Mr.Right novel Chapter 16

At many points in my life, I've blurted out words and later realized I should have kept them to myself. Even if it meant choking on them.

This is one of those situations.

But the words are already out in the open and all I can do now is face whatever Maverick says next. The only problem is, he's not saying anything.

"Erm... This is- This is the part where you tell me what you think about what I just said." I break the uncomfortable silence.

"I know." He runs his hand over his face before dropping it into his lap. "It's just... Allowing you to stay at my house was the biggest favor I could ever do for you. I didn't know it would come with extra tasks. 'Help you become a woman'? What does that even mean?"

His words slice through me like a sword and I feel like I'm a nothing once more.

"You think this is a task? Am I bothering you?" My voice doesn't sound steady and he seems to notice this because his eyes soften.

"That's not what I meant."

"But that's what you were implying," I press.

"Stop reading obscure meanings in everything I say."

"So are you agreeing to help me?" I know I'm being stubborn right now, but I can't seem to help it.

He shakes his head. "I never said that."

"So you won't help me."

"Oh, April! Look, I never said that either."

I begin to feel annoyed. "Then what are you saying?"

He doesn't get time to reply before a deafening honk causes us to flinch apart. The car's headlights shine brightly into the night and I can see the person in the driver's seat.

"Are you two lost?" the man calls out of the window. He's middle-aged, with a rich British accent that sounds like music to my ears.

Maverick gets to his feet and walks towards the car. "Yes, actually. My car's battery went dead and we've been looking for help for hours. Is there any chance you're headed to Minneapolis?"

The man grins. "Today's your lucky day. I usually drive straight to St. Paul, since it's the closest place from here, but I'm going home to my family this evening. Hop in, chaps!"

I spring up from the chair like a jack-in-a-box and Maverick opens the car door for me.

I tug at Maverick's sleeve once we're at the back seat of the car, feeling the hum of the engine beneath me.

"How can we be sure he's not a kidnapper?" I ask quietly, scanning every nook and cranny, with my eyes narrowed.

Maverick stares out of the window. "How optimistic of you to ask."

I'm not entirely sure if that's sarcasm.

"But he's not," he continues, still not looking at me, "so you can calm down. He's a military man." Maverick nods his head in the direction of the passenger's seat, where the man's briefcase is lying.

A military ID card rests on it and I give a sigh of relief.

"You look knackered*, young lady," says the man in the driver's seat, catching sight of my expression. "I won't be surprised if you fall asleep halfway to Minneapolis."

I smile at the British slang he uses as it sounds so foreign to my ears. I've always admired British accents.