Plain Jane and the Billionaire (Plain Jane Series)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Julius slapped Harden’s palm. “Agreed. I’ll take care of it.”

  Harden broke into a rare smile. He came in for a tight hug, and whispered, “I know a few people. I’ll give ’em a—”

  A sudden burst of pain in his right shoulder caused Julius to grunt and lean heavily into Harden. Another burst of pain lower on Julius’ back caused his knees to buckle. If Harden hadn’t been holding him, Julius would’ve hit the sidewalk. Instead, he had a slow, agonizing slide to the pavement. A feminine scream reached him, followed by rough commands. The ping of something striking his car made him furious until he realized air had become a precious commodity.

  His body landed on the sidewalk, his head smacking the pavement. Vision blurred, lungs struggling, he turned his head to the side and locked eyes on Harden. His friend’s face held nothing but fury.

  “We gotta go!” someone shouted, and Harden was yanked away. He fought, but his bodyguard picked him up and tossed him into the waiting Maybach. Harden left him bleeding out on a New York sidewalk.

  Dying on the filthy street wasn’t how he imagined his end. Then again, no one got their death right. We all wanted to go in our sleep at the ripe old age of one hundred and ten, leaving behind a legacy the history books would record. He’d be lucky to have a mention in Page Six and TMZ.

  Fuck! What a lonely way to go. Julius closed his eyes and didn’t fight the sharp agony sweeping through his body.

  “Stay with me,” a voice demanded.

  A hand, small yet strong, slapped his face, while a different hand reached under his shoulder and applied pressure to the wound on his upper back. Pain lanced through him and his eyes snapped open. Hazel, her eyes were green interspersed with brown flecks.

  “Don’t you die!” She ordered, her face inches away. Her scent, freesia mixed with cigarette and exhaust.

  “You will not die on me.”

  Die? Why would I do that when I definitely want to live?

  Chapter 2

  “Either we move him now or he bleeds out,” the EMT said as he performed triage on Julius. He shivered. In the middle of summer, in ninety-degree weather, he was cold, so damn cold.

  “Agreed,” said the other EMT. “On three. One. Two. Three.” Julius was lifted and dropped onto a stretcher on his stomach. The pain was surreal, enough to make Julius black out only to be dragged back to consciousness by her voice.

  “I’m coming with you.” Her voice was clear and strong with a husky tint.

  “We can’t allow that, ma’am.”

  Julius had enough energy to lift his head and see her, the woman from the shadows, as the EMT slid his stretcher into the waiting ambulance.

  Her hands were bloody, and though she wore black, there were several wet spots that couldn’t be anything other than blood. One of the EMT’s tried to close the ambulance doors but she blocked it with her body.

  “I said I’m coming.” Her voice left no room for argument. She hoisted herself into the ambulance and squeezed into a corner an arm’s length away. She watched as both EMT’s hooked him up to machines and kept him alive by any means necessary.

  “We gotta get him to the hospital.” One EMT hopped out the rear and slammed the doors closed behind him, leaving his partner. He couldn’t see the damage or the EMT working on him. But he could feel the frantic hands rushing from one area of his lower back to another area on his upper shoulder. Both areas were wet and not from water, he realized as his thoughts became muddy.

  “Get moving, Chuck, or he ain’t making it!” Suddenly, sirens wailed, and the ambulance lurched into drive.

  “What can I do?” the woman demanded.

  “Nothing,” the EMT replied. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

  “I’m here because Harden Gage wants me to be here. And Harden Gage wants his best friend alive. If he dies in your ambulance, Harden Gage will not be happy, not with me, and especially not with you.” The threat hung in the air.

  That’s right. She worked for Harden. He probably ordered her to keep him alive. Harden may be used to granting someone their life or taking it to satisfy a vendetta, Julius could guarantee, unless Harden had made a bargain with the Grim Reaper, his employee would fail. Julius was fading. He could feel it, and no amount of browbeating or pistol whipping would change the outcome.

