With no sign of drugs or alcohol in his system, the cause could simply be that he’d been distracted. With lacerations and abrasions to his face, arms and torso, he was bruised, banged up and going to be sore as hell. But with nothing broken his status was considered serious but stable. Their biggest concern was that he wasn’t fully waking up. However as Jackie had said when paraphrasing his physician, it was likely his brain’s way of protecting him from the pain along with the heavy IV meds in his system.
The media storm had been mostly low key, the car accident and who it’s occupant was somehow having been reported without too much BS attached. At least it was, until just before I’d boarded my flight and the Euro-paps decided it was a slow week and sensationalised the hell out of it. This means I have no idea what I’m walking into when I land.
Grabbing my organizer, I run my palm across its mottled, beachy coral colored with gold accents surface, then pull off the twine that keeps it closed, the small shell and my initial tinkling together as I do. Pen in hand, I make a few notes of shit that’s popped into my head. For one, I know the show he’s doing has their own publicity department, so I need to determine fairly quickly if they’re friend or foe. Rash said that while they’re not used to dealing with this type of publicity, they were competent. I trusted his opinion for the most part, but I wanted to know for myself, after all, their job was to protect the integrity of the theatre company, not one actor.
“Would you like another bottle of red, Miss?” the steward asks, his hand reaching out to take my empty bottle.
Already feeling the effects of my self-prescribed chill cocktail, I shake my head no, and give him a small smile.
“Here then, make yourself comfy,” he invites as he passes over what would have to be close to a full sized pillow and blanket. “To help with time change and jet lag, we’ll soon be dimming the cabin to night lighting,” he shares, before continuing onto the next passenger.
Grabbing my Love Moschino tote, I go to the bathroom and change out of my work outfit. Folding the garments neatly so they don’t get too crushed, my plan is to put them back on before we land. No reason to be uncomfortable for the next how-ever-many hours. Once I’m in a pair of too big, but have become my favorite Sk8mafia sweats and hoodie, I pull on thick socks and head back to my cubby. Having extended my seat, I’m facing the window with my blanket-covered legs tucked up under me, pillow folded under my cheek, and buds back in my ears.
Scrolling through my playlists, I select the one I’ve named ‘chill mode’, and hit shuffle. Ariana Grande’s – No Tears Left To Cry starts, and I reflect on my meeting earlier this morning with Sawyer.
After all, she’s the only reason I’m even on this damn plane.
“Piper, you ok?” Sawyer asks, having left the web news page open, and sat back on her seat in my office.
I’ve just ended the call from Jackie, and I’m so many things that I guess ok could be one of them. I must relay all of that on my face, because Sawyer nods.
“Right. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything when I first came in. If I’d known, I would have, but I assumed you knew. I mean Seth may have relocated back to the U.K. but he’s still yours.”
What? That statement snaps my head up quick.
“Client, I mean,” Sawyer adds, and the little smile she gives me makes me think she’s sure she’s clarifying, but actually, she’s just making it worse.
Why the hell would Sawyer still think Seth is my client? She’d have to know what went down, she knows everything.
“Um, no, Sawyer, he’s not. Seth hasn’t been my client for six weeks. I withdrew from his account right before he left L.A.”
“Oh, my mistake. I guess it’s because I don’t recall seeing any paperwork. Do you have a copy?” She tips up her chin towards my desktop.
On a mission, I open Seth’s file in my email cabinet, going right to the last document I added. Opening it despite the title telling me what I already know, I see, Piper Quinn to Ronald Ashton, Change of Client Account Manager.
Ok, I’ve got the one I sent…so, where did I file the copy Ronald had sent back. The confirmation. The acknowledgement. The version Seth’s signature was on?
Clicking through a few other files in case I misplaced it, I know what Sawyer is going to say right before she says it…
“Seth never signed, Piper. He never agreed to terminate your relationship.”
When I glare at her, again because of her sneaky choice of words, she amends, “Of course, I mean your working relationship. You may have, Piper, your client didn’t.”
