KATHERINE
Rowan sat at the corner of the room, hunched over a couple of papers. He had been reading so fervently. Grunting occasionally and frowning deeply when something didn't please him.
His white crisp shirt sleeves were rolled up. Almost at his elbow and I watched his veiny large hands whisked through files.
And I sat there like an obedient little doll with my hand cuffed to the bedpost. Over the past few days, he has occasionally switched my hands so I won't get cramped up.
He grunted again, kissed his teeth and cursed.
“Is something wrong, Rowan?"
There was no response, just more under the breath cursing.
His black hair had fallen over his face, covering enough for me to see his eyes. I had no idea Rowan wore glasses. But with the way he'd been doing late night work these pas
