To that last question, I responded, “Yes, it’s fucking necessary.”
My inbox is filled with questions about the gala.My voicemail is filled with questions about the gala.Nothing is absolutely crucial.
I should go home and rest before tomorrow.But Ella’s here, working her cute little ass off, and for some reason, I can’t seem to leave until she does, these days.I don’t know if she notices or not, but it matters to me.Especially when Joel hasn’t been here.What the hell is wrong with that boy?I wish I could talk some sense into him.
Bash will be pleased if the two break up, but then I’ll be faced with a new problem: seducing my son’s ex-girlfriend.
Fuck.
A sharp cry sounds down the hallway.Ella?Is she okay?
I drop my phone on my desk and hurry in the direction of the sound.
I find her crouching on the floor near the restrooms, wrapping a tiny paper napkin around her finger.Blood is seeping through the napkin.
“What happened?”I ask.
“Be careful,” she says.“There’s glass on the floor.It looks like someone dropped a dish and didn’t get all the pieces.”
I don’t fucking care about getting cut—I need to get her patched up.
“Come with me,” I say, reaching toward her.I’m afraid to touch her—it’s not like she’s in the process of falling off of a ladder.If I touch her now, when it isn’t a full-blown emergency…oh, fuck it.
I grip her upper arm as gently as possible and help her rise to her feet.
She wobbles slightly.“Sorry, blood.I’m not great with it.”
“No problem, you can lean on me.”
“Where are we going?”
“I have my own bathroom attached to my office.There’s a first-aid kit in there.”
“Oh, right.I’ve cleaned in there before.”
I forget sometimes that she knows the ins and outs of the Tyler building more than most.
We’re slow moving down the hallway, and at one point Ella glances at her finger and nearly falls over.
“Don’t look at your finger, okay, sweetheart?”Shit.“I mean, okay, Ella?”
“Okay, Mr.Tyler.”
It is quite possibly literally killing me to not pick her up and carry her right now.I can’t stand that she’s hurt and I want to haul her into my arms and whisk her to safety and bandages.I want to kiss her cheeks and lips to reassure her that despite the pain, I’m here to care for her and make sure she’s as safe and healthy and loved as possible.
We reach my office and shuffle toward the bathroom.I flick on the light switch, and Ella blinks in the suddenly blinding glare.She looks down at her finger again, and her eyes roll back and flutter shut.
I catch her just in time.
Well, hell.I brace her in my arms while I get the first-aid kit from under the sink, then I sit on the floor and prop her in front of me, her back to my front.Her navy dress hikes up on her thighs, so I tug it down.It’s a struggle not to smooth it over her legs, but I resist the urge.
Carefully, I unwrap her finger and wipe antiseptic over the cut.Then I put a bandage over it.
If she were mine, I’d kiss the bandage after, and then I’d kiss her lips and tell her that she’s safe now.
But she’s not mine.
Still, I’m trapped behind her…and there’s nowhere I’d rather be.
