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Oh. She hadn’t been as unaffected by the work as she’d seemed. She pushed off the wall. Backstroke this time. Arms reaching above her head and her back arched, giving him a perfect view of everything her bathing suit didn’t hide. Which wasn’t much.
Fortunately, her eyes were shut so she didn’t see him gawking at her.
The fact that she was sore from work should’ve felt like some sort of teach-your-nemesis-a-lesson win. But it didn’t. This afternoon was definitely a win for her, even if she didn’t realize it.
9
On Monday, Carson gave Olivia the job of jackhammering the old tile out of the basement exercise room. He wasn’t trying to give her a hard job again, just one where the other crew members would leave her alone. Although there was some part of him that was curious to see how long she would last doing manual labor. She had to be hating every minute of this. Any time now, she’d tromp upstairs, slap her work gloves on the counter, and tell him, “You know what, this is Matt’s problem. I quit. Give me back my car keys.”
That’s what she ought to do.
But she didn’t.
When she emerged from the basement at the end of the day, she was covered in so much gray dust she looked like she was trying to play the part of a ghost in a theatrical production. She walked stiffly, and her arms trembled, but she didn’t complain.
That night while Carson was doing his physical therapy exercises, he heard her out at the pool again. He didn’t go outside, didn’t look out the window, and yet he could still see her in his mind’s eye, gliding through the water. Later she would sit in the jacuzzi with her head tilted back, face to the stars. What would she do if he decided to join her?
He dismissed the thought and wondered if it was possible for a captor to come down with Stockholm syndrome.
Tuesday morning, Carson had Olivia stain a built-in bookcase in the pantry while the basement was painted. He could have had her paint the basement but didn’t want to hear her commentary on the color being wrong again. Somehow, even when she wasn’t around he was still thinking about her and what she would say.
And that was the oddest thing about having Olivia working at the house—that he found himself looking forward to talking to her during the lunch breaks, that he actually went out of his way to speak to her. Chalk one up for the smart girls. They knew how to make a conversation interesting. She could trade barbs with him one moment and the next talk about the Yellowstone supervolcano or what really caused Vincent van Gogh’s depression. A nice change from the crew’s usual topics.
On Wednesday night, Carson came over to the main house with his dirty clothes hamper. He needed to do a load before the washer and dryer were moved outside and the floor was torn up in that room.
He found Olivia lying on the bare cement of the kitchen, eyes shut. For a moment, he thought she’d passed out. He dropped the hamper and hurried over. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes flew open, and she jerked to a sitting position. “Yeah. I’m fine. I was just resting for a minute.”
“On the kitchen floor?”
She gestured to the space around them filled with boxes and miscellaneous tools. “There’s not a lot of options.”
True. But she could’ve gone to her room to rest. She was more than just sore. She was exhausted. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Carson shouldn’t have worked her so hard. He should’ve known she would push herself past her limits rather than admit she was having trouble.
“I’m fine.” She didn’t stand up.
He felt a flash of anger toward Matt. The guy never should’ve run off and left his sister to deal with his mess.
She looked at the fridge. “I was just giving myself a break before I have to get on my feet again and make something for dinner.”
Carson waited for her to get up. She didn’t. “Seriously, do I need to call a doctor? I can’t have anyone dying on my job site.”
She rolled her eyes. “Afraid my family will sue?”
“No. I have to disclose any deaths on the property to potential buyers. Wouldn’t want anything to happen that’s bad for business.”
She rolled her eyes again. “I’m not dying. I’m just deciding whether I have the energy to cook vegetables or whether I should have cereal for dinner. It’s a hard decision, and it’s taking a lot of thought.”
One of Carson’s teammates had collapsed from overexertion last season. He watched her, looking for symptoms. “I’ll get you something to drink. Are you having any chest pains?”
“No, I’m not having chest pains.” She said the words like they were ridiculous.
He went to the fridge, grabbed a Gatorade, and handed it to her.
She took it but didn’t open the bottle. “Did you come over here just to check on me?”
“No, I came over to do a load of wash, but I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.”
