Page 9 of My Ex’s Dad

The sound of a door opening and slamming shut yanks me out of my reverie. I spin instantly, hearing the commotion of someone entering.

Who the hell is here?

“Easy,” Viktor warns. “Don’t⁠—”

“Ah!”

“—slip,” he tells the woman who cries out in alarm.

“What the…” Cutting across the room toward the foyer, I shove my phone in my pocket.

I round the corner, frowning at Viktor holding on to a woman. Blonde hair covers her face in disarray, but she’s still limping—or slipping—as he assists her toward the nearest loveseat.

Viktor nods at me as a greeting, proving he’ll never lose that uncanny awareness of when I’m near and when he needs to explain. “She was driving along the road and skidded off it just now.”

She jerks her head up, realizing he’s not speaking to her, but someone else. With how quickly she lifts her face, though, she winces in pain. “Ow.”

“Are you all right?” I cross the marble floor, ready to assist. Viktor can manage. There’s nothing he can’t figure out how to handle, but something about the twisted pain in her delicate expression gets to me. She’s not gasping like she can’t carry on. She’s not wincing like she’s about to keel over or pass out. Instead, as soon as her wince of pain comes, she shakes her head and scowls, like she’s annoyed.

“Yes. I’m fine. I’ll be absolutely fine—” She sucks in another hiss as she takes a step away from Viktor, seemingly to prove that she can stand on her own. “Ah!”

Now she presses a hand to her back, arching it like she’s in more distress.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” I comment, reaching for her right arm, shooting my hand out to brace her so she won’t fall.

At my touch, she bucks forward again and hisses. The wet back of her shirt confuses me, but I’m too caught up in the way she jolts through another stiff attempt to stand straight. And a whine of pain. Or maybe it’s a growl of frustration.

“Ice,” she states quickly. She reaches the back of her shirt and tugs at it. “Sorry. I’ll clean up this mess.”

“No worries, miss,” Viktor says as he stays close to keep her upright.

“I’ll mop it,” she says, letting his reply go in one ear and out the other. “I don’t want you to slip.” Finally turning to face me, she frowns slightly. “Or you. Sorry to barge in here and make a mess and…”

“Barge?” I glance at Viktor.

“No, you’re not barging,” my assistant tells her.

“Okay. Not barge,” she amends sheepishly, still pulling her shirt away as bits of ice and snow fall from the gap.

“I had to firmly insist that I could assist her,” Viktor reports.

“Uh-huh.” It’s all I can utter, too confused. Yet, I can already tell she’s stubborn. Oddly independent, too, fussing about the floor being wet or messy due to her entrance rather than emphasizing she was hurt. “Are you hurt?” I ask again.

“No.” She shakes her head but winces again. “Uh. No. A little whiplash, but I think it’s more the adrenaline and shock of hitting that car.” Her face falls with guilt. “Your car, probably.” She swallows, and I can’t help tracking the flex of her neck. Smooth skin. Flawless, unmarred.

“Can you sit?” Viktor asks.

She shakes her head, tearing her blue gaze from me. “No. I don’t want to be a bother.”

I huff a laugh. “It’s a bother to sit but it’s not a bother to hit my car?”

Freezing in place and cringing, she faces me and sighs. “Look. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” She lifts her hands like a truce. “I’m sorry I caused damage, and I’ll pay for it. All of it.”

“It sounds like an accident,” I reply, studying her some more. She’s young, no doubt about that, but so damn…

Fuck.

She’s breathtaking. And scared, the way she keeps apologizing. But tough, too. Each time she faces me head-on and locks that dark-blue stare on me, it pierces me and pins me to the need to look my fill of her again. Not once has she shied away or cowered, bravely owning up to the crash.