“Washer?” I ask, holding out the pile.
“You don’t need to do that,” Dax begins, but I cut him off.
“I’m not living in this t-shirt, Dax.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” He looks ready to speak again, but I don’t want a conversation. Just directions.
“Washing machine,” I demand. It’s too aggressive, but before I can regret becoming a true Vale girl, I tack on a, “…please.”
“Through there.” Dax points to the solid wall of floor-to-ceiling cupboards in the kitchen. Is the machine plumbed in behind the door? None of the cupboards looks big enough.
“The last door on the left is a fake,” Sylvie supplies helpfully.
“If it’s a door, how can it be fake?” Dax teases bumping her arm.
She giggles again. “Don’t be difficult,Dean.”
I shoot my eyes to Dax expecting him to erupt again. The smile wipes from his face, his eyes cut to me for a second, and then fall to his newspaper. He says and does nothing. It seems Sylvie is one of the special ones. It only annoys me more.
“Oh,Dax, is all about being difficult,” I throw at him, scowling and walking the long way around the island so as not to cut too close to him.
I march to the door. Like the rest of the cabinets, it has no discernible handle so I press it, just like I’d watched Dax do when he prepared the sandwiches. The door clicks and swings open revealing a medium-sized, brightly lit room behind the main kitchen.
The cabinets above the washer are the same style and colour as outside, but the walls are clinically white. A basket of laundry rests on top of the dryer. Beside it is an array of detergents and fabric softeners. It’s almost normal.
Even the best of us needed to launder, I remind myself.
It’s strange, the things that humanise people; death, taxes, having our arses wiped, and laundry. Life’s unifiers. Mind you, someone probably gets paid to do Dax’s.
I throw my belongings into the drum and shut the door. The good thing about washing machines is, no matter how modern or expensive, they essentially all work the same. The touchpad on Dax’s machine takes a few extra minutes to work out, but I eventually put on a half load with the economy setting so I won’t waste water. It might not matter to Dax or Sylvie, but stuff like that is ingrained in me. Economy washes, while better for conservation, are exactly what they sounded like; cheaper.
“Here.” Dax hesitates in the doorway. In his hands, he holds a pile of clothes I assume are for me.
“I can wait for these,” I gesture to the spinning machine. I’mbeing stubborn but he deserves it. I can’t bring myself to play nice. He deserves a taste of his own medicine.
“You could, or you could swallow your damned pride for five minutes and wear the clothes Sylvie picked out for you,” he snaps.
“Pride? Says the man who only lets his precious rich friends call him by his real name!” I growl back at him.
“That’s not—”
“Whatever. Your prerogative, Dax.” I fold my arms across my chest and turn away, pretending to look out of the window.
“Look, Sylvie did this so you could both take a walk and get to know each other. I have your bag in the back of my car too, but I haven’t had a chance to bring it up yet. Can’t you just play nice for Sylvie? Wouldn’t you be happier getting out from under my feet for a while?”
Under his feet? He might as well call me a burden.“Sorry you find me such an inconvenience.” As much as I’d rather he burned the damn clothes in his hands, I grab them. At least I agree with one thing, Iwouldprefer not to see his stupid, too-handsome face today. “Do you know, marching into Barry Franz’s office and getting this whole ordeal over with, would actually be preferable to living here with you,” I sneer.
His expression twists. I tuck the clothing under my arm, shouldering him aside, and barrel into the kitchen. He reaches out and grips my arms, pinning me to the spot and pressing his full body against my back. His fingers are manacles of flesh and heat.
“Do you want to make your living on your back, Jules?”
I stiffen, but don’t justify his cruelty with a response.
“Don’t ever go anywhere near that man. He’s dangerous. He’ll make the rest of your life at Hanson’s seem like a spa retreat.” I shudder. He gently turns my face until I’m looking up at him. “Do you hear me?”
I nod reluctantly. Hating myself for both fearing his anger and loving the proximity of his body to mine. I’m pathetic, wanting a man that clearly doesn’t want me back, but I can’t hide the fact thatit’s true. Rigid nipples and a delicious wet heat betray me. I can’t lie to myself.
“You arenotan inconvenience, and you arenotbelow me, but if you ever joke about going near that man in my earshot again, you and I will officially be through.”
