He nodded and she scurried away.
I watched her departure in bemusement. The last time we’d been in this building together, we’d been college-bound teenagers. I’d been excited to start college. Nick, who had already earned an associate’s degree in high school, had been eager to finish the last two years of his undergraduate degree. We’d been giddy about the unknown, determined to face it together. Now, all these years later, he’d returned as a titan, a leader in a burgeoning industry of health technology.
It was a hell of an accomplishment.
“I’m going to grab something to eat.” I sidled away, heading to the right of the auditorium where the safety of familiar people and food awaited.
“I was hoping you’d say that. Come on.” He inclined his head toward a classroom farther down the hall, in the opposite direction.
“But the food—”
“I ordered in for us.”
I jumped at his sudden touch on the valley of my spine. Looking up and up into his eyes, taking in that knowing smile, my stomach fell.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
Thus far, I’d done a terrible of job of keeping a professional distance. My heart was not locked away in the strongest of vaults. It was wrapped in the finest gossamer silk, just waiting to be toppled and trampled.
Again.
I opened my mouth to tell Nick that he had no business looking at me that way. That it was cruel that he could jumpstart my nervous system with the simplest of touches. That it was unfair that we were even in the same room again after all these years, and he looked like my most illicit fantasy come to life.
Okay, it was unlikely I would have said that. But I did need to get away from him.
Quickly.
A breakfast feast waited for us. Pastries, bagels, lox, spreads, eggs, and bacon were all spread across the raised counter. A huge screen at the front of the room broadcasted the focus group proceedings from the auditorium. Suits were gathered around the screen, watching, taking notes as introductions went around the room. A young man with a charming smile sheepishly informed me he was the “runner” who would hurry any questions out to the moderator, should I or Nick’s team have any questions or redirects for focus group participants.
I raised an eyebrow at Nick.
“We’re not slumming it with the participants, huh?”
“I had some of Daisy’s doughnuts delivered. They’re right over there.”
I opened my mouth to explain it was a little early for doughnuts, then shut it. I was already in the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
What harm would a doughnut do this early in the morning?
Nick pulled his phone from a pocket and checked the display. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right back.”
I took a seat, interested in hearing about participants’ experiences with using the app.
On-screen, an older, bearded gentleman, raised his hand to speak and earned a nod from the moderator. “I was skeptical at first,” he said. “I thought they wanted me to show my naked ass on the phone screen. Figured the footage would be hacked by the Russians and used to blackmail me.”
Laughter erupted from the other focus group participants and Nick’s staff.
I got up and headed to the makeshift buffet. I listened as the moderator thanked the participant for his candor, then inquired if other group members initially had concerns about privacy. This kind of fun would only be further improved by breakfast.
Huh. Maybe I’d have one of my aunt Daisy’s magical doughnuts, maybe with a little bacon, some protein to balance it out . . .
Samantha joined me. “This looks like some serious decision making over here,” she said through a smile.
“I’m trying to decide how bad I can be,” I said, realizing I wasn’t only talking about the dilemma of jump-starting my day with sugar and being jittery as a result.
I was also trying to figure out what the hell I was doing with Nick, and exactly how much I’d allow to happen.
Sky blue eyes met mine. “But what’s the fun in being good?”
I blinked at her. She smiled again and disappeared.
I picked up a plate, loaded it with a nutritionally balanced meal of a doughnut and bacon, then reached for the coffee carafe just as laughter exploded from the front of the room. Someone shouted something to the runner guy and he responded, scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper.
I returned my attention to the counter and barely caught the flurry of the runner’s approach in my peripheral vision, right before his body crashed into mine. That would have been fine, if that had been all, but it wasn’t that simple as it turned out. Everything—the contents of both my hands, the plate, and the carafe of coffee—left my grip. My shoulder collided with a wall that—surprise!—wasn’t a wall at all, but a cleverly hidden doorway leading to a short flight of stairs below. I had a fleeting thought: Leigh was right, we are old bitches now—right before I descended down into the darkness and was hit with the worst pain of my life.
Chapter Twenty
Zora
“Zora.”
I blinked and opened my eyes.
Nick leaned over me, face tight. His bright eyes gleamed in the darkened interior of the car. “We’re here. You ready?”
That’s right. I’d fallen asleep in the car on the way back from the hospital. Blindly, I reached for the side lever and raised the passenger seat of Nick’s car to a sitting position.
Nick put a staying hand on my arm. “Careful. Slow down.”
I winced as the seat raised with a motorized whine. “I’m all right. Just a little sore.”
His mouth tightened. “When I get my hands on him—”
“Nick Armstrong. Rossi. Whatever your last name is now, whatever you want me to call you.” I was more than a little loopy. “If you say anything more to that man than ‘I’m sorry,’ I will take a strip out of your hind parts.”
“Your mother says that.” His cheek lifted a fraction in a smile, then fell again.
“Yeah, well, I mean it. Nothing justified the way you yelled at that poor man. It was terrible.”
“You fell down a half a flight of stairs. You have second-degree burns on your foot.”
