Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
The night guy—I’d never bothered to learn his name—had already unpacked everything, so all of my blood was ready and waiting. We had a contract with local hospitals. All of those little vials of blood that were taken but never used? They ended up in my workstation. I wasn’t sure what the criteria was or if there were certain viruses and diseases that were automatic disqualifiers. As far as I knew, could drink any blood, no matter how sick the person was, and it wouldn’t affect them at all.
As a human, blood-borne illnesses were definitely a concern for me. I had to be very careful not to accidentally come into contact with any of it—hence the scrubbing, smock, and gloves. One of the hardest things I’d had to get used to was not scratching my face once I was gloved up. My nose had itched for two months straight while I worked. Agony.
The process of mixing blood was easy. Noah hadn’t been completely wrong when he said anyone with opposable thumbs could do it. I thought I added a little flair to the whole process, though. Some of our competitors mixed on a large scale, using industrial vats and computers. I was sure that they sold more in a month than we sold in a year, but we were considered a boutique facility. It was kind of like the difference between buying something from a big box store and a family-run business. Volume versus quality.
Some clients preferred specific blood types. Some wanted a mix. On the wall, a large screen detailed each of the orders I’d fill that day. One crate of four-ounce jars of A-positive. Two crates of two-ounce jars of any mix. Five crates of AB positive or negative, mixed was fine, ten-ounce jars. Someone must be throwing a party. On and on it went.
All of the identifying labels were gone. It was completely anonymous, but most of the time, the hospital was kind enough to label the blood types. Occasionally, I had to test for them, which wasn’t exactly hard, but it definitely slowed me down.
Lip-syncing to the song that played around me, I pulled out a flat of vials and turned toward my workstation beneath the row of windows that opened to the hallway. I nearly dropped them when I came face-to-face with the man from the lobby.
He was unnaturally attractive. I mean, I’d seen attractive guys. I knew plenty of them. I passed them on the street. I watched movies. But this guy was something different. He was beautiful. Just imperfect enough to be the most striking human I’d ever seen and somehow…familiar. Which was strange as hell because I’d definitely remember meeting someone who looked like he did.
And he was staring.
“Reese,” Noah called, gesturing at me. “Come out here a moment.”
I jolted and looked away from the chiseled jaw I’d been staring at in wonder. “I just scrubbed,” I replied, lifting my hands out to show him my gloves.
“You can re-scrub.”
“Do you know what a pain in the ass that would be?” I asked dubiously.
“Come out here, please.”
“Seriously?”
“Reese,” Noah ground out, widening his eyes as he glanced at the man standing next to him.
Right. Noah was my boss. The other guy was a client.
I pasted on a phony smile and nodded, pushing the flat of blood further back onto the counter so there was no chance of it falling off. The room was small, so it was only a few steps to the door, and by the time I was through it, I was peeling off my smock and gloves. I’d have to re-dress on my way back in with a new one.
“Mr. Boucher, this is Reese,” Noah introduced as I stuffed the used smock into the trash. “She’s our blood tech. She does all the mixing for this facility.”
“And I’m damn good at it, too,” I said cheekily, striding toward them. “It’s an art, really, and I’m an artist.” I lifted my hand and my head at the same time, prepared to shake the client’s hand and scoot back to work, but I froze.
“Reese, this is Beaumont Boucher. He and his family are—”
“What the flaming fuck?” I whispered as a wave of heat hit me, rolling from my scalp to my toes.
“Is everything okay?” Noah asked, taking a step toward me. “Reese? What’s wrong?”
“No,” Mr. Boucher barked, taking a quick step backward. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Fuck, no.”
I fought the urge to take a step forward.
What the fuck was wrong with me? The guy was looking at me like I’d grown two heads. I shouldn’t be trying to get closer to him. Not only was that pathetic in the extreme, but I should be running in the opposite direction before he decided he’d take his business somewhere else. Noah would have a conniption.