back to my wounds. “I’ll have the work started immediately. And we’ll pay the employees, so they don’t have to get other jobs. But, even if we could start rebuilding tomorrow, it’s still going to take a few months.”
I stare long and hard. Where had the dismissive, uncaring man gone? The man who I, not but a week ago, thought pretty much couldn’t stand me. The man who only does things if he gets a favor in return.
My eyes narrow. “What do you want in return for rebuilding?” I ask suspiciously.
Carrick’s head doesn’t lift, but he side-eyes me briefly before scoffing. “It’s nothing more than business, Finley. I have money invested in it. The sooner we open back up, the sooner we can be profitable again.”
I don’t argue with him even though I know he’s deflecting. No businessman starts a rebuild without waiting for insurance to pay.
He’s doing it for me.
I settle back onto the pillow, taking a moment to admit this only serves to validate my feelings. Because, somehow, I’ve gone and fallen for the big, immortal jerk… and while he says we could never work out, I know he cares for me, too.
“That should hold you over until the healer gets here,” Carrick says, capping the brown bottle and setting it on the bedside table.
He stands from his perch on the end of the bed and stares down, making me feel completely vulnerable in my bra and panties because he doesn’t act like a gentleman at all. He peruses the entirety of me, and, admittedly, it might just be to make sure he got all the cuts, but he certainly takes his time with it, which causes my skin to flush.
“Why don’t you put on a robe or something?” Carrick suggests as he heads toward the door. “The healer won’t need to see your injuries to fix them.”
“Okay,” I reply, sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. When I stand, I have to force myself not to wince or groan from the aches and pains because getting thrown through a glass window is no picnic.
After one last glide of his eyes over me, Carrick moves to the door and quietly slips out.
My first step on my sprained ankle is a doozy, and it throbs wretchedly as I hobble into the adjoining bath, where, for the first time since we got to the condo, I’m able to get a good look at myself in the mirror. I’ve got black soot in patches across my face, a nice big scrape across my cheek, and a shiner starting to really shine. My hair is a mess, and I can see sparkles of glass stuck within the curls. I’ll have to come back later and carefully get it all out.
As Carrick suggests, I wrap myself up in a floor-length robe, but as I’m limping back into the bedroom, my cell phone rings. While it had survived Dark Fae Fallon, the screen is cracked, but I can make out it’s a Seattle number calling. I’m guessing it’s either from the police or the fire department.
It’s barely six AM so I roughen up my voice, slow my words, and try to sound like I’ve just woken up when I answer.
It is indeed a police officer to tell me that One Bean had caught fire, that the fire department almost had the fire out, and it looked like the businesses on either side were spared. I didn’t have to do anything immediately as I didn’t own the building, just rented it, but there would be an investigation, and if they found arson or foul play, they’d let me know.
I think I acted appropriately shocked, even though I wasn’t. However, my grief was genuine because every time I think of my beautiful coffee shop as nothing but a shell of black cinders, my throat closes up and tears threaten to spill. The detective heard it in my voice and extended sympathies a few times before we hung up.
I had called Lisa from the car after Zaid picked Carrick and me up. She was supposed to be the one opening the shop, and I needed her to know what had happened so she could get a phone tree going to the employees. I would need to get out an email soon to assure them that their jobs would remain intact while we rebuild.
In the kitchen, I find Zaid doing what he does best, which is cooking a huge breakfast. Carrick is on