Page 5 of A One Woman Job
“If you’d let me catch my breath, I would have said thank you. But you decided to shout at me and call me an idiot, instead.”
When a moment passes and he speaks again, his voice is quieter, but I don’t dare hope it’s regretful. “Like I said, this is my beach. If you don’t like it, don’t come here.”
“A little late for that. Can you please put me down so I can go home and…” I realize we’re climbing up the steps that lead to his house and start to squirm “Oh no. You’re not bringing me into the Bat Cave. Not with that attitude!”
“Bat Cave?” he chokes.
What am I doing? My goal was to get inside this house, face to face with this man. Now that I have the opportunity, I’m trying to wiggle out of his arms and run for my life?
The faces of my siblings materialize in my mind. Bex who always has peanut butter smeared in the corners of his mouth. Quiet, serious Molly who just wants to hide in the closet and read books. Orla with her Harry Styles scrapbook. Vincent who is kind of creepy, but we love him, anyway.
I slowly stop struggling.
I can’t fail them.
“You’ve either tired yourself out or you’ve seen reason,” Koen remarks.
“Shut up.”
Is that a laugh or a whip of the wind? I’ll never know, because we step into his deathly silent house, the door closes, cutting off the storm.
And I guess it’s showtime.
God help me.
3
Koen
Ishould have just let this girl walk away.
What the hell do I care what happens to her?
She’s a skinny mess with big, ridiculous hazel eyes, scraped knees and hair that hasn’t seen the business end of some scissors in half a decade.At least.She doesn’t want to be here, either…and yet I’ve chosen her to be the very first guest in my home. Ever.
I could have let her drown, I suppose. I’ve been responsible for dozens of lost lives, what’s one more? I’m not sure what made me hurtle myself down the stairs at a breakneck pace and tear out into the ocean to save her. Except at one point, before she started to drown, I saw an outpouring of grief and sadness on her face.
And I recognized those things.
Now I’m carrying her into the downstairs guest bathroom, which has never been used, determined to make her warm. Justso I can button up this unusual and unexpected situation and return to drinking myself to death.
When I drag the girl off my shoulder and settle her onto the marble vanity, I’m caught off guard, my hands lingering in mid-air as I back toward the tub. I was too irritated down on the beach to notice she’s quite…prettyup close. As she raises her chin stubbornly, shielding her see-through bra by crossing her arms, I amend that. No, she’s stunningly beautiful. She’s wrapped in drenched, long, dark brown hair, her skin soft and absorbing the muted bathroom light, as if it’s drawn to her. Dying to be soaked in by her.
“Suddenly you don’t seem all that concerned about me catching hypothermia,” she says, turning her head to let out a delicate sneeze.
“I didn’t say I was concerned,” I bluster. “I just don’t want you to die on my beach.”
“Dead young girls lower the property value?”
Not for the first time, I have the urge to laugh in this person’s presence. Why? “Exactly.”
“Hmm.”
“Speaking of young, how old are you? No lying. I’ll know.”
That vow seems to rattle her, but not for long. “Eighteen. Swear.”
“Hmm.”