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As she stood up with a gasp, the Tupperware container flew into the air and smacked him right in the face.
“Fudge knuckles! Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” She moved closer to him, pressing her fingers over his nose. “It’s not bleeding or swollen. I don’t think it’s broken. I’m so sorry. But, really, it’s your own fault.”
“This is my fault?” He gaped down at her as his eyes stung. “How?”
“I’ll go get some ice or maybe cold water,” she muttered as she searched through her handbag. “I just need my handkerchief. Here it is!” She held out the frilliest, most ridiculous-looking handkerchief he’d ever seen. It had a lacy border and yellow daisies all over it.
“Wait right there!” She ran off to the bathroom as he stood there, staring after her in shock.
What the hell had just happened?
He ran his hand over his face, wincing as he brushed the skin where the container had hit him.
What did she have in that thing?
“No ice, but it’s cold.” She raced in and held the wet handkerchief up.
He stepped back, but she kept moving forward. Then he realized that he was basically retreating from a slip of a woman.
And he didn’t retreat from anyone. So, he stilled.
“Put that away,” he demanded.
“But . . . it will help.”
“Will it?” he countered.
She looked from the handkerchief to his nose. “Oh. Probably not, I guess. Do you have a cold pack in your first aid kit? You do have a first aid kit here, right?”
“I don’t know. That sounds like something my assistant should take care of.”
“Oh, yes. Where are they?”
He crossed his arms over his chest.
She gulped, turning her large, pale blue eyes back on him. Her dark ringlets were contained in a high ponytail, although they looked seconds away from breaking free.
Her skin was dotted with freckles over her nose, which most women he knew would have concealed under makeup. He thought it sweet that she didn’t . . . no, wait. He did not think anything about her was sweet.
The last thing he wanted in an assistant was sweet.
“Right. That’s me.” She pointed at herself.
“That was you. Until you fell asleep on the job and then whacked me with a container of lead.”
“A container of lead,” she muttered, looking confused. “I didn’t have . . . oh, wait! No! That’s my banana bread. I baked it for you.” She turned and ran over to where the container was still on the floor.
When she bent over, he did not look at her ass.
He. Did. Not.
There was no room in his life for this nutty, clumsy, sweet, adorable woman.
He’d once told Gwen that figuring out who was a submissive was his superpower.
And Faith Blossom had sub written all over her.
“I made it for you. It’s famous.” She held it up with a smile.
