A few seconds later, I hear movement and then feet shuffling.
I risk a glance over my shoulder.
I see him limping toward the changing room—in only his boxer shorts.
Holy cow! He’s naked! Well, not completely naked, but…
He has great legs. Really long and toned.
And I just stabbed him in his ball sack.
That thought quickly drenches my pervy libido right back down.
“Can I do anything?” I ask quietly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him get his cell from his jeans pocket, which are hanging on the peg in there.
He dials and puts the phone to his ear, his other hand cupping his junk over his boxer shorts.
God, I can’t believe I stabbed him with a pin. All these years I’ve been doing this job, and I’ve never stabbed anyone—oh, fuck. He’s making a call. What if he’s calling to get me fired?
“Vaughn…Mr. West.” I turn to face him, not bothering to care that he’s practically naked, and I press my hands together in front of me in a pleading manner. “I really am sorry. It was an accident and—”
The look he hits me with slams my lips back shut.
“Alex, I need a doctor,” he says into his phone. “What? No, I just got stabbed in one of my balls with a pin.”
He glares at me again, and I shrink in on myself.
“Yes, I’m being serious. The seamstress in wardrobe. It’s not funny, you prick. Yeah, I’m still in wardrobe. Bring the doctor here. And, Alex, it goes without saying…discreet. Yeah. See you soon.” He hangs up his cell.
He was calling for a doctor, not having me fired. Thank you, God.
“Thank you. I thought you were calling to have me fired.”
Another glare. This one, a narrow-eyed glare. “The day is still young.”
I watch as he walks over to a chair. He lets out a pained sound as he sits down.
My natural instinct is to help him, but I know he doesn’t want me anywhere near him, so I stay put.
And then I’m just standing there, like a spare part.
“Do you want me to get you an ice pack while you wait for the doctor?”
“Why? So you can freeze my balls off, seeing as though your first attempt at maiming me didn’t work?”
I bite my tongue.
Asshole. I know I hurt him, but it’s not like I did it on purpose.
“No.” My voice is tight. “To help numb the pain.”
“Fine,” he grumbles, not looking at me.
I head over to the small refrigerator that I spotted earlier, hoping it has a freezer compartment in it. And, thankfully, it does.
I grab a clean dish towel, put some ice inside, and fold it up.
I take it back to Vaughn. He’s quiet, his head tipped back, eyes closed.
“Here,” I say softly.
He opens his eyes, his angry stare back on me.
Ignoring his anger, I hand the ice pack to him.
He rests it over his injured part, a soft moan escaping his lips.
I wonder if that’s what he sounds like when he’s—
“Better?” I ask, clearing my perverted thoughts away.
“Better would be not being stabbed in the ball sack by some crazy twerking chick who clearly can’t do her job properly.”
“Hey now! It wasn’t entirely my fault. You did jerk your hips forward—”
“Because you groped my cock!”
“I didn’t grope your cock!” I splutter indignantly. “I accidentally brushed it with my knuckles as I was taking in the fabric! And, anyway, if you hadn’t had a boner, then I probably wouldn’t have even touched it—by accident!”
“I didn’t have a boner!” he scoffs. “You’re not my type, seamstress.”
What. A. Dick.
“I’m not a seamstress!” I yell. “I’m a wardrobe assistant.” Who’s currently yelling at the man who can have her fired with a snap of his fingers.
God, this is so not how I expected my first meeting with Vaughn West to go.
For starters, I have to stop yelling. I need to be the bigger person here. After all, I did just hurt him in the worst place possible for a man.
“Look, Mr. West”—I take a step toward him, softening my tone—“I really am sorry. For stabbing you…there. It honestly was an accident. I would never do that intentionally. And I’m sorry for yelling just now. I was out of line.”
“Yeah, you were,” he grunts.
Then, nothing. He doesn’t apologize for yelling at me.
“Are you just gonna stand there, staring at me all day?” he rasps out.
“I’m sorry.” I step back, surprised.
“Look, do me a favor, wardrobe assistant, and leave me in fucking peace while I wait for the doctor to arrive.”
Wow. Okay then.
Without another word, I grab my bag and walk out of there.
It’s not until I’m halfway across the studio lot that I realize he never said anything about not having me fired.
I’m resting up on the sofa in the hotel, watching sports on TV, when there’s a knock at the door.
On a sigh, I get up, and cupping my balls with my hand, I amble over to the door.
I’m still taking it steady. This is precious cargo we’re talking about here.
Not long after Ball-Sack-Stabbing Chick left, Alex turned up with the doctor.