Page 39 of Liar Byrd
“I can do it.” My hands haven’t stopped shaking, which explains why this is taking forever. Cold sweat dribbles down the back of my neck, soaking the white collar of my light gray maid’s uniform.
Releasing a sigh of relief as I wedge the last bottle into the basket, I get to my feet.
I’m turning to leave when the guy reclining in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest says with a lazy smile. “There’s a bin that needs emptying.”
“Makhi…”
The Southern drawl is nothing less than a warning to shut up. And I’d be grateful if it weren’t coming from a man who reminds me of Jeremiah’s acolytes.
“That’s what she’s here to do, right?” Makhi has a teasing glint in his light gray eyes. He never looks away from me as he adds, “She came all this way to do a job, right?”
My lips flatten in response to the challenge in his gaze.
He thinks I’m afraid. Too damn afraid to cross a room and empty a stupid bin.
He thinks I’m pathetic.
Maybe that’s why the barb hurts so much. It’s true. Iampathetic, clinging to shadows, only entering rooms that have no chance of finding someone in them.
“You can clean this room later,” Nash says gently as I tease out a tiny spark of courage buried deep inside of me.
I place the basket of cleaning supplies on the floor by the door and pull out a plastic bag I use for trash. Stiffening my spine, I walk over to the table and to the small trash can to empty it.
The room is silent. The stares from the men sitting around the table are probing.
I’m putting myself within grabbing distance of the man who, if he had a thicker beard than his stubble and wore navy linen, could pass as one of Jeremiah’s acolytes. It’s utterly pathetic how difficult this is.
I don’t want his hands on me.
I don’t want to breathe the same air as him.
I want to be nowhere near this man.
But I have to empty this stupid trash can, if only to prove to myself that I am not as pathetic as Makhi thinks I am.
To get to the trash basket, Makhi, the man with chin-length light brown hair and currently reclining in his seat, needs to move his leg. He’s making no move to do so.
“Excuse me, please.” My voice is so timid it squeaks.
I mentally cringe.
Pathetic.
One side of his mouth lifts into a half-smile, curling his full lower lip. “And if I don’t?”
“For fuck’s sake, Makhi. Quit with the teasing.”
I nearly bolt at the anger hardening the Southern man’s voice.
“I’m not doing a damn thing.” Makhi smiles slightly at me.
“You’re not moving.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Nash says.
“She can reach it.” Makhi hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
That challenge is still there.
