Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)(54)
Author: Jen Frederick

“Um, hey, Neil,” I say, cringing because I know what’s coming. “It’s Tiny Corie—” I don’t even get my whole name off before he starts yelling.

“Where the hell are you? I’ve had to reschedule five deliveries this morning!”

“I had an altercation, but I’ll be there in like ten minutes.” If I bike fast, I should be able to get to the downtown office in fifteen, but I figure ten sounds better. And then it occurs to me that I’m going to need a helmet because mine is cracked. Neil will not allow me to deliver anything without a helmet for insurance reasons. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Guess what? You can take sixty minutes to get here because you’re fired.” He slams down the phone. I look at the receiver in my hand in dismay because I’m not sure what happened there. I press redial.

“Look, Neil,” I rush to explain before he can answer. “I fell off my bike and hit my head, but I promise I’ll be right there. I’ve got to stop and get a new helmet. I swear it wont be more than five, maybe ten extra minutes.”

“Hey, Tiny, it’s Sandra. Neil stomped out of here.” This is better because Sandra can assign me some deliveries and once I make them, Neil will cool off.

“Sorry about making your job more difficult this morning. Fell off my bike,” I explain. “I’ll be over in like thirty minutes. You can schedule me to work this evening and I’ll cover whoever took up my morning route.”

“No can do,” Sandra replies. “Neil had me delete your name from the system this morning. I hate to tell you this, but he’s been aching to let you go ever since your mom got cancer. He couldn’t because everyone would think he’s a jackass. And you know, we all think he’s a jackass anyway, but since you missed a day the other week and now are a no-show this morning, he’s feeling empowered. Sorry.” I hear phones ring in the background. “I gotta run. Take care.”

The buzzing dial tone turns to discordant beeps before I realize that there’s no one else on the line any longer. Ian reaches and presses the disconnect button on the base and takes the handset from me.

“Cool phone,” I comment lamely.

“Thanks, but I didn’t pick it out.” Ian shepherds me out of the office and down the hall back to his bedroom. Steve can’t meet my eyes when I brush by him. Apparently watching someone get fired over the phone is off-putting.

“Don’t pick out your clothes or your phones, huh?” There’s no point in fighting him as he pushes me down on the bed. I sit passively as he bends down and pulls off my sneakers and socks.

“No. I like things to look good but I don’t want to put the effort into making that happen, so I hire people to do it for me.”

Like me.

“But not everything,” I counter and twist away from his hands as they try to pull my shirt off. The motion makes me wince, which Ian catches.

“Let me look, Tiny,” he commands.

“Your doctor already did.” I slip under the covers and pull the downy soft comforter up to my chin. Ian sits down on the edge of the bed, and I notice for the first time he’s still in the navy-blue suit that he donned this morning. Whoever dresses him does a very good job. The wool sits perfectly across his shoulders but hugs his waist. Underneath is a snowy white shirt that has smudges of blood on it. My blood? I feel my temple and find a bandage there. Must have been slapped on me while I was, um, resting earlier.

Ian tugs on the blanket half-heartedly and then sighs. “You’re in no position to argue so I’m going to let you sleep, but we’re not done with this conversation.”

Later I’ll be gone, but I’m not telling Ian that. I’ll close my eyes, take a brief rest, and then after he’s gone I’ll take off. Maybe for the next week, I’ll double my deliveries for Malcolm. Oh shit, my last delivery. I had five and made only four of them.

I shoot up in bed. “Where’s my pack?” Kicking the covers back, I slide off the end of the bed before Ian can catch me. By the time he catches me, I’m halfway down the stairs but he’s faster, stronger, and hasn’t been knocked around like a piece of produce in a grocery basket.

“It’s downstairs. Steve has already taken off to deliver the last package in your pack. I’ve called and left a message for Malcolm. The only person I haven’t contacted is your mother,” he says calmly, trying to redirect me up the stairs. “Figured you would want to talk to her yourself.”

“Fine,” I mutter ungraciously. The sooner I lie down, the sooner I figure I can leave. At the bedroom door, I stop and push him backwards. “I need rest and quiet,” I repeat the doctor’s orders with a mocking tone. He gives me a shake of his head but allows me to shut him out. In his bathroom, I peel off my top and then my shorts. There’s a big bruise on my right ribs and a scrape on my left shoulder. The left shoulder injury must have been from falling down the stairs but the right side? That’s the result of the stupid ass druggie.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Startled I drop my hands to cover my naked chest, which is probably stupid since he’s seen me naked, but his presence is a surprise. “I told you to stay out.”

He stalks over to a door and opens it to reveal a linen closet. From the back, he pulls out what looks to be a first aid kit and tosses it on the counter. “You said you needed rest and quiet, not for me to stay out.”

“That’s what the closed door meant.” I pull on my discarded shirt, wincing as the fabric rubs against my scrapes and bruises.

“Put this on,” he orders, throwing me a white cotton undershirt. It does look more comfortable than my bike shirt. Turning around, I set my work shirt on the counter and pull the T-shirt on. It’s a V-neck, and given the large size on my small frame, the V dips rather low.

Ian must like it because he grunts in satisfaction.

“Really?” I give him an eye roll.

He gives me a shrug in return. “I’m intensely attracted to you, so even though you’re beaten, bruised, and angry with me I can still appreciate that you look sexy as hell in one of my shirts. Now pull the neck aside so I can apply some salve to your scrape.”

I do as he says only because I can tell I’m not getting out of the bathroom until that scrape is covered. His fingers are light on my wound, working the balm in with tender brushes across my skin. The pads of his fingers move beyond my abrasion to run down my arm. He grabs my hand and places it on his left breast. Underneath the cotton cloth of his shirt, I feel the beat of his heart as it thuds against my palm. “Tiny.” His gaze captures mine. “Let me take care of you. Just this once.” A heavy, discomfiting silence fills the bathroom. The green in his eyes is intense and brilliant. I know what he wants is capitulation, but I can’t give him that.