Free Love Saved by Augusta Hill

the table next to him where a small stack of peeled white orbs lay.
    "It's not fair! You are an excellent pilot. Without your skill, the crash could have even been worse! It was the fault of that mechanic and your incompetent manager." Salma grabbed a knife and potato, sitting down across him Kirk and began peeling as well. She furiously cut into the vegetable's skin as if it had been part of the fiasco.
    "Many people played a role, but at the end of the day, I was in the pilot's seat. It was a place of much responsibility, and I take the blame."
    "You shouldn't," she hissed angrily, before stabbing her knife into the spud with extra vindication. "Why didn't that billionaire help you more? You were the one who saved his life. What an ungrateful, spoiled brat."
    "Don't speak about him like that," Kirk broke in, his voice harsh and louder than he had intended. The room sat heavy in silence, and Salma looked at him with a frown. Clearing his throat, he continued on in a kinder tone. "Look, it's not his fault. He was a good man."
    Salma sighed and looked at him with a slightly softened expression. "I'm sure he was very charming. But I'm just trying to look out for my brother." She patted Kirk on the knee gently. "I don't think he is a man who deserves your trust and friendship. Or your heart."
    Kirk shrugged, not wanting the conversation to continue. His sister was supportive, and he deeply appreciated that. She hadn't been out there in the desert with him and Oren, however. She didn't get to see the good sides of the billionaire as he began to open and let Kirk see his fears and weaknesses. She hadn't seen how they had kissed in the tent, hearts raw and exposed as they let their defenses down.
    When he failed to comment, Salma sighed and got up, beginning more prep work. They had several large orders to fill that day, and with her income being their only, they needed to take every single one they could get. They would have to peel and prep vegetables for at least another hour, and then she would spend several hours in front of the hot stove working.
    He watched her out of the corner of his eye, his heart constricting painfully as he saw her knead her hands together, trying to unbend cramped fingers. He wanted more for her, a different life. He hated seeing her bent over the stove, sweat pouring into her eyes and her mouth tight with displeasure. It wasn't that the work was hard - he knew she gave herself muscle cramps from working all night painting too. It was that she hated it, and he couldn't give her the opportunity to promote her art in galleries like she dreamed of.
    A knock sounded at the door, and Salma wiped her hands with a towel quickly. "That'll be the delivery boy, wanting to pick up the first round of orders. I'll tell him to come back in two hours since we are behind."
    She left the room, and Kirk listened to her footsteps fade away as she went to the front door. He couldn't see the entryway from where he sat, but he could hear her voice rise in surprise as she opened the door. Then there was silence for several seconds.
    "Salma? Is everything ok?" he called, straining his ears. Something seemed wrong.
    He heard low murmurs begin from the doorway, but she didn't respond to him directly. He stood up, face creased in worry. "Salma?"
    "It's ok, Khaled," Salma called, in a voice that said things were quite the opposite.
    He stood up quickly and half sprinted to the door. As he rounded the corner of the front hall, he started to ask what exactly was happening. The words died on his lips before he could make a sound.
    A tall, broad-shouldered man stood in the doorway, talking intently to Salma. He appeared to be pleading with her, his hands outstretched in supplication. Kirk's sister was shaking her hands rapidly in front of her, as if she was trying to shoo the man out the door. Both stopped talking and whipped around as they heard Kirk's footstep.
    "Oren?" Kirk took a step forward, not trusting his own