“That’s fine,” Grace said. “Understandable.”
I sighed and turned myself towards the kitchen, then began wheeling myself through the archway.
“Would you like me to make-?”
“No,” I said curtly. “I can make my own food.”
“But sometimes, specific diets help promote the body’s internal healing.”
I paused my movements and slowly wheeled myself around so I was facing her.
“Like…?”
“Fresh fruits and vegetables. Certain fatty meats, like fish. Salmon. Sardines. Nuts.”
“Didn’t know nuts were a meat.”
A small giggle fell from Grace’s lips and I found a heat pooling in my gut. The movers were headed back out the door to go get another handful of her things and I could tell the joke eased her into the atmosphere. But I hoped she didn’t get the wrong picture. I wasn’t here to make friends. I wasn’t here to work on my interpersonal skills. I hired her to help me get my ass back to work so I could fix the shit still plaguing my company and this damn abandoned project.
“I was going to offer to make you something, or at least grocery shop to stock foods that would help you with your recuperation. Especially given your upcoming surgery.”
I nodded and wheeled my chair around before I started into the kitchen. I wasn’t interested in her cooking skills. Nor was I interested in her stocking my refrigerator with foods. All I needed was her supposed medical expertise.
And if she didn’t have them, she’d be fired.
Simple as that.
“Ma’am?” one of the movers asked.
“Yes? Sorry. What is it?”
“We don’t see anymore boxes in your car.”
“Yeah, I only packed eight or nine of them,” she said. “Thank you guys so much for your help. Could I tip you or something?”
“I’ve got it,” I said.
“Yes. Mr. Lowell takes care of all that,” the mover said.
“Oh. Okay. Then um… well, thank you again,” she said.
I wheeled over to the fridge and ripped the door open. I could hear Grace’s small footsteps padding along the cherry mahogany floors of my home. I opened the bottle of water and grabbed an apple, then set everything in my lap and backed away.
The fridge just with a thump as Grace rounded the corner.
“Your home is lovely,” she said. “Really, it’s beautiful.”
“Help yourself,” I said.
I wheeled past her, ready to get to the tightened confines of my room.
“Do you have a specific physical therapy schedule outlined?”
“Isn’t that your job?” I asked.
I raced myself down the hallway, trying to get out of the line of her conversation. I wasn’t interested in her or her opinions or her thought processes. I wasn’t interested in being friends or lovers or wooing her until she let me fuck her into the mattress.
Hell, I couldn’t even do that kind of shit with the condition my body was in.