Page 14 of Brutal Heir
She raises a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Please. You’re barely holding yourself upright. Don’t get me wrong, the wounded billionaire prince look is working for you, but if you want to keep infections away, maybe let someone change your dressings properly.”
The way she says it, unbothered, clinical, like this is just another day at the office, makes my skin crawl. I don’t want her near my scars. I don’t want her hands on me.
Because I’m not sure what will happen if she touches me.
“And if I say no?” I ask, voice dropping to a growl.
She doesn’t blink. “Then I leave. And you get to explain to your father why the last nurse you chased off was the only one willing to take your shit.”
I laugh. It’s sharp, humorless.
“You think you’re the first person to try to help me?”
“No,” she says, meeting my gaze dead-on. “But I might be the first who doesn’t give a fuck if I fail.”
Cazzo.
I haven’t felt this off-balance in months. Not since the fire. Not since I stopped being a man and started being a sad reminder of one.
And now, here she is. Five feet of attitude and nerve, standing in the middle of my penthouse like I don’t terrify her. I’m not sure if I want to throw her out… or grab her and see if anything inside me still works.
Fuck. This is a terrible idea.
Still, I find myself biting out the words. “You’ve got one week. Impress me. Or you’re gone.” Because this woman might be the only way to get my ass back to the Velvet Vault where I belong.
She shrugs like she’s already won.
And maybe she has.
“I’ll make this simple.” She steps closer until she nearly has me pinned against the marble counter, refusing to look away. “I need this job. You need a nurse. I don’t give a damn how scary you think you are. I’m not scared of scars, and I’m not scared of you.”
Another sharp laugh threatens to bubble out, but I bite it back, dropping my voice to a lethal level. “You will be.”
“Doubtful.” She grins up at me, that fire in her eyes threatening to consume me. “Now unless you’d like me to report back to yourPapàthat you’re rejecting medical care, I suggest you sit down and let me take a look at those dressings.”
My smirk falters. And my plan to go along with this insanity crumbles. There’s no way I’m letting this woman see me at my most vulnerable.
“I already took care of it this morning,” I grit out.
“Then why is that tendon in your jaw doing the Irish jig?”
I smile. Almost. “Because I don’t like you.”
“Then it’s a good thing that’s not part of my job description.” Her hand shoots out, arm wrapping around my own.
Before I can process what’s happening, she’s towing me down the hallway. At five-foot nothing, she’s alarmingly strong.
“What the hell are you doing?” I rasp.
“Just what I said, checking on your dressings.” She drags me down the corridor, and I grit my teeth through the fire scorching my veins. How the hell did this woman become a nurse? She doesn’t have a damned gentle bone in her tiny body.
If I wasn’t so fucking proud I would have forced her to slow down, but there is no way I’m admitting weakness to this wildcat.
She pauses when we reach the end of the main hall which splits off to three more corridors. “Are you going to tell me where your bedroom is in this giant maze, or do you expect me to guess?”
Begrudgingly, I tick my head to the right which houses the master chamber, sitting area and an attached bedroom. When Alessia found me the place over a year ago, she teased I could use the extra room as a nursery one day. Back then, it was funny, now it was a total joke. Who the fuck knew if I could even have children now? And even if I could, how could someone ever love the monster I’d become?
“This it?” Rory’s bubbly voice draws me from the dark musings, and I nod, wrapping my fingers around one of the handles of the double doors that leads to the master suite. The doors swing open, revealing the clean lines and quiet luxury that is my bedroom, and a sharp gasp squeezes through pretty pink lips.
