The Billionaire’s Hidden Heiress
[Book 2] Chapter 82

Dawn

POV

The man is brooding as he studies me. I fight back the reaction that makes me want to grab him and kiss him, instead trying to focus on the professional aspect of my work instead. The real reason I've come here. I wait for his answer. He looks exasperated, his charcoal dark eyes, glancing away from me as he clenches his jaw. He's a proud man, I note, unaccustomed to asking for help and I know how it must pain him to have somebody needing to attend to his every need like this. The silence grows longer. Finally, when he speaks, it's with resignation. "Fine, you can make me lunch or something" he mumbles, gesturing with an irritable expression on his face towards the kitchen.

I almost laugh at how he concedes, heading into the kitchen while he observes, a glint in his eyes. I have the feeling this is a test of some sort. I'm not a gourmet chef by any means, but I can whip up some hearty and nutritional meals, all courtesy of having a fussy child like Faith. The refrigerator is filled to the brim with all sorts of vegetables and the pantry is stocked well. I glance at lan Grant who sits there silently, offering no suggestions. I sigh. It's going to take a long time until this man decides to open up to me, or if he does at all.

"What do you like to eat?" I ask "There's no point making something you won't eat."

Not to mention it would be a waste of my time.

He frowns. "I'm not picky."

"That's not what I asked. What do you like? Mexican? Spicy? Plain? Easy on the stomach?" I pressed causing him to scowl at me some more "What is your preference?" I asked trying to remain patient.

"I don't care."

"You should," I said, pinning him with a stare "If you don't eat, your recovery will be harder than it needs to be. You need to eat in order to regain your strength and build up plenty of muscle to move around in your wheelchair."

Silence. I wait, folding my arms across my chest. Is everything going to be a battle with this infuriating man? He sighs. "Whatever you make is fine but I like Mexican" he mumbles.

Finally. Some sort of peace offering. I smile and begin to get out the ingredients and then motion towards him, setting up a cutting board and a knife for him. He looks at me with a stubborn expression.

"You are going to help" I chirped as he began to shake his head "It's at waist height and the sooner you learn to be independent the better. I know you have chef's" I added, glancing at the huge mansion "but surely there will be times when you want to just make something quick for yourself after work without bothering someone. Even if it's just a sandwich" I suggested as he crinkled his brow.

I saw him look towards the cutting board. I held my breath. He appeared to be struggling with himself, some sort of internal conflict being waged inside of him. He looked tiredly at the kitchen counter and then to my amazement, wheeled himself forward, reaching forward from the waist to grab the knife, before lifting the cutting board and putting it on his lap. He began to cut, his brow crinkled as he concentrated. I quickly began to prepare the other ingredients, choosing not to say anything, knowing instinctively that to do so, would break what little headway I had made with him.

He looked satisfied when he put the cutting board carefully back onto the counter. I added it to the ingredients and expertly began to put everything together while he took an appreciative whiff. His eyes brightened and I inhaled sharply. My god, when he looked like that, it was easy to see not only the family resemblance with his father but how goddamn handsome he was. For a moment I was speechless and then I brought myself back to my senses.

"What are you making?" he asked and I smiled.

"It's a secret, now go and watch some television, while I finish up. We'll eat at the table."

He hesitates and then shrugs, wheeling into the living area and putting the television on. I put the food into the oven and get down plates and cutlery, setting the dining table while he glances at me every so often.

The timer on the oven goes off and I pull out the enchiladas, making his eyes widen. He looks tentatively at me as I portion out two plates and put them on the dining table, along with some sour cream and cutlery. I also grab two sodas from the fridge and then sit down, waiting expectantly for him. He slowly wheels forward and takes his place, sniffing the plate. He looks eager.

"These smell good."

"Enchiladas," I told him smugly "one of my daughter's favorite recipes."

I gesture for him to dig in.