“In some places,” I argued, but even I’d gotten queasy watching layers of skin slide away from my instep. “And it’s my skin to lose. That means I’m the only one entitled to do any yelling. I guarantee that poor man has shit stains in his pants. You were awful to him.”
“You were on the floor,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Practically in tears, clutching your leg. You think I’m not going to seek out who’s responsible?”
“It was an accident.”
His jaw tightened.
Dear God. What a day.
One minute I’d been mentally fanning my lady parts, the next I’d been bowled over by one of Nick’s employees. A carafe of fresh, scalding coffee nosedived off the counter and joined me through the door, down the stairs, and finally on the cement floor. I’d mangled my back and managed to burn the hell out of my right foot.
Just another day in my world.
Meanwhile, Nick absolutely decimated the poor runner in a display of temper I hadn’t thought him capable of summoning. I’d worried his head would explode during the drive to the hospital.
It had been a humiliating ordeal, in full view of my colleagues and Nick’s employees.
I studied Nick’s grim expression in the swath of an outside streetlight, the grim set of his lips, the granite clench to his jaw.
Yes, today’s ordeal had been painful. And awkward, especially with him at my side while I modeled a hospital gown.
And abruptly personal. He’d held my hand through all the difficult parts, his arm wrapped around me, lips pressed to my forehead at one point when I couldn’t help but whimper.
But I was certain that, somehow, he’d suffered more.
Something about the way he held himself, muscles bunched tight, mouth compressed in a single bloodless line,
told me he was terrified.
Or traumatized.
I hadn’t remembered he hated hospitals. Maybe I’d never realized how much his mother’s car accident years ago might have affected him. I’d insisted he stay with me in the hospital bay, so I could keep an eye on him. Some nagging instinct told me I should not leave him alone in the waiting room.
I eventually texted Adesola and asked her to come down to the ER. Not for me. For him. I discerned the slightest bit of relief in his posture when she pulled back the curtain in our little examining area and came in with her usual shit talk. She’d showed him a picture of the shoes she’d bought, jawed with him over communication training processes for his staff, and kept him otherwise busy.
I’d done my part by reassuring him that I was fine. Several times.
But even now, as we sat in my driveway outside my house, I felt the ferocious tension coming off him in waves.
“I’m fine,” I said, for what had to be the millionth time.
He looked toward the front of my house. “Your roommate’s home, right? I want to go over the discharge instructions with her.”
I reached for my seat belt. “No, she’s not in town. She had to go home for a funeral.”
Not a muscle in his face moved, but his voice was heavy with incredulity. “You lied to the discharging nurse.”
“Not technically.” I pulled up into a sitting position, wincing at the pull across my lower back. “My best friend does live with me, in the other half of the house. She just happens to be out of town right now.”
“Someone has to be here for you. You can’t get around on that foot. You’ve got meds to take, to get filled at the pharmacy. You have to take your temperature and go back to the ER if you have a fever.”
“I’ll be fine.” Okay, I hadn’t thought as far as filling my prescription for the pain meds and antibiotics. I also needed to get a thermometer.
Maybe I’d call Walker.
He watched me, and I swore I saw the moment when a decision clicked into place. “Let’s get you inside.”
“If you wouldn’t mind handing me the crutches from the back—”
“Listen to me. We need to get inside, up the front stairs. Now, I can get the crutches from the back and you could prove your independence by hobbling all the way in the house. But I know your back and arm are hurting. You’re already in enough pain. I can make it easier if you let me. You need to let me.” His face was calm, but his words rang with an unmistakable finality.
Our gazes clung as I weighed his words. He wasn’t wrong. Putting my weight on the crutch would take the weight off my foot, but it wouldn’t help the strain in my back.
“Fine.” I dug in my purse and handed him my house keys.
He gave a brief nod, got out, and rounded to my side. I unbuckled the seat belt after he opened the door, slowly working to pivot my legs out of the car. My pulse pounded in my right foot. Twinges lit up across my back. His face tightened at whatever was on my face.
And then Nick was there.
His wide shoulders filled the interior of the car, one arm going around me to gingerly grasp my shoulder. “Let me do it,” he whispered in my ear. And it was so much easier to just let go, to let him. I relaxed into the makeshift hug. He easily lifted my legs to facilitate the turn.
“Good?”
I nodded. He bent forward again and gestured to his neck. “Hold on.”
I was taken aback. I’d thought he’d planned to let me lean on him and walk.
My arms circled his neck and suddenly I was effortlessly aloft, my legs automatically winding around his waist. One of his arms formed a secure ledge under my backside. He slammed the car door closed and we started toward the house.
It felt so good to be held this way. Hoisted in his arms, gripping the firm expanse of his back, supported by the unyielding bar of his arm. For the first time that day, after pushing back all that bright pain, I felt safe. He turned his head, his beard pleasantly scraping my face, and murmured in my ear. I yielded the weight of my head to his shoulder as his words went straight into my ear. “I’ve got you,” he repeated.
And I believed him.
It took forever to get settled. By the time I’d changed into my least ratty pair of pajamas and propped myself up in bed, an hour had gone by. The throbbing in my foot had increased to jackhammering.
A knock sounded from the closed bedroom door.
“Yeah?”
“You decent?”
I looked down at myself. I looked a hot mess. So much for the promising start to the day. It couldn’t get any worse than it already had.
But what did it matter now? He’d already seen me get teary when the nurse wrapped my foot in wet bandages.
I’d already lost control, and my composure.
“No, but come in.”
He nudged the door open, then stopped in the doorway. Little more than two weeks ago, he’d stood in my office doorway for the first time in twelve years.
Now he stood in my bedroom doorway.
None of it matched what I’d imagined for us all those years ago. But somehow, here we were. Back in the same space, victims of fate.
“These aren’t exactly the circumstances I’d hoped to see your bedroom in,” he said, his voice gruff. He walked forward slowly, his gaze fastened to mine the entire time. “But I’ll take it. Gotta start somewhere, right?”
I patted the space next to me. “Sit.”
His brows went up, but he complied, easing down slowly. He planted a hand behind himself, leaned closer. “Comfortable?”
I shrugged and immediately regretted it. “As comfortable as I’ll be.”
“My assistant is out getting your medication. I gave him your license so he could pick it up. It’s a controlled substance.”
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay.”
“You just . . .” I let out a sigh. Some habits died hard. I knew that look on his face, knew something had spooked him to make him clam up this way. He didn’t appear to be breathing. Twelve years ago I would have thrown myself at him, tackled him, made him tell me. Now . . . I didn’t know what we were to each other, and I didn’t know how to proceed.
“Do you mind if Sir Duke comes here?”
“Of course not. Poor thing. He’s been alone all day.”
“He’ll be okay.” He paused and took in a deep breath. “Listen, I’m staying here with you.”
I reared back. “Wait, what?”
“You don’t have any food here. You need someone to help you get around. I was there for discharge. I know how to change your dressings, know what to look for in case you get an infection. And I can’t go home knowing you’re here alone. So. You’re stuck with me.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Completely serious. Sir Duke and I will stay out of your hair. You won’t even know we’re here.”
“But you—”
“I have a very capable team and an assistant that will bring us anything we need. And . . . ” He fixed me with a look so absolute, so unflinching, I blinked. “I’m not leaving.”
I stared, at a loss for words.
“Food’s on the way,” he continued, as if the air around us hadn’t quivered from him throwing down that gauntlet. “So are your meds. I’ll bring them in as soon as they get here. That shot wearing off yet? You in pain?”
“No,” I lied. “I’m just going to get some shut-eye.”
I needed a break. A reprieve.
“All right. You want me to help you get comfortable before I step out?” His gaze flicked over me, and all the pillows I’d tucked haphazardly around my back and under my foot.
“I’m all right. You go ahead. Get as . . . comfortable as you can, I guess.”
He nodded, slowly. “I won’t be far. Just call me if you need me.”
He left, pulling the door almost closed.
I stared at the door, brain buzzing.
What the hell had just happened?
Sleep proved elusive, even with the blinds closed and the room dark. My television garbled nonsense, keeping itself company.
My foot screamed the tale of dark roast lava on caramel skin.
“Can’t sleep?”
I flinched, startled to see Nick suddenly standing in the doorway. He’d changed to a wrinkled T-shirt and gray sweats and his feet were bare. A plastic bag bearing the local pharmacy’s logo dangled from one hand and he held a bottled water in the other.
“I don’t think so.”
He sat on the corner of the bed, frowning. “You’re in pain. Why didn’t you call for me?”
“I’m all right.”
He went still. “Zora. I need you to be honest with me. It’s important. Are you in pain?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “And I can’t sleep. I can’t get comfortable.”
He quickly administered the pills, dropping them in my hand as if I were a child, standing and watching as I downed it with water.
The tension around his eyes made me suspect he was weighing his next words, so I wasn’t surprised when he said, “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” I croaked.
He pushed off the bed and picked up the remote on my bedside table. “May I?”
I nodded and he switched off the television.
“Move over.”
He was already helping even as he made the order, supporting my back as he removed the pillows behind me. “Hold this to your front and ease over.”
I inched to the middle of the bed and rolled over on my stomach to settle atop the proffered pillow. The mattress shifted as Nick’s weight settled on the bed, his body following closely behind me. The weight of his hand settled gently on my back, its length spanning the valley of my shoulder blades to the tender apex of my spine. I moaned as his fingertips traced the contours of my shoulders, returning to tentatively knead the painfully tightened muscles.
“Am I hurting you?” I strained to hear his murmur.
“No. It hurts a little, but it’s helping.”
“You’re pretty tight.” I sensed his position shifting, finger and thumbs delving into the rigid constriction of muscles at the base of my neck. I winced at the odd mingling of pleasure and pain as he kept kneading. I wasn’t sure how much time passed before I felt myself finally relaxing, sinking into the pillow, relinquishing the weight of my limbs.
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