Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 40942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Stop.
“I burned them. They’re fine, though.”
“They’re obviously not fine if you’re in pain. Is that why you were wearing gloves?”
“I . . . well, I didn’t think it was a good look to turn up for an interview with bandages on my hands.”
“But it’s okay to hurt yourself by picking up a hot, heavy kettle?” he queried.
“I managed the kettle okay! But it was like the teacup was a step too far or something. My hands just gave way. I’m so sorry! I’ll pay you for it.”
He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. He looked tired. She should ask him in. Maybe make him a drink.
Wait. Nope. She didn’t owe him anything.
But she did feel really bad about breaking the cup.
“You don’t need to pay for it. It was just an accident. Have you had someone check your hands?”
“Like who?”
For some reason, his jaw tightened. “Like a doctor?”
“Oh no, the burns aren’t that serious. I don’t need a doctor.” Not to mention she couldn’t afford one.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“Let me check them.” It was an order not a request.
Blakely sighed. “Are you going to leave without seeing them?”
“No.”
“Fine,” she said. “I guess you better come in.”
She turned around and moved over to the couch, settling in beside Mr. Whiskers and Mrs. Flopsy.
He shut the door and stared at it for a long moment.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“The lock on this door is crap.”
“Ah, yeah. I know.”
He spun with a glare. “You should replace it or buy a deadbolt.”
“It’s not my apartment.”
“Your landlord should take care of your safety better. I guess it’s a good thing you’re leaving.”
She let out a small huff. “Yeah, a good thing.”
“You don’t want to leave?” he asked, glancing around.
She knew it wasn’t much. It had come furnished, but the furniture was at least forty years old. Worn and tired.
Like her.
“It’s more like I have to. Mr. Brandt thought that the smoke alarm going off this morning was too loud and he’s told me to leave by the end of the week.”
“Do you have somewhere else to go?” he asked.
“I’ll figure something out.” She grabbed Mr. Whiskers and pulled him close.
The ginger cat had seen better days. His fur had rubbed off in places and was a bit matted. But at least he had both of his eyes, right?
She hugged her toy tight, not caring what Stafford thought.
“Where will you go?” he asked.
“I think it’s time to move on. There aren’t many jobs here.”
“How long have you been here? Why did you move here? Where did you come from?”
She eyed him. What was with all the questions? Should she answer? Eh, what did it matter? It wasn’t like she was going to work for him now.
“I was living in Chicago, but when I lost my job six weeks ago, I thought I’d take a chance and come out here. I’ve traveled around a lot over the past eight years. I’d heard that Wishingbone was a good place to live. That there were a lot of Daddy Doms that lived in the area. But I couldn’t find anywhere to live in Wishingbone, so instead I moved in here.”
“Daddy Doms?” He looked taken aback as he sat on the coffee table. She winced as it creaked. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Brandt to accuse her of breaking the furniture. “You’re a Little?” He stared at Mr. Whiskers.
“Yeah. Does that surprise you? You must know some Littles, right?” Had he never met any of the Littles who lived in this area?
“Ahh, well, I used to. Sort of.”
Huh?
“I don’t get off the ranch much. I’m not really close to anyone in Wishingbone.”
“I haven’t been able to go to Wishingbone much, either.”
“So you moved here to find a Daddy Dom?”
“I moved here because it sounded like a fun place to live. Because I hoped that I might get to meet other people like me. Because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Finding a Daddy Dom would just be icing on the cake.”
He cleared his throat. “While I know that Sanctuary Ranch has always been a safe haven for people who are part of the BDSM community, I’m not sure that everyone in this area is so accepting.”
“Oh, this town doesn’t seem to be very accepting. Don’t worry, I figured that out early.”
Stafford nodded. “Good. You need to be careful who you tell.”
Was he trying to protect her? That was kind, but she’d been taking care of herself for the past eight years.
Actually, even longer than that.
“Let me see your hands,” he commanded.
She wasn’t sure about that. She grabbed Mrs. Flopsy with her other arm and held both toys close.
“You can keep hold of your friends,” he told her soothingly as he held out his hand. “Give me your hand. I’m not going to hurt you.”