Crazy Thing (The Brighton Family #5)

Chapter 23

23

DARIUS

“ W hen is our meeting with Frank and the private investigator?” I ask, sifting through a stack of documents Ziggy just handed me.

I look up at her where she’s seated in my office across from my desk while the rest of the business runs smoothly.

It’s crazy that I wasn’t even able to hire a decent assistant in the months that I worked here alone. Yet Ziggy has hired three competent employees and I can’t find a single complaint against any of them.

My little workforce has even submitted a proposal to me about running a local food drive or some other fundraiser over the upcoming weeks. It’s all thanks to Ziggy.

This woman has the magic touch.

With our new receptionist managing the phone and an entry-level clerk handling filing and data entry, Ziggy and I have been working in my private office with minimal interruptions today.

I’m trying not to stare. I can’t decide if her hair is actually pinker today, or if it’s just the way the overhead light is hitting it. Though given the way my hex is unfolding, it’s probably a new problem that’s cropped up with my eyesight.

Either way, she’s looking more angelic than usual.

Ziggy pauses the notes she’s jotting down to check her watch. “In half an hour.”

I give my head a slight nod. But instead of going back to reviewing the paperwork in my hand, I just keep on staring at the top of her head as she returns to whatever she’s writing.

I’m trying to stay focused on these materials. I need to prepare for this meeting I’m about to walk into. But Ziggy’s beauty is distracting. And it doesn’t help that my ear pain is splitting my head in two.

I pick up my phone. Open the camera app. Let my thumb hover over the shutter button. Don’t do it, Darius. Don’t take that picture. It’s creepy.

I still feel guilty about taking a photo of her the other night as she stood on the bar’s rooftop.

Not guilty enough to keep from staring at it with my fist around my cock every night and definitely not guilty enough to delete it from my phone. But still sort of guilty, y’know?

She must feel me staring because she starts to look up. I snap my neck away to avoid getting caught. Ouch! Bad move. I guess sudden movements are a no-no with the kind of ear pain I’m in.

Ziggy notices me wincing. “How’s the earache?”

I let my eyes slide shut, massaging my temples. “Not much better than yesterday. I think I need to go to the doctor.”

I’ve been trying to suck it up, but there’s only so much I can take. And if I can’t see straight, I can’t get my work done.

“Agreed. You should get it checked out,” Ziggy replies. Then she hesitates for a moment. “But I brought something that might help in the meantime. Give me one second.”

She scampers back to her desk and then returns. When she approaches me with a tiny, sketchy bottle in her hands, I can’t help but flinch.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Oh, don’t be a baby. It’s just some dried herbs in olive oil. It won’t kill you. It’s all natural.”

She holds up the bottle in front of my face. I inspect it. From the looks of it, she’s telling me the truth. Just herbs and oil. Can’t be that dangerous, right?

Ziggy approaches my desk, rounding it to come to my side. “Okay. Now tilt your head to the side.”

“Wait. That stuff is going inside my head?” I ask, alarmed.

I lean away, out of her reach. I thought she’d just rub it on my forehead and say a magic chant or something.

She huffs, sounding frustrated. “Would you just trust me for once?”

I let out a sigh. I’m already dying, so I guess it can’t get much worse.“Fine.”

With a satisfied grin, Ziggy leans in close, tilts my head to the side, and pours a few drops of oil into my sore ear. She’s so close right now, she wrecks my senses.

Pink hair and frilly lace and soft skin. She’s all I see.

Flowers and herbs and incense smoke. She’s all I smell.

God—I can’t help but think back to what she tastes like. What she feels like. What she sounds like chanting my name.

Her scent fills the air around me. I inhale, feeling a tiny bit better with each breath.

My eyes trace the lacy edge of her camisole. I’m aching to pull her into my lap. I just want to feel her writhing against me like she did on that rooftop the other night.

While I struggle to control myself, Ziggy’s been chatting away cluelessly. I haven’t caught a word of it so far. “Y’know, you always seem to be sick. What’s that about?”

I blink, forcing my eyes off her breasts. “Oh. Uh. That?”

She chuckles softly. “Yes. That.”

Embarrassment rises within me. But I think Ziggy might be one of the few people who’d understand. She might be one of the few people who might believe me.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course,” she says softly, a grave look on her face as she eases back to inspect mine.

Here goes nothing. “I…I think I’ve been cursed…”

A shapely eyebrow shoots upward. “Huh?”

Because I’ve opened this can of worms, I carry on. “A few months ago, Ms. Holly from the antiques shop in town, was having financial difficulties with her business. I stepped in and negotiated with her, and I ended up loaning her the funds she needed to keep her doors open,” I tell Ziggy, even though this sounds incredibly stupid in my head.

“So what was the problem?” she asks with a crinkled forehead.

“Well, I gave the woman a pretty bad deal on the loan,” I admit with a cringe. “And when it was all over, she said, ‘I curse the very ground you walk on, Darius Brighton.’ I didn’t believe it at first. I knew how crazy it sounded. But ever since then, my health has been shit. She did it. She cursed me.”

Ziggy blinks hard then squeezes her eyes shut. “You’re not cursed, Darius.”

“I am, too. Look at me!” I gesture up and down my failing body .

“Cursed? Seriously?” Ziggy rolls her eyes at me again. “Your immune system is suppressed. You’ve been working like a stubborn, old race horse who doesn’t know when to stop. Plus, if I had to guess, I’d say you’re probably suffering from a guilty conscience, as well as sleep deprivation, judging from the bags under your eyes. Hell, and you probably have a mineral deficiency too, because all you eat are crappy sandwiches and processed bagels, right here, slumped over your desk.” She rants away with so much indignation.

“I’m supposed to be your boss,” I say, shaking my head. “You don’t get to be a smartass to me all the time.”

Ziggy smirks. “Can you provide me with a schedule for when I’m allowed to be a smartass? Just so there’s no confusion?”

This time, I can’t hold back, chuckling at her feisty attitude. I don’t even realize what I’m doing as my hand lifts to slap her ass.

But before my palm can connect with her mesmerizing curvy bottom, the door chimes loudly from the lobby. We hear footsteps entering the office suite and the receptionist pleasantly greets the newcomers.

Thank god—because I was seconds away from making a fool of myself and then getting my ass kicked by a girl.

Still smirking to herself, Ziggy rushes off to the reception area.

I rub a hand down my face. I don’t know what the hell I was just thinking. But I’ll say this much—I’ve never been more disappointed to see my lawyer or my private investigator.