Oh my fucking God. Seth Mitchell, you sneaky English bastard.
“So, like I said earlier, Drew is sending you through your flight booking details. The sooner you get there the better. He’ll probably be in hospital for a few days, but the play is due to open on Saturday night. I don’t think Drew booked you a hotel though, because not only is the London flat is available; he figured it likely you’d stay at Seth’s.”
“I’m not staying at Seth’s!”
I’m not too proud to admit that my voice is close to a screech, but for shit’s sake, me acting meek here is out of the question. “Sawyer, seriously, I’m not even going to London!”
Even before I finished the last syllable of the city in question, I’ve taken in her body language, her calculating green eyes, and we both know, I absolutely was flying to London.
“Ronald and I have been managing things while you two were…let’s call it, taking a sabbatical…so Seth hasn’t totally been without support. But this…it’s time now, Piper. Enough is enough. You two need to work it out. All of it.”
All of it? What’s this now? I knew that at some point in their working together, Sawyer had played a part in Cassie and Jake’s relationship, but this was…unexpected? Thing was, I couldn’t be certain she wasn’t talking only about the business. Her smirk and the twinkle in her eyes said she meant both, but nothing was overt. Clever woman.
The music in my ears changes to another soft track, and I can feel my breathing is getting deeper. My mind skips through the rest of my meeting with Sawyer - me arguing, her unwavering – to me calling Cassie on my way to the airport.
“Opportunity, Pipes, that’s all I’m saying. At least after this, you’ll know one way or another.”
Snuggling further into my hoodie, I picture Seth’s face, his sunglasses pushed up on his head causing his longish hair to wing around the arms. I can almost feel the scruff along his jaw under my palms as he kisses me, and vividly see the way he tips his head to the side just before he says something completely debauched.
Sighing as I let sleep pull me under, I face facts.
Sawyer Elliot is not the only reason I’m on this plane.
I just hope the other reason proves they’re worth it.
CHAPTER 20
Seth
I get I’m in hospital, and I sure as fuck get that I’ve been in an accident, but if one more medical professional wearing fruity fucking pastels comes looking to poke or prod me, shite is going to get real. I’m sure they only wanted me awake to torture me. And don’t even start me with what they jammed in my dick!
Jammed. In. My. Dick.
You don’t think that wasn’t the first damn thing I demanded be removed?
“It’s a fucking violation, mate! And another thing, they better not have done any damage. My British banger better damn well stand and salute Her Maj just as proudly as he did before. We’ve been together a long time, him and me, Rash. I taught him everything he knows.”
Having been awake, albeit cranky as hell, for a while now, I’ve found myself with a rare few minutes of alone time. Hospitals are noisy fucking places, people always coming and going, so I’m enjoying catching up with Rash in relative peace. Propped up against my pillows; I’m out of that arse bared to Queen and country fucking smock they had me in, and am feeling more at ease in jogging bottoms, tee and hoodie that Jacks brought from home.
I’m sore and hurting ever
ywhere, like my entire body has a nagging toothache, but the drugs they had me on before were keeping me too dulled out. While the pain tablets I’m swallowing now don’t take the pain away completely, I can a least hold a conversation without falling asleep halfway through. I’m also enough like myself I can reassure everyone I’m ok. Which besides the obvious, I am.
Embarrassed at my stupidity, and annoyed at how inconvenient I’ve made things for my family and the theatre, I know my body will heal. Thank fuck I didn’t break anything. Doc’s say if I rest for the remainder of the week, get a physio to come to the house to keep me from seizing up, and do gentle stretching without pushing to too hard too soon, the show on Saturday night should still go on…with me in it.
Mostly though, I’m relieved I didn’t hurt anyone else.
All my personal effects that had been in my car had been couriered to the house by the towing company after the police had cleared the scene. I think having a copper there at the time to see what had happened moved things along much faster than may have usually been the case. Luckily, my phone had been amongst the things returned, and despite having been my accomplice in the incident, unlike me, it had come out unscathed. And the messages were still there. I’d checked.
