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He was going to be a lot of work, she could tell.
“I wasn’t trying to start a conversation,” he told her as he reached under his seat and drew out a First-Aid kit. Wow. That was handy.
He pulled out an ice pack and activated it so it turned cold. He passed it over to her. “For your cheek.”
“Thank you.” She raised it to her sore face.
The car moved down the street. She hoped like heck she hadn’t made a mistake coming with him. He could take her anywhere he wanted to . . .
Deep breaths. He saved you. Like he said, why would he do that just to hurt you?
Unless he really did have a diabolical plan . . .
“You were squirming. Thought you might have to go to the toilet.”
Ahh. Right. Seemed she was just embarrassing herself again and again. Now she was struggling for a topic of conversation.
“Your driver seems nice.”
“Who? Mikhail?” He scowled at her.
“Ah, yes.” Why was he looking at her like that now? Was his driver not nice? Was she not supposed to say anything about him? Notice him? Shoot. She hoped that he didn’t ignore people who worked for him. She was going to struggle to be his friend if he was mean to the people he employed.
“Mikhail isn’t nice.”
“He isn’t? Well, why do you employ him then?”
“I don’t.”
Okay, she was getting confused. “Oh, is this a car service? I get it now. Although he seemed like he knew you. Sorry.”
He blew out a breath. “You always this nosy, girl?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be.” She scratched at her uninjured cheek. She was starting to feel every ache from what had happened tonight. Her feet were grimy and itchy. Her butt hurt. Her cheek really hurt. It was likely going to leave a hell of a bruise.
He gently pulled her hand away from her cheek. “You don’t have to say sorry. Mikhail works for my boss. This is his car.”
She dropped the ice pack he’d given her and went searching through her bag.
“You need to keep that ice pack on your cheek.”
“I just wanted to look at it.” She opened the mirror, then gave a slight scream at her appearance. Her mascara had smudged, giving her raccoon eyes. Her long hair, which she rarely wore loose, was tangled.
And there was a smudge of something on her neck. What was it? And how had it gotten there?
“I look like a raccoon who got into a fight with a garbage can.”
“Why would a raccoon fight with a garbage can?”
“I don’t know!” she cried. “Why didn’t you tell me I looked this bad?” She wiped under her eye, trying to clean herself up.
“It’s not that bad.”
She gaped at him.
He winced. “All right, it’s kind of bad. But you need to keep that ice pack on. Or it will be worse in the morning.”
And here she’d been thinking just before that he might want to kiss her. No one would want to kiss her like this. She wouldn’t kiss her.
