Breathe Again Read Free Page B

Meredith
Sawyer’s multimillion-dollar mansion. The celebrity in that backyard could have
filled a small state, and I just shit all over myself.
    When I finally got to the kitchen, I looked around
desperately, my chest heaving. I felt the frosting drip off of my shirt, and I
cringed when I heard something slap onto the floor. There were no towels, no
napkins, nothing in sight that I could wipe myself off with, and I considered
just running out to the van and never looking back. I clutched the counter,
trying to get my heart rate to slow down, before realizing that even her
fucking countertops probably cost more than I made in a year.
    “Here,” I heard a deep voice say behind me, and a towel was
suddenly in my hands. I wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to do, there was
just so much. Everywhere.
    I took the towel willingly, and just wiped my hands on it
pathetically. When I looked up, I realized that the person who gave me the towel
was the same person that put me in the situation in the first place. I hadn’t
had a chance to even look up at his face before, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to
know who it was. I just stared at the same broad chest that had knocked the
cake out of my hands. Even under the button-down shirt he was wearing, I could
see how solid and strong his chest and arms were. I was almost afraid to bring
my eyes up much more than that, but I was too curious, and couldn’t help but
look.
    When I finally did bring my gaze to his, my panic attack
almost returned full force. I immediately recognized his face, of course. It
belonged to last year’s Sexiest Man Alive. Literally.
    “I’m sorry about that out there,” he said. “I guess I was
just . . . distracted. I didn’t notice the cake in your arms.” He gave me a
strange look.
    I stared at him, openmouthed. I was carrying a thirty-pound
cake, covered in bright blue-and-red frosting, and he hadn’t noticed? As soon
as I realized I was gawking at the man in front of me (though not necessarily
for the reasons he was used to), I made my way over to the sink to wash my
hands and get started on the dessert buffet that covered my entire torso.
    “Really,” he said, walking around the counter to where I was
now standing. “I’m sorry, I’ll cover the cost, whatever you need.” I could feel
him staring at me, but I just continued to wash the frosting off my arms. I
really hoped I didn’t stain her white-porcelain sink blue.
    “It’s fine,” I said, my voice laced with anxiety. I just felt
so . . . small. “I don’t care about the cost. I just feel terrible that Ms.
Sawyer’s husband won’t have a birthday cake to enjoy later.”
    “Don’t worry about that,” he said, turning off the water for
me when my arms were finally clean. The rest of my body was still covered in
red velvet cake. “I’ll figure something out. It’s my fault, anyway.”
    I just shrugged and dried my hands and arms with the towel
he’d given me. “I think I saw Vons on the way up here?” I asked, trying not to
keep the annoyance out of my voice. Now that the shock had worn off, I was kind
of irritated.
    I risked another glance up at him, and saw a disgusted look
on his face. “I can’t let him eat a cake from the grocery store,” he said, his
voice a little huskier than before. “Not when that”—he motioned down the length
of me—“looks so good,” he said, his eyes roaming over my body.
    He did not just do that.
    I could barely hold back the strangled gag that almost made
its way out of my throat. Sure, he was hot. Really, hot was an understatement.
But that didn’t give him permission to be an asshole.
    I turned to leave. I was so over it all, but I felt his hand
on my arm, stopping me. “Sorry,” he said, his voice softer this time. “That was
way out of line. Please, do you know how long it would take to make another
one?”
    I’m pretty sure the look on my face was worse in response to
his question than it was after the inappropriate