The Burnout(42)

Whatever irritation I felt toward this man is turning to rage. Princess? Health freak?

“What, I’m a health freak because I don’t sit on the beach drinking whisky and ordering pizza all day?”

“I’d take whisky and pizza over frog vomit,” he instantly replies, nodding at the kale smoothie in my hand.

Frog vomit is such an apt description of the smoothie that I’m momentarily halted.

“Well, at least I don’t yell at the staff!” I snap, changing tack, and Finn’s face jolts defensively.

“Yell at the staff? What are you talking about?”

“This morning,” I say. “You nearly gave poor Nikolai a nervous breakdown.”

I’m expecting Finn to look guilty, but he stares at me, his expression unchanging.

“What are you talking about?” he repeats.

“Come on!” I exclaim in frustration. “I know you yelled at him or swore or … I don’t know. Punched the wall? Threw a chair? Got out your chainsaw? I just know you scared him somehow. Maybe I drink frog vomit, but at least I’m not a sociopath with anger issues.”

A tiny pulse is beating in Finn’s forehead. For a few moments he says nothing, but I notice his fists have clenched. When he does speak, it’s in an unnaturally calm yet tense voice.

“Do you make a habit of hurling unfounded accusations at people? Or is it just a fun holiday pursuit?”

“Don’t deny it,” I say indignantly. “Nikolai was a wreck. He could barely speak!”

“Maybe he couldn’t.” Finn’s face is resolute. “But what has that got to do with me?”

Seriously? Does this guy think he’s kidding anyone? I can see he’s trying to rein in his anger right now. Look at his stance. Look at the way he’s breathing through his nostrils, as though trying to contain his emotions.

“Look, I know, OK?” I say impatiently, before I can think whether this is a good idea or not. “I know what happened in your workplace. I heard you dictating letters in the dunes.” Finn’s face blanches in shock and I feel momentarily bad—but too late. He should have thought of that before he was mean to Nikolai. “I know you’re not just on holiday. I know you’re here to ‘consider your behavior.’ ” I fold my arms disapprovingly. “But you’re not considering anything! You’re just drinking whisky and lashing out at some poor blameless waiter who wouldn’t harm a fly!”

With a flourish, I turn and stalk off toward my lodge, but to my dismay, Finn follows. As I reach my door, he’s still behind me, and I wheel round to kindly tell him to leave me alone. But my words shrivel on my lips. He looks livid. And somehow several feet taller. More intimidating. My eyes run over his body as though for the first time. Powerful chest. Powerful arms. Powerful jaw, even tighter than before. Despite myself, I feel a tremor of nerves.

“OK, Ms. Health Nut of the Year,” he says evenly. “I have just about had it.”

“Are you threatening me?” I swallow.

“No, I am not threatening you!” he erupts hotly. “I’m telling you a few home truths. Maybe you’re so used to bossing your PA about, you’ve forgotten the rules of decency. Or maybe it’s your low-calorie diet. It’s messed with your head.”

“I’ve forgotten the rules of decency?” I echo in disbelief. “I have? You have to be joking! You’re the guy who made a toddler cry on the train!”

A look of utter shock passes over his face, as though I’ve caught him out.

“I was stressed,” he says defensively.

“Stressed?” I retort. “We’re all stressed!”

Quickly, I step into my lodge and shut the door with a bang, feeling slightly relieved to have escaped. But at once he raps on the door, so hard that I jump.

“That’s right, hide from reality!” His voice resounds through the wooden door, only slightly muffled. “You think you know everything, but you don’t! And by the way, the reason I’m here is none of your business.”

I feel a pang of guilt, because he’s right—but I can’t bear to give up my moral high ground now.

“This conversation is over!” I shout back through the door. “Over!”

“It is not over! You don’t malign me and then just do a runner!”

“I did not malign you!” I yell back. “I never malign people! I just report what I see!”

“Well, you didn’t see this, did you?”

I shriek in terror as the door bursts open, and I take a step back, my heart pumping. Is he going to yell at me? Throw something at me? Hit me? There he is, framed in the doorway, his face glowering, one arm raised, his sleeve rolled up to the elbow, and … Hang on.

What’s that?

There’s a red weal on his wrist which makes me flinch to look at it. It looks fresh and raw and really painful. That’s what he’s showing me, I realize. An injury.

“What happened?” I ask, shocked—but Finn doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve spoken. He’s silent and motionless, except for his eyes, which are widening. For a moment I don’t understand—then my insides plunge as I realize what he’s looking at. I turn to follow his gaze—and swallow hard as I see it all through his eyes.