“So, then explain it to me,” Sloane said, sounding curious as she took a sip of tea.
With a shrug, he simply said, “You’re my bitch,” which should have had her flipping out, throwing her tea in his face and storming off, but instead, the woman that he’d stupidly refused to allow his sister to fire smiled.
“Oh, and how do you figure that?” Sloane asked, chuckling.
“Because you work for me,” Chase said, placing the bottle of water between his legs so that he could roll over to the kitchen counter that better still hold his precious junk food.
But of course, it didn’t.
That would be two points for the little demon, he mused, barely resisting the urge to grind his teeth and let her know just how pissed off he was that she was fucking with his well-balanced life. Accepting the fact that he wouldn’t be having a delicious breakfast of beer and Doritos, he rolled his wheelchair back to the table, grabbed a piece of bacon and shoved it in his mouth, all while keeping his eyes locked with hers.
“I see,” she murmured, reaching over and helping herself to a piece of his bacon, which almost got her hand slapped.
“I’m glad you do,” Chase said, still keeping his eyes locked on her as he reached over, grabbed the bottle of syrup and poured half the bottle over his pancakes.
“I really do,” Sloane said, picking up his fork and stabbed it into a large piece of syrup-soaked pancake and popped it into her mouth.
Eyes still locked on her, he reached over, snatched the fork from her, stabbed an even bigger forkful of pancake and shoved it in his mouth, thoroughly chewing the delicious morsel.
“So,” he said once he was finished chewing, “then we have an understanding.”
Reaching over, she stole his freshly squeezed orange juice, raised it to her lips and said, “We most certainly do.”
*-*-*-*
“Get the fuck out!” came the lovely roar that signaled the end of Chase’s first, and probably last, physical therapy appointment.
Sighing, because she’d foolishly thought that she’d have enough time to finish her iced tea before the screams for mercy began, Sloane took one last sip of the refreshing beverage before placing it back on the nightstand, picked up the remote control and shut the television off all while wondering why his sister refused to back off and let her do her job.
She’d tried to explain that it wasn’t a good idea to rush Chase, but his sister had apparently talked to her friends who knew better than Sloane and had decided to take Chase’s recovery into her own hands. Again. Sloane had done her best to make the other woman see reason, but since Melissa sort of hated her and wanted to see her head on a pike, she’d refused to listen to anything that Sloane had to say, which was going to be a problem.
She could care less if the woman hated her. Actually, she really didn’t care and probably wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, but she did care that her only means of making sure that her patient was provided with the right type of care was now gone. She’d experienced this before when she did or said something that pissed off the person signing her checks and knew that it was only a matter of time before she had enough and said the hell with it.
She really didn’t need this shit, Sloane mused as she stepped into the hallway and just as quickly, was forced to jump out of the way as the physical therapist that Melissa hired to come to the house four times a week to work with Chase, ran past her, stumbling along the way as he raced to the door, losing more than half the items in his backpack in the process. Knowing that there was no point in trying to stop him, especially since he looked as though he was about to cry, Sloane sighed as she stepped over a bottle of water that was slowly rolling to a stop and headed to the living room where her day was guaranteed to get better.
“Get the fuck out,” the man that made every moment of the day oh, so special, said before she had a chance to step into the room that looked as though a tornado had swept through it.
“Rough morning?” Sloane asked dryly as she walked into the room, grabbed the small wastebasket by the couch and began the tedious job of cleaning up the living room for the second time that day.
“Fuck off,” Chase snarled as he shoved a Dorito in his mouth while he pointedly glared at the television, letting her know in his own special way that he’d like some quiet time to enjoy his shows and perhaps take a little nappy-poo later on.
“I’d love to,” Sloane said with mock cheer as she grabbed the last empty soda can and shoved it into the wastebasket before putting it down, stepping up behind him, unlocking his wheelchair, and–
“Think fucking again!” Chase snarled as he reached down and tried to throw the brakes back on, but unfortunately for him, she was moving the wheelchair too fast for him to manage that feat.
“We can either do this on your bed, outside, or on the floor,” she explained to him as she headed for the front door, deciding to kill two birds with one stone by taking him outside for his PT so that he could get some fresh air.
“Do what?” Chase demanded as he continued to try to set the brakes and put a stop to her plans for the day.
“Your physical therapy,” she explained, only to sigh when she realized that she forgot something.
For a few seconds, Sloane contemplated saying the hell with grabbing a blanket since it would only give him an opportunity to make things more difficult, but then thought better of it. This was going to be difficult enough for him since he hadn’t had physical therapy in months and she didn’t need to make matters worse for him by having him do this on the ground without any cushion.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, nearly groaning when she realized that he was going to take this opportunity to try to get out of this. Knowing that she didn’t have a choice, she pulled the wheelchair to a stop and headed for the back closet, telling herself that she’d get back before he could come up with a way to make her life a living hell and get out of this.
She really should have known better.
Chapter 9
“Let me out!”
“What’s the magic word?” Chase asked, chuckling as he leaned back in his wheelchair and settled in while the woman who’d been foolish enough to get herself locked in a linen closet continued trying to break the door down.
“Chase,” Sloane snapped, which of course, was not the magic word, so he had no choice but to ignore her.
“I’m not kidding!” she added a minute later.
“Really?” he asked, looking for something that he could wedge under the door to keep her locked in there so that he could take a break, maybe grab a soda and a sandwich, watch a movie or two before fitting in a nap this afternoon, but unfortunately there was nothing within reach that he could use.
“No!” she snapped, sounding angry for some odd reason.
“You sound mad,” Chase said conversationally as he leaned back in his wheelchair, closed his eyes and settled in for that nap he’d been thinking about since that little prick that his sister had sent to disrupt his morning started crying.
“Pissed! I sound pissed!” Sloane snapped as she slammed her body against the door in a sad attempt to break free, but with his wheelchair locked in place the way that it was, she wasn’t going anywhere.