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MARISELA

“ I t looks like it’s getting infected.” I poked at the pustule bubbling up on my thigh until it popped open and started leaking onto the sofa cushion, then glared over at Adrian, who was fussing with the old record player in the corner of the sitting room. Trying to dust it off and get it to work.

While I had to admit the silence was stifling, I wasn’t sure a bunch of antiquated music coming out of a machine that was older than I was would be any better.

But he appeared more than content to try.

I shook my head and let out an annoyed huff.

Clearly, his version of playing house was different from mine.

I pictured sharing a few lackluster meals over forced dinner conversations, fucking whenever we felt the urge, and then going on about our business as usual—albeit under more confined circumstances .

He meant full-on lockdown. No television or internet. Outside contacts or devices. Fucker even went as far as to have someone block the Wi-Fi signal—pretty sure I knew who that someone was—so I couldn’t connect to my email if I tried.

I had tried. Because missing this much work might actually kill me before this infection had a chance to set in. My devices were like an extension of a limb, and yet no one seemed to notice I hadn’t answered them in days. Which told me all I needed to know about even my most loyal employees.

They didn’t give a fuck about who was behind the desk. Everyone was replaceable.

I felt a twinge of guilt, as my mind wandered to Emily, and quickly shoved it back down again.

If my father taught me anything, it was that relationships were a liability.

It was smarter to sever them before they could be used against you.

The way he’d used me to keep my mother in line, then used her to do the same to me.

I didn’t engage with people I wasn’t willing to lose. The occupants of this room included.

“I told you not to get it wet,” Adrian replied, his tone dry and obviously unamused.

“Probably should go to the hospital and see a proper doctor. Wouldn’t want to have to amputate a leg in such an unsterile environment, now would you, Dr. Lambert?”

He glanced at me from over a shoulder, not bothering to turn all the way around as he reached into a pocket, pulled out a bottle of pills and tossed them in my direction. “Take one, twice a day. It’s better if you put something in your stomach first.”

I twisted the top off and peered at the large white capsules covering the bottom. “These are horse pills.”

“I’ve seen you swallow a hell of a lot bigger.” Adrian chuckled to himself, and I rolled my eyes. Nearly forty years old, and the man still had the sense of humor of a horned-up teenager.

I swung my feet off the sofa and hobbled over to the bar cart, grabbing myself a tumbler and a heavy serving of whiskey. Adrian turned and watched me cross the room with a cocked brow.

“Something.” I lifted the glass in his direction before tossing back the contents. Popping a pill into my mouth and then chasing it down with a few more gulps of whiskey.

“I meant food, Marisela,” he grunted. It only took three long strides and he was standing in front of me, prying the liquor from my hands and dumping what was left on the carpet between us.

“Should have been more specific.”

“You’re being difficult on purpose,” he said.

“I’m being myself. If you find that difficult, you can leave,” I countered.

“I’m prepared to give you a lifetime. You can give me three days, Marisela.” He lifted a hand, brushing his fingers over my lips before shoving his thumb inside my mouth. “I am not asking for much.”

I sucked on the tip long enough to get him comfortable, just like I had during breakfast, then clamped down hard. I knew it was better not to bite the hand that feeds you . I also didn’t care.

He pulled his thumb back, dropped his arm, and shook his head. “What happened to the cooperation you promised me, lamb?”

I shrugged a single shoulder. “What can I say? I lied.”

Adrian tsked his tongue. “We don’t lie to each other, dear.”

“ We don’t?” I questioned, and he shook his head.

“No, we don’t.”

“But we don’t tell the whole truth either, now do we?” We both had secrets. Some worse than others. We also kept the darkest of them to ourselves because despite what Adrian liked to tell me, no one truly knew anyone else.

Sure, we knew pieces. We got glimpses. But everything else was filled in until the full picture became more what we wanted to see than what was actually there.

“Depends on the situation, lamb.” Adrian took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets as he eyed me for a moment. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

“There’s plenty I’m not telling you, Dr. Lambert. Question is... do you really want to know?”

“I want to know everything, Marisela.”

I grinned at his confidence, and perhaps at my own naiveté because the last thing I should have been doing was giving this man something he could use against me. But I just couldn’t help myself. Just like with the scissors, I wanted to see the look on his face…