Page 3 of One Night Only

I flush from my hairline to my toes. My mouth is Sahara dry under the direct impact of his gaze. “I’m Ani. Ms. Rao, I mean,” I say, referring to what he calls me on our phone calls. “Martha’s live-in companion. This morning was my last shift.”

One devilish brow rises in his face. Slowly, he takes in my messy bun, my cheap dress, the bleeding scrape on my knee. And I realize, with a building storm in my chest, that he didn’t check me out earlier. Like Bruno and every other man usually does.

He simply looked into my eyes, maybe scoped out my face. And yet, he owned me so thoroughly… I’m both horrified and awed at this.

“Annika?” he says, pronouncing my name perfectly.

My soul seems to rush out of me to reach him, to meld with his. God, what’s he doing to me?

“I go by Ani,” I say, infusing rigidity into my words. Something tells me I need to stop him from saying it ever again. Maybe he’s a dark magician who can steal people's souls by saying their names.

I’ve always been Ms. Rao on our short phone calls, anyway. He’s breaking precedent—using my given name and turning out to be unfairly attractive.

“Mom calls you Annika.”

It’s the last thing I expect him to say. Stiffness seeps into my words. “Martha’s allowed to call me that.”

With a crisp chin nod, he moves away.

My nape prickles at the silence. I look around him toward the reception and flush. We’ve drawn attention from the night staff.

The skanky-looking woman bothering the distinguished-looking man…

He doesn’t look at me as he herds me toward the cramped seating area. “I’ll take it from here.” His tone is both polite and dismissive.

“What do you mean?”

“Thank you for being here. Arthur shouldn’t have inconvenienced you. You were clearly…” that wide-lipped mouth twitches. Whether in mockery or disapproval, I don’t know. “Occupied.”

The words are rational, but the sentiment beneath is… something else. I like the real version of Dr. Ethan Cross less and less.

“Of course, your cousin did the right thing by calling me.” My voice is squeaky, but I don’t care. “I’ve been with Martha for eleven months. This morning was literally my last shift. I care what happens to her.”

“You quit, Ms. Rao,” he points out calmly. “She’s not your responsibility anymore.”

I blink. “I quit because I have to go back to…” I choke on a breath and arrest my answer. The little pinprick of hurt turns into anger. I latch onto it as if it were a lifejacket.

How dare he?

I’ve had the worst kind of day, and there’s more to come in my near future.

The decision I’ve made to move back to my hometown, to be near my accomplished parents and brilliant siblings, is going to be my destruction or salvation. But it’s my one effort at cleaning up the mess I’ve made of my life.

If there’s anything that living with Martha has taught me, it’s that I have to speak up for myself. However inadequate I feel.

Starting tonight, with this… uncharitable man.

“Just because I gave my notice doesn’t mean I stop caring about Martha. And your implication otherwise is an insult I don’t deserve.” I deliver this in a steady tone, though I’m quaking inside.

I hate confrontations. My throat wells up, my nose waters, and my eyes follow. I keep my gaze on how the collar of his shirt frames the strong column of his throat. The underside of his chin has a nick from shaving.

Unnecessary details. Delete, delete.“I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to meet you after all these months, Dr. Cross, but it’s not.”

I don’t look at him as I walk away. My exposed skin prickles at the scrutiny. With the neckline dipping low in the back, there’s a lot of it. Whether it’s from him or the staff, I don’t care.

I mean, I do care because that’s my biggest character flaw.

I care what people think of me. With my family, I even resorted to lying to get them to like me. But not anymore.

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