worst. In fact, Mila could only remember a few rare instances when her mother had ever done art projects with her, and it’d always been at Mila’s insistence. “People don’t want paper gifts, Mila,” she used to say, “they want cold, hard cash.” She would counter, “But cash is paper.” Her mom would sigh and say something about irony, which Mila hadn’t understood as a child.
“That’s kind of her,” she finally said. “I’ll give them to Sheri. She’ll pass them out.”
Mila followed her mom to the center of the ER where staff bustled behind a half circle of counters. A few of the nurses smiled or waved as she bobbed her way through the crowded area to the supply room in back. Her mom placed the bag on a chair then started sifting through boxes of gauze.
“How’s your father?” she asked absently as she searched for what she needed.
“Bored.”
Her mom chuckled. “If he hadn’t been forced into retirement, he’d probably have worked for the department until the day he died.”
“Yeah.” He was a classic workaholic, but it came from passion. A passion for the neighborhoods—especially the kids growing up without father figures. It had ultimately been his downfall.
“Ugh.” Her mom slammed one box of gauze down onto the counter then began pulling packages out. “Someone got these all disorganized.” She reached up and grabbed three other boxes, placed them on the counter, and began to rearrange them by size.
Mila hadn’t come here just to drop off the dolls. She figured it was as good a time as any for some . . . motherly advice. “Mom . . .” She bit her lip, thinking through how to word this without giving too much away. It seemed a little strange to go to her divorced mother for love advice, but it wasn’t as if she had a gaggle of girlfriends she could ask. Her only friends were guys, and perverts at that. Though was she really one to talk about being perverted?
She gave her head a shake to clear the mental image of Atlas fucking her ass.
“Have you ever . . . had feelings for someone you really shouldn’t
?”
“Hmm?”
“Like really really shouldn’t?”
Her mom didn’t look up from the boxes.
“Like have you ever fallen for someone completely opposite of you? Of what you stand for? Of your career?”
Carrie chuckled. “What? Are you seeing a bank robber or something?”
Mila didn’t laugh.
Her mom stopped what she was doing and looked at her. Brown eyes so like her own widened in disbelief and then sympathy. “Oh, honey. That is a bad idea.”
No shit. But it wasn’t really what she wanted to hear. “What about the whole ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’?”
Carrie sighed and shook her head. “The heart is a silly fool that can’t be trusted.”
Her shoulders drooped as her mood dampened. It was true. She knew it was true. But secretly she’d hoped her mom would tell her to follow her heart and everything would be okay. It was a load of shit that only worked in fairy tales and movies, but it would’ve been nice to pretend it was true for a little while longer.
As usual, her mom was the cold reality check she needed.
Chapter 8
“We got everything on the list, even without your help,” Addison teased, “but only because you sacrificed your body to distract the enemy.”
Atlas leaned back on the chair and stared at the pool’s still surface. The kickboard he’d used with Mila the night before was still where they’d left it, and his gaze kept sliding in that direction, as though it could replay the events of the night before. He’d had a lovely, whimpering, squirming little ball of . . . cop.
God, she was hot.
Why did she have to be so hot?
He’d made her breakfast when they’d woken up, and flirted through the meal, but then she’d bolted out the door once she was done. Maybe he’d scared her off, finally. That had been the point. Just by showing her what he really was, he’d sent her off with her tail between her legs. Maybe. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be so easy. She wasn’t exactly the tail-between-the-legs type, but that was one of the things he liked about her. She could hold her own against him and she wasn’t afraid of taking risks or being hurt. His inner sadist was becoming obsessed with her.
If she hadn’t just been hanging around to spy on him, he would have eased her slowly into his world. Maybe he would have been kinder. Maybe not.
