The green eyes were surprising.
It was a silly thing to think, but I always figured tough guys had dark eyes. Maybe that was how I had always seen it in films.
But he didn’t have dark eyes.
He had light green ones.
Gorgeous, really.
Even if the brows over them were prone to snarky raises and lowers.
His voice when he spoke was rough, a little surly. Alright, a lot surly.
For whatever reason, he seemed to dislike me on sight too. Why? I had no idea. I couldn’t claim to be anyone’s Miss Congeniality, but I had never had someone seem to dislike me entirely before even speaking to me.
Then again, maybe he was just one of those people. The ones who don’t like anyone. The ones who didn’t really see you as a person, just thought of you as a job, a responsibility, body parts he had to make sure didn’t get severed or shot.
Maybe it wasn’t personal.
That duchess remark, though, that had seemed somewhat pointed.
Then again, men were prone to those little terms, weren’t they?
Baby, doll, angel.
Maybe that was just his chosen one.
Duchess.
Hell, it was a compliment of sorts, wasn’t it? Who wouldn’t want to be a duchess?
Tea parties, charity events, lavish engagements.
A huge step up from the hellhole I was raised in.
Yep, that was another thing that needed to stay tightly tucked in its little box in its specific compartment. To be dealt with never.
Somehow not understanding that now was not the time for things like basic human needs, my stomach that had been painfully empty since, well, before my shower last night, I guess, let out a loud objection. My hand moved down instinctively, pressing in.
Making me hiss out my breath as my fingers pressed into the stitches I wasn’t used to having yet.
Stitches.
I’d been worried I would sound too vain to ask the doctor if they would scar. But one look at that ugly black thread and the way it made my skin pucker really gave me all the answer I needed.
I’d been given painkillers that I had filled before I knew I had to drop off the map. I’d taken one before walking into Quinton Baird and Associates. I figured if I dulled the pain, I would be able to think more clearly.
It did hurt.
I wanted to be strong enough to say it didn’t, but it did, a dull, throbbing ache even at rest, then a sharp, searing when I tried to twist or move too quickly.
Time.
That was what the doctor said.
I needed time.
I guess I had nothing but it now.
Waiting for the pain to settle back down to a throb, I slowly got to my feet, moving into the hall, then back down toward the kitchen, popping a pod into the Keurig before going to the fridge in search of something to eat.
Surprisingly, since no one was currently staying here, it was well-stocked with various fruits and snacks, eggs, milk, and a pre-cut salad.
I reached for the salad, taking it and the coffee over to the couch. Even though it chafed to eat in front of a TV, reminding me of a life I had left far behind me.
But, just this once, I would allow it.
My mind could use the distraction.
And this space was so quiet.
By the time I picked a show and had finished the salad, there was a distinct beeping sound outside the door – someone punching in the security code.
I straightened a little, feeling oddly guilty for drinking coffee on their couch even though it was clearly the only space meant for sitting in the main area.
“Coming in,” a voice called, deep and smooth. With none of the edge that Gunner’s voice had.
Oddly, that made me tense more.
I would have thought not seeing him again would be a relief.
“I’m Smith,” the man said as soon as he pushed the door open, doing so with his foot because he was bogged down with a ton of my bags – across his shoulders, in his hands, hanging off his arms.
“Sloane. Blythe-Meuller,” I added, thinking suddenly how hard it was going to be to give that up. My name. My brand. My identity.
“Got some of your stuff for you, Sloane,” he said, dropping the formality his boss and co-worker had continued to use for some reason. “Figured you might have something in here to help keep you occupied. I know that TV isn’t for everyone.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” I also appreciated the fact that he didn’t seem to be holding back smirks or sneers like the others seemed to do.
“Don’t mention it. You alright? Settling in?” he asked, moving to pile all my things against the front wall where the windows to the street below were situated.
“Yes. Everything is well-planned-out here,” I said, taking my takeaway salad platter back to the kitchen area to dispose of it.