Rash laughs heartily in my ear, but his voice holds the kind of understanding only another bloke would have. “Jesus, Seth, I shudder thinking about it. They’re professionals though, they do it all the time, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Ok for him to sound so bloody confident, he wasn’t the one with a tube through the eye of his dick and a blown up balloon in his bladder. You bet your arse I’d Web MD’d the hell out of that shite.
“Bloody better be. Right, so I understand there’ll be charges, along with a hefty fine, and I deserve all of that, but what’s happening with the pap shite? Are Westbrook’s team dealing with that? Jackie said it’s a circus again, so my parents are staying away. Did she tell you she found one bloke going through the rubbish?”
The lengths these parasites go to in getting - no, sorry, I should say creating - a story is unbelievable. What the fuck would he have been hoping to find in my rubbish? Jack wont let me see any of the rags, but spilled that the most common theory is that I was off my face on booze and pills because I’ve not been coping with Claudia breaking up with me. Imbeciles. The damn lot of them, the ones who write it, the ones who sell it, even the ones who buy it. Ok, maybe not all the ones who buy it, but still, it’s a close call.
“It’s being handled, Seth. Just leave it with us, ok? You only need to worry about following the doctor’s orders so they’ll discharge you tomorrow. You’ll be much happier recovering at home. I know I would be. In the meantime, don’t com––”
“Don’t comment. Don’t take their calls; don’t let them provoke me into doing or saying anything. I get it, I’m towing the company line, Rash.”
And I was. I just wished that there were a sexy as hell, bossy as all get out, little bit here to make sure of it.
The room I’m in is a private one, so it’s nicer than being on a public ward, but it’s still utilitarian. White or off white everything, very little colour, aka: boring as bat shit. The only colour is from the flowers I’ve been sent and the clock. Not only is the bulky outer rim fire engine red, its black numbers against the white face behind the glass are massive. Like, Helen Keller massive. I’m staring at it as Rash and I wrap up our call. We’ve touched on a few other business related issues - not just the future performance standards of my cock - when my gut rumbles with hunger. Hmm, first time that’s happened since I’ve been here. Helen Clocker says it’s eleven fifty-five a.m. so it must be because it’s nearly lunchtime, but the thought of hospital food kills any budding hunger right quick. Once I’ve hung up from Rash, I’ll text Jack and ask her to bring me in a bacon sarnie when she comes back tonight.
Movement and a low whoosh catches my attention as the door to my room slowly pushes open. It strikes me as odd, mostly because the staff usually barges in, and Jacks taps before entering.
Phone to my ear, my heart starts beating wildly as though it already knows who’s coming through my door. Fuck. I know those shoes, I know those feet, and my eyes are greedy as they sweep up the smooth sun-kissed skin of her legs. Legs I remember the feel of as they’re wrapped around my hips, the soft heels of her small feet digging into my arse, urging me deeper inside the sweetest pussy I’ll ever know. Taking in her short, ruched skirt and the sleeveless, fitted vibrant yellow blouse that has one of those fucking bows she knows kills me around her neck, I fully understand the meaning of the term sight for sore eyes. Piper Quinn, here in my room, is a vision. One I want so badly, I’m scared to blink in case she’ll disappear.
Neither of us has spoken, we’re simply taking each other in from across the small sterile distance between us. Eye fucking her right now would be easy, my lust for Piper is stronger than ever, but there are way more parts of me than just my cock that miss her.
My mind, my heart…my entire fucking being.
My phone is still in my hand but no longer near my ear. I can faintly hear Rash asking what’s happening, but don’t give a flying fuck about being polite. My mouth goes dry, my palms grow clammy, and if I didn’t know with two hundred percent certainty that I’d land flat on my face if I tried, I’d leap from this sodding bed, pull my girl into my arms, and never let her go.
