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“I can’t do that, Hamilton,” I deny the request just above a whisper. “And you know it.”
“No.” His head tips challenging to one side. “You won’t do that, Wes. There’s a difference.”
“Not as far as I’m concerned.”
“Which is exactly the problem.”
“Is that your medical expertise or your philosophical one again?”
“Excuse me, Wes?” a soft, feminine voice unexpectedly interrupts the conversation.
There’s no hesitation to turn to face the voice.
Penny Astrid, one of the youngest maids I have, delivers me an uncomfortably warm smile that I don’t bother returning.
Maybe I should.
Maybe I should be nicer to her.
Maybe I should at least try to be nicer to the redheaded, green-eyed, pale ivory-skinned female who desperately want me to like her.
Except she doesn’t want me to simply like her.
Because I do like her.
Enough.
She wants me to be interested in her in a way I can’t be.
Won’t be.
Haven’t been in over a decade.
Putting those facts aside, I would never be a good match for her.
She’s young and full of life and potential and optimism – all high selling factors Lauren used while begging me to hire her. Penny looks at me and idiotically dreams about the man she thinks she can fix me into rather than the man I actually am.
The man who changes for no one.
Especially not some dopey eyed schoolgirl struggling to become a horticulturist.
When Penny doesn’t immediately continue talking, I forcefully bite, “Yes?”
“I was instructed to assist Lucky in the janitorial rounds of collecting dishes and offering beverage services to those around the estate?”
“Is that a question?”
“It’s…um…it’s a statement?”
“It ended in a question mark.”
“It did?”
“As did that.”
“Um…” she nervously tucks her long locks behind her ear and nervously nibbles on the corner of her lip.
“The point, Penny.” Clark’s violent throat clearing pushes me to attempt to be nicer. “What was the point of you telling me that?”
