I don’t have to open my eyes to know Darcy Marshall is holding me up, my white blouse is now a cream color, and my face is so scalded that a pink color is probably showing through my hazelnut skin. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll play dead. Like a opossum. It’s better than facing my boss, the future president of this country, while in this unfavorable, painful condition.
“Are you okay?” His voice is gravelly, like he is unsure whether or not he should be concerned. Not a comforting feeling when you’re pretty certain you have at least second-degree burns coating your face, chest, and stomach.
It stings like a million bees.
My only reply to his question is a whimpered grunt.
All of a sudden, the ground disappears beneath my feet, and I’m being carried bridal style. I should jump out of his arms and walk myself like the independent woman I’ve been my entire existence, but that’s asking for a death wish in my current state. My stinging skin, the throbbing in my ankle, and the lightheadedness from the sheer embarrassment of the moment take over, and I surrender to Darcy’s aid.
I squeeze my eyes closed and enjoy the gentle sway of his steps and the light breeze caressing my burning face. It’s like I’m a child being rocked to sleep on a front porch, something I’ve only experienced in my dreams. My brain turns off, refusing to face the reality of this humiliating situation.DearGod, I pray I’m not fired after this…
Far too soon, the rocking stops and the breeze vanishes. I’m lowered onto something soft and warm, and I risk peeking through one eye.
A tall, white ceiling welcomes me back to the world of the living, and I blink a few times to make sure my eyes are working properly. With great effort and a tiny groan, I sit up, which is quite difficult since I’m sinking into…whatever I’m on. Once I’m fully up and my head is effectively pounding, I register the couch.
The yellowest couch I’ve ever seen. Like a ripened lemon.
I sweep my gaze around the room, cataloging it as a bedroom. Darcy’s estate is huge, so it’s not abnormal that I haven't been in this room before. Not that I would ever go into one of Darcy’s bedrooms, though I don’t think this one would be his.
It’s too…warm.
The sheer curtains draping the large floor-to-ceiling windows are obviously there for decoration as the morning sunlight pours into the room. The furniture looks to be made of pine wood while the art decor and flowers of the room carry the same lemon-yellow tone of the couch. Hues of pastel colors are woven throughout, somehow tying everything together into a perfectly chaotic bow. A teddy bear with a yellow ribbon on one ear sits on the bed like it’s waiting for its owner’s return.
I love it.
“Good. You’re sitting up.” Darcy clears his throat as I slowly turn my head around to find him standing in the doorway with a bottle of water and a wet rag. “Lay this on your face. It will help the burn.”
I hold out my hand to accept the rag, but instead of handing it to me, he tosses it. My reaction time is clearly hindered at the moment due to the injury, so the rag hits me in the face before I can get myhand raised to catch it.
“Thank you,” I mumble from beneath the folded rag as I pull it off my face.
“Go to the hospital. You’re off today.”
I’m… “What?”
Darcy turns on his heel and walks out of the room, still holding the bottle of water I had assumed was for me. Thirst squeezes my throat at the sight of the disappearing water.
“I’ll be okay,” I shout hoarsely toward his retreating frame. As much as I’d love to take the day off, there’s no need for a hospital visit. I’ll pick up an over-the-counter cream later. But for now, I take his absence as a welcomed visitor and slump into the downy couch, unfolding the rag and placing it over my face. The cooling effect is immediate, and I sigh with relief.
“Take this water with you.”
I scramble to sit up on the sinking couch and tug the rag from my face just in time for something hard to slam onto my thighs. The water bottle he only moments ago walked away with now sits in my lap. My jaw drops in lieu of words while he exits the room as if he didn’t just toss a bottle of water at an injured woman. His own campaign manager, at that. And if I didn’t want to guzzle down this water right now, I’d have half a mind to throw it at his retreating frame.
What. A. Grump.
But I guess you get to be whatever you want to be when you’re a billionaire running for the nation’s highest office. Slumping my shoulders, I take a much-needed sip of the water, pat the rag against my stinging face, pull myself out of the sinking lemon couch, and then try to find my way to the bathroom to check the burn on mychest and attempt to salvage my blouse. The hospital was not on the agenda for today, and I hate reworking schedules.
Time to take this crappy day and turn it around. If life has taught me one thing, it’s to never wallow in sorrows and hardships when I can choose to overcome them.
Chapter Two
Darcy
Hmph. I was highly anticipating chugging the coffee that now resides inside Hayden’s car and on her body.Note to future self: don’t startle the woman bringing you coffee.
I hope she makes it to the hospital. Maybe I should have ordered one of my drivers to take her. Why are my manners always an afterthought when it comes to my personal life, instead of second nature like when I’m wearing my political persona? I don’t know why my masking tendencies short-circuit in Hayden’s presence.
Hayden is technically not a part of my personal life, but we work so close together almost every day that it’s like she’s family. I’ve taught myself how to be charismatic and likable, but with the people I’m closest to, I revert to my natural enigmatic self. It’s part of living with ASD, according to the therapist I used to see back in my twenties.
