Hayden (A Next Generation Carter Brother #4) - Lisa Helen Gray Page 0,31
with that one word. He’s acting like I’m a stalker, and if Mr Cross wasn’t a patient, I would play the part as payback.
Oh God, this isn’t happening.
Wearing a navy-blue jumper and black trousers, he looks casual. Well, casual for him. He still looks like he ironed his boxers. I’m so used to seeing him in his suits that it’s a little unnerving. I thought for sure the day he didn’t wear a suit, I’d find him unattractive.
I was wrong.
If anything, he looks hotter. It’s kind of unfair. My casual wear consists of my ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’ pyjamas that have Dorito stains on them.
“Mr Cross,” I greet, staring at the gorgeous man invading my dreams.
Senior Cross draws back suddenly, his expression crumpling with despair. “Please tell me you didn’t fire the one person keeping that station going,” he fumes. “What did I tell you?” He aims the frustration my way. “He will pay you triple to come back.”
“Mr Cross—” I start.
“Dad,” Clayton begins.
“Don’t you ‘Dad’ me, son,” he fires back. “And, Hayden, I’m no longer your boss. Call me Weston.”
I gulp. It’s like I’m back in his office and he’s telling me off for punching Harry in the stomach when I thought he was groping me. He wasn’t. He went to shake my hand. However, I didn’t know that at the time.
I shake the thoughts away. “Weston, what I’m trying to—”
“Hire her back, son.”
“Jesus, Dad, I’ve not fired her,” he practically yells.
Weston’s expression is adorable. He isn’t sure if we’re telling the truth or not. “Then why is she here, son?”
“This is your second job?” Clayton asks, breaking the silence that follows after his dad’s question. He scans the room for a moment before his lips twitch in amusement, like he can’t believe it.
“Yes. Is it so hard to believe I dedicate my time to helping old people? They deserve to be treated with respect in their last moments on Earth,” I tell him sharply, before grimacing, turning to Weston. “Sorry.”
He smiles. “Don’t be.”
Both Tracey and Amelia snort. Frustrated, I glare at them. “I do.”
White frizzy hair is the first thing I see when Sally barges into the room, her face bright red. “You!” she yells. “You stole my treats again.”
Sally is another witch on the floor who complains about everything. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve formed their own group.
Condemning expressions fixate on me, and I groan, unable to meet their gazes.
I’m going to make sure only channel two works on her TV when everyone has left later.
The movers give her a wide berth as they begin to place boxes in the room, and the orderlies get Mr Cross settled in his bed.
“No, Sally, I didn’t.” And I really didn’t.
This time.
Furious, she goes to charge for me, but Tracey blocks her. “I want her fired!”
“Sally, she said she didn’t—"
“She did. Betty saw her leave my room.”
I snort. She’s the other witch. Why they let them share a floor, I don’t know. I call it the crazy hall. “Betty probably has them.”
I tune out Tracey trying to calm the old woman down when Clayton comes to stand beside me, giving the men room to bring in the boxes. I tense, keeping still. I’m worried that if he gets any closer, I’ll start to rub myself against him. He smells so good. Like cinnamon and spice.
He leans down, his breath blowing across my ear. “Why am I not surprised you rob from sweet little ladies,” he comments, failing to keep the amusement out of his tone.
“Sweet my arse,” I snap. He steps away, and I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. “And I didn’t—this time anyway.”
“Yes, you did,” Sally screams. “You stole my fruit gums the last time. If I hadn’t been so tired from the medication, I would have whooped your arse and got you fired then. You take Bernie’s and others too.”
Snorting, my lids lower into slits. “I helped you. You have dentures, Sally. There was no way you would have been able to chew them.” I take a deep breath, not wanting to yell. “And I replaced them with marshmallows.”
She sniffs, turning away. “I don’t even like marshmallows.”
“You ate the whole bag just fine. Don’t lie.”
“Sally, why don’t we get you settled back into your room and I’ll get you an apple out of the office,” Amelia orders softly.
“I don’t like apples, but fine,” she grouches, before turning her hatred towards me. “This isn’t over.”