I tapped the side of my fist against his—yep, rock-hard—abs. “You’re going to boss me around and make me eat healthy things, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I bet you’re in heaven.”
“More like hell,” he muttered, stepping back. “Though, yes. You will be eating, sleeping, and moving on a schedule that I will arrange.”
“I don’t suppose if I told you I’ll be fine on my own you’d fuck off to whatever corporate synergy-slash-network security meeting you have on the calendar,” I cracked, woozy as I stood up after three days in bed.
He touched his collar, likely mourning his lack of a tie, and narrowed his eyes at me. “Not a chance.”
“All right, Agnes. Let’s get this show on the road.”
His disgruntled mutter at the old high school nickname made me smile. If I was stuck with him, he was going to be stuck with me.
CHAPTER 4
sawyer
Hendrix was being combative, but I saw the way he wobbled, so I followed closely behind as he made his way from the bedroom to Ozzie’s living room.
“Sit there,” I directed, pointing to the couch. “I’ll grab your things.”
“Fine, Agnes,” he said, dropping down, his thin frame enveloped by the overstuffed cushions.
“And stop calling me Agnes.”
“Not a chance,” he said, throwing my words back at me.
My lower belly tightened, and I tried not to imagine his bratty behavior under different circumstances. Healthier, less clothed circumstances.
Sneering at myself, I grabbed his old leather duffel and gathered his things. I’d purchased him a few more items of clothing and had them overnighted, then washed them along with his meager T-shirt and jeans. He’d be set for a while.
Once his bag was neatly packed, I moved to the closet, where I’d stashed my garment bag, along with other essentials. Afterensuring that the suits would not get wrinkled on the short trip to the rental, I walked into the living room with our things, ready to go.
Hendrix’s eyes were closed, and he was humming a tune while tapping out a rhythm on the arm of the couch.
“I don’t recognize that song,” I mentioned as I grabbed the items I’d picked up from the grocery store, tucking them into a lined chiller bag. “Is it new?”
He stopped his humming and drumming and turned to look at me, the tiny red veins in his tired eyes visible. “You know my songs?”
“Of course. We all do,” I said as I made sure the bag of apples was properly sealed.
“Prove it. What’s your favorite?”
I rubbed my chin. “Depends on my mood. I keep your classics on heavy rotation because they’re nostalgic. But I’ve been enjoying your more introspective work lately. The song about the bluebonnets is really good.”
“How do you know it’s about bluebonnets?” he asked, sounding faintly surprised.
I hummed the tune to myself, then sang, “You’re the purple-blue carpet of spring, at first a field of wonder, then gone like I didn’t mean a thing.”
He was quiet, so I pivoted to see if he was okay. His head was tilted, making him look like a confused dog.
“What?” I asked, self-conscious.
“You just sang my song to me. Badly, but still.”
“There’s a reason I work with technology and not art.”
Had I really just tried to sing in front of him?
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Agnes. I wasn’t making fun of you, I was impressed,” he said, wobbling as he got to his feet.
