Fuming in the bathtub, Deacon scrubbed himself, splashing water around angrily. He didn't care that the water was getting everywhere, because the maid he'd recently hired would clean everything up.
"What do you want?!" Deacon growled, his words each staccato as he finished them. He wasn't willing to acknowledge the other's offer to help. He didn't need help. Why would he need help? How had he hinted towards anything that would indicate he needed help?