  “Leave him alone,” Julius managed between to say as he gasped for air. “He’s doing his best, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t expect an answer, yet heard. “Damn right, I’m doing my best. Like I’d do for anyone, Harden Gage or not. You want to help. Take this gauze and press it against his shoulder. He’s gonna bleed out before we get him to the ER.” The conversation occurred over his body and he couldn’t even protest because a fresh round of pain assaulted him, and his vision dimmed.

  “Hey, look at me! Focus on me!” she demanded, and Julius obeyed, fixing his blurry vision as best as he could on her. Funny how you notice things while bleeding out, random things that had no business in your head as you lay dying. Like the dimple in her left cheek. The slightly raised mole at the corner of her right eye. The wisp of hair dangling on her forehead that had escaped her tight bun.

  “I’m dying,” he said between sips of air, focusing on the woman in front of him.

  “No!” she said adamantly, as if she could command the Grim Reaper away.

  He kept her in view as she was braced above him, though it strained his neck to do so. Not a stitch of makeup on her cinnamon colored skin, though she didn’t need any. Her features were regular, nothing special, except for that one dimple, one mole, and a stunning pair of greenish hazel eyes. Not a unique color, but on her, they stood out. Hazel eyes set in a grim face.

  “Liar,” he groaned. “Not nice to lie to a dying man.”

  “You are not dying today,” she hissed. “You hang on. Understand?” She leaned closer, creating an intimate moment amidst the blood, gore, and sirens. The screeching machines added to the ambience. “Today is not your day.”

  “B-Because H-Harden said s-s-so.” He tried to joke and failed because a boulder sat on his chest. If only he could shove it off and take a deep breath.

  Her gaze hardened and she whispered fiercely. “No. Because I said.”

  Julius gave a half-hearted snort. God, he wanted to believe her. “And who are you?”

  She smiled but he may have imagined that because his body gave up the fight and he slowly drifted as her final words reached him. “I’m the one who’ll save you.”

  Chapter 3

  Julius came out of the fog into a world of pain, all of it centered on his chest. He tried to move, to crawl away from the agony. Not happening when he was too weak to move an inch. Something was in his mouth, lodged in his throat. He bit down and chewed on it, determined to remove the obstacle at any cost.

  “Hold on there,” a soft, husky voice said as warm hands touched his shoulder. Both soothed him. His gaze cut to the blurry outline on his right. The voice and gentle touch led him to believe it was a woman. That was all he could tell as darkness flickered at the edges of his consciousness.

  “Relax. The doctor is coming.” There was a raspy, familiar tint to her voice which had him straining to catch every word. “Doctor,” that’s what he caught and had a flash of panic as memories of the club, the sidewalk, Harden and the brotherly embrace, then pain exploded in his brain.

  Vision suddenly clear, his gaze darted to the IV pole laden with fluids and a bank of monitors full of squiggly lines. To his right something beeped and forced air into his lungs every few seconds. The pain moved from his throat to a burning sensation on the right side of his chest and down his arm, then dashed to his left side. He groaned but the sound was trapped deep in his throat.

  What the hell happened, and what the fuck is in my mouth?

  He reached out to snatch it free, but he couldn’t move his hands. It took another second for him to realize they were strapped down. His legs also.

  What kind of BDSM bullshit?

  “
Stop struggling.”

  Fuck that! Someone had restrained him against his will. He fought, raged to be free. In his weakened state it had the effect of a newborn wrestling an MMA fighter.

  “Calm down!”

  Vision swimming again, he blinked hard at the vague outline of someone curvy. The tension in his body ebbed. Could be he was exhausted. Could be it was her making his heart slow and his body slump into the mattress.

  “You’re in the hospital and they need you to be careful.”

  Careful? How much more careful could he be when he was already in a hospital and strapped to a bed?

  The swoosh of a door opening caught his attention, but he was too tired to care as multiple footsteps approached. Her outline was replaced by another. Her warm hands replaced by cold gloved ones.

  “Mr. Morgan… Julius!”

  He focused on the face in front of him until his vision cleared. Blink. Blink. The man leaning over him was older, late fifties, Julius guessed from his pasty, pockmarked from childhood acne skin. Expensive suit under a starched lab coat