Larissa Judson and Haskell Palmer novel Chapter 388

Thatch, his face bruised and swollen, saw Zoltan emerge from the study and immediately began to plead his case. “Dad! Haskell has gone too far! He had his men beat me…”

His words trailed off as Haskell appeared behind Zoltan.

“Oh?” Zoltan asked with a distinct lack of interest. “Haskell, why did you have your father beaten?”

Haskell adopted a look of feigned concern. “A fortune teller informed me today that if my father entered the house leading with his left foot, it would bring misfortune to the Palmer family for the foreseeable future. The only way to break the curse was to give him a thorough beating. I can only assume his predicament means he did, in fact, enter left-foot-first.”

Thatch’s swollen eyes bulged. “That’s bullshit…”

“Silence!” Zoltan snapped, casting a cold glare at Thatch, who was now using a wooden stick as a makeshift crutch. “If that’s the case, you’re lucky a beating was all you got. If you want to live, get yourself to a hospital and stop making a scene! Otherwise, I’ll have you committed to a psychiatric facility myself!”

Thatch choked on his words, daring not to argue further. He could only watch helplessly as Zoltan descended the stairs.

Once his father was gone, Thatch glared at Haskell, hissing in a low voice, “A son striking his own father! Aren’t you afraid of being struck by lightning?”

Haskell glanced at Thatch’s battered face and limping gait, then turned to his assistant. “Crispin, arrange for George, the psychologist Thatch hired for me from abroad, to have a session with him. We wouldn’t want him to die from frustration.”

“Of course, sir,” Crispin nodded.

Enraged, Thatch raised his wooden stick to strike Haskell. “Haskell, you son of a—”

But as he lifted the stick, he lost his balance and tumbled forward, rolling gracelessly down the entire flight of stairs. He landed in a heap at the bottom, his head spinning. After a moment, he managed to open his eyes and felt a sticky wetness on his forehead.

Blood!

Crispin adjusted the wheelchair to descend the stairs and smoothly pushed Haskell down to the first floor.

“I’m bleeding… it hurts…” Thatch moaned from the floor. “Haskell… call someone… get me to a hospital.”

Haskell merely glanced down at the pathetic figure on the floor before continuing toward the dining room without a word.

Haskell tapped the photo, zooming in to study Larissa’s face. Her hair seemed to glow in the warm, orange light. Her eyebrows were playfully raised, and her eyes were crinkled into a smile.

After examining every detail, he saved the image to his phone before typing a reply.

[Enjoy your meal. I’ll call you later.]

[Okay!]

Haskell set his phone down and wheeled himself into the bathroom.

When he emerged, toweling his hair dry, he picked up his phone and initiated a video call. She answered after a few rings. The sight of her vibrant face on the screen made his expression soften.

“Haskell, you look dangerously tempting right now!” Larissa’s voice came through, startlingly direct.

Haskell glanced at his own image in the corner of the screen. Droplets of water clung to his hair, and the steam from the shower had left his cheeks with a faint, healthy flush. His robe was loosely tied, offering a glimpse of the muscles of his chest.