“Do you need something, Devin?” I snap as he just stands there, watching me.
“No, no. I’m good,” he replies quickly.
“Then I suggest you leave.” I may have made it seem like a suggestion, but he takes it for what it really is, an order, and hurries from the room.
I wad up the soaked towels and gather new ones before continuing to clean the floors.
Brittany from the marketing team comes in and gasps.
“Um, Mr. Edgerton, do you want me to get the mop for you?” she asks in her quiet, timid voice.
“No, I want you to stand there and watch me clean this up,” I snap.
It isn’t fair to her. She has nothing to do with this, and the person who did I already sent out of the room.
I take a deep breath to get my head on straight.
“Oh, don’t mind him, hon. He’s just mad that he got his loafers wet,” Louisa says as she strolls into the kitchen.
“They’re Italian leather,” I gripe. “And how did you know to get that?” I gesture to the mop bucket in her hand.
“Word travels.”
“Fantastic,” I say darkly.
Brittany turns on her heels while Louisa helps me clean the milk off the floor.
“A thank-you would go a long way, Mr. Edgerton,” she says as she pours the milky water down the drains while I do one last pass with the sponge.
“You’re my assistant. You assisted me. That’s your job,” I tell her.
She sends me her trademark side-eye, and I chuckle.
“Thank you, Louisa. I appreciate your assistance.”
“You’re welcome,” she says pleasantly. “You know, poor Devin is almost in tears that he’s about to lose his job.”
“He nearly broke my arm.”
“Oh, you’ll be just fine,” she huffs, not even sparing a glance at the reddish bruise that’s already forming. “You’ve been quite the bear lately. Anything you want to talk about?”
“I’m always like this.”
She makes a face. “You were. Until you weren’t. Now you are again,” she says cryptically.
“Just say what you want to say, Louisa. I’m not in the mood.” I haven’t been able to focus, my sleep has been shit, and my fist is doing nothing to quell my tension that has lodged in my spine.
“I’m not saying anything.”
I toss the sponge in the sink and wash my hands.
“She working with Trent and Danielle, if you’re looking for her.”
I dry my hands and throw the dish towel on the counter, pretending I don’t know who she’s talking about. Inside, my stomach drops, anxiety swirling through my veins.
“Who?” I huff, lacing my voice with annoyance.
“The same person you always go to when you’re in a mood.” She cocks her head at me and then turns to leave. “Don’t fuck it up,” she sings as she walks out of kitchen.