He struggles slightly but then manages to bring a fork to his mouth. He takes a bite and his mouth widens. He doesn't make a sound but proceeds to devour the food, which more than brings me great satisfaction. He drinks down the soda, dabbing at his mouth with napkins, and then leans back in the chair looking stuffed full. He yawns.

"Why don't you go take a nap?" I suggested quietly.

Immediately he turns hostile "I'm not a child, I don't need to sleep after a big meal" he bites out.

I sigh "Your body is still recuperating. A nap will help. I'm not trying to treat you like a child, I'm trying to look after your well-being. I'm sure that your stomach is really full. I can clean up while you sleep and when you wake up we'll do physical therapy exercises to make sure that your leg muscles strengthen instead of atrophying."

His mouth flattens. "I'm not napping."

"Then what do you plan on doing?" my voice is quiet but slightly harsh.

He glances to the side and appears to be at a loss for words. I was willing to bet until now he had merely spent his days feeling sorry for himself and now that he had somebody here, he was unable to continue the routine, which was frustrating for him. I could see his nails digging into the armrests of the chair as he fought to keep his temper under control.

"I just want to be alone" he spat out "Nobody asked you to come here and I certainly didn't hire you" he hissed.

"Your father just did," I said c*****g my head as he wavered at me "and I was asked to interview for the position. Taking your anger out on me isn't going to make you feel any better" I advised him. He glared at me.

I stood up and began to clear the dishes. He wheeled himself towards the bedroom. I winced as I heard the door slam behind him and then I heard the distinct sound of a lock as he locked himself inside. That would have to change, I thought mildly to myself. It wasn't safe that lan could lock himself away, without me being able to get to him in case something happened. For now, I would leave him in peace as I cleaned up, but I wasn't going to let him do this every day. He was trying to avoid his reality and that was dangerous as well. I needed to look more into his situation and whether there was any possibility of him walking again or if it was hopeless. Some men lived their whole lives believing they would walk again and when it didn't happen, it had detrimental effects on their health, to the point that depression would ultimately end their lives. I would not let that happen with lan while he was under my care. If that hope was taken away, it was another situation entirely, because it meant they were forced to accept what they didn't want to. It was a huge blow to learn that you wouldn't walk again and it caused indescribable anger and grief as clients came to terms with it.

I did the dishes, leaving them to dry in the dishrack, and wiped my hands dry. Then I began to cook dinner, a simple macaroni and cheese that lan could help himself to during the night so that he wouldn't go hungry. While that cooked, I tidied the flat, but it was already tidy. lan hadn't made much of a mess for a man living on his own, which meant he hadn't been living here long, I thought to myself idly. Eventually I was forced to knock on his door. No answer.

"lan" I called out "lan you need to come out. I'm worried about you."

Silence. Was he sulking? I ran a hand through my hair and fretted for a moment. Unless he answered me or I laid eyes on him, I was going to have to go and get his father to open the door and something told me that would just put a further wedge between lan and

I.

"Mr Grant," I said a little sterner "if you want me to leave, then I'll leave as soon as dinner is ready and cooling on the bench but I need you to answer me so that I know you haven't harmed yourself. I also want your guarantee you aren't going to do anything stupid or I will spend the night here if I have to."

More silence. For a minute I thought I might have to break the door down and was eyeing it, wondering how strong the door would be when he finally decided to speak to me.

"You can leave for the day. I don't want to do anything more."

His voice was hoarse. I blinked and then stood back. "Very well, I'll finish dinner and then put it on the bench to cool. Help yourself when you get hungry. I'll be back tomorrow morning" I advised him. "Fine" his voice was barely above a whisper.

I had the sense he was close to losing his composure. I walked away and did what I needed to and then proceeded to leave, feeling heavy hearted. Ian Grant had more demons in his closet than I had anticipated and I wasn't sure if I was going to be the right person to help him. Not when I was attracted to him. He was the first person I had found attractive since being with Faith's father. I went in search of Mr Grant Snr and signed the contract before leaving for the day. Tomorrow, I hoped, would be better or at least no worse than today had been.