“So, you’d have let me go if I’d asked?”
He seemed to think about that. “Likely not. But you also didn’t give me the full story.”
“So, let me get this straight. If I’d walked in and asked if I could have time off to go get my brothers because they were in trouble at school for fighting, you’d have let me go?”
“I’d probably still have told you to let your parents do their job.”
“Like I said, my mom’s dead.” It was a wound that never healed. It hadn’t even scabbed over yet. How could it when it was continually scratched at?
“And your father?”
“He doesn’t factor in.”
He grunted.
“Are you driving me there to make sure I’m telling the truth?” It was the only thing she could think of.
A look of surprise filled his face. “No. It didn’t actually occur to me you might be lying.”
“Then why?”
He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “You were prepared to walk away.”
“Yes, well, you fired me.”
“That’s how I knew this was important to you.”
She puzzled that through. Had he thought she was playing him? That if he’d pushed back, she’d have rolled over? Well, in a way she usually did. Although she preferred not to think of it like that.
“My brothers are more important to me than anything.”
“Hmm.” He pulled up outside the school. It was close to two in the afternoon. She rubbed her forehead tiredly, reaching for her belt as he climbed out and opened her door. He held out his hand. Surprised, she reached out to take it, forgetting it was her injured hand.
He grasped hold of her wrist and she flinched with a small cry.
“What the hell? Why does it look so swollen today? Why does it hurt when I touch your wrist? It wasn’t burned.”
“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, snatching her hand back and managing to climb out of the low-slung car without his help.
“We’re taking you to urgent care after this.”
“I’m fine,” she told him, walking past him and moving quickly toward the office. The last thing she needed was to end up having to explain the bruising on her wrist that was very clearly finger marks.
Not happening.
She strode into the office, aware of him behind her. She thought she felt his stare, but when she turned to look at him, his gaze was on his phone. Unaffected. Uninterested.
Well, what did she expect? It wasn’t his problem.
The receptionist looked up at her with a sneer. Yeah, she got it. Everyone there considered her trash, blah, blah, blah. She wasn’t really in the mood for any of it.
“I’m here to see Ms. Mackerly,” she said abruptly. “Thea Garrison.”
As though the bitch behind the desk didn’t know exactly who she was.
“Take a seat.” The receptionist’s gaze moved over to Jardin. “Can I help you, sir?” Her voice became far more deferential.
Thea clenched her jaw against her reply as she slammed down into one of the hard seats.