Her eyes are glassy, big and round in her beautiful face, and they are filled with so much emotion. Emotion that I know is mirrored in my own. Her full mouth is shiny, no doubt from a slick of the balm I know she’s never without, and her bottom lip has a slight tremble. Seeing all of this, I know I need to give her something. Something other than all the unsaid shit hanging thickly in the silence between us to deal with, or she’ll break. And my days of being the reason Piper Quinn cries are over.
Lifting my phone back to my ear, I coax my bruised and swollen face into a cocky smirk. Ignoring the sharp sting as the split in my bottom lip pulls open, and holding the eyes of the woman I love, I tell my manager and friend all he needs to know.
“Gotta go, mate. Seems the hooker you sent is here…and she’s fucking perfect.”
Piper’s spine straightens, her button nose and determined chin tipping up as she glares at me, and I’m unsure which way things will go until the smile she’s trying to hold back breaks through. Looking down, she shakes her head, making her wavy chestnut hair sweep across the top of her shoulders as she walks across to where I am on the bed.
Throwing her bags into the obligatory visitors chair every room has, she perches herself on the piss poor excuse for a mattress, right next to my hip. Without thinking, I rest my palm over her bent knee and she looks down at it in question, the softness of her skin under my hand a better cure than any medication they’ve given me since being here. Something in her eyes shifts, from steely resolve that melts to the Piper I love the most and I wonder what that’s about. Maybe she’s mad about the accident and now that she sees I’m okay, she’s relieved. Reaching an arm up, her fingers gently run over my face, assessing the damage.
“God, you’re an asshole, Mitchell. And if you didn’t already have a black eye, I’d be inclined to give you one,” Piper sasses, smile on her face as she blinks back the tears in those kaleidoscope eyes. “I hate to tell you this pretty boy, you look like shit, and it’s not all the haircut.”
Ah, there she is, there’s my girl.
“Bubble, I––”
Running her thumb ever so gently across my lips, and shaking her head no, Piper stops me. My heart sinks, six weeks apart is a long time. Just because I know where I’m at with my feelings for Piper, it’s arrogant of me to assume that simply because she’s here, she’d feel the same.
“Seth,” is all she says before getting off the bed and going back to the chair, pulling her phone and diary from her bag before continuing. “Let me get up to speed with everything. I have a heap of calls to make, press releases to write, and the damn airline lost my luggag
e…”
As she’s talking, her phone starts ringing in her hand. Looking down at the screen, she swipes to answer.
I know this Piper; she’s in client liaison mode. Focused on the job and ready to get shite done. Which means what exactly? Is she here for me personally or is she here only because I never terminated our contract, and because of the current shit storm, I’m still her client? Is this what Rash meant when he said its being handled?
“Drew? Hey. Yes, tell Sawyer I’m with Seth now, oh, and tell her thanks. Like she suggested, I got the taxi to drop me at the private entrance so I avoided any press lurking at the front. You did? And? Please tell me they found my luggage? All I have with me is my work satchel and one carry on. If I check into a hotel like this, they’ll assume I’m the hooker Seth called me when I got here! Oh, nothing, inside joke.”
Piper sounds tired and frustrated, and I feel bad for her…for about two seconds.
No luggage? Hasn’t booked into a hotel yet? Ok, I don’t give a fuck if she came for me or because I’m her client. Whatever it was that brought her here, her and her perfectly round arse are mine.
Seth…do not fuck this up.
Carefully getting off the bed, I have all the agility of a ninety-eight-year-old man combined with the coordination of a newborn baby, but I make my way behind where Piper is pacing. Putting a hand on her hip I hold her still, and use my other to take the phone off her.
“Hey!” She spins quickly, and I move instinctively out of her reach. Instinctively yes, but not carefully, so every sore spot I have protests violently, and my breath hisses from my lips in reaction. “Serves you right,” Piper adds, but the soft look of empathy in her eyes betrays the spiteful words.
“Drew is it? Hello, this is Seth. Do us a favour would you? When they find Bubble’s knickers and whatnot, have them courier everything of hers over to mine. She’s graciously decided to accept my invitation to stay with me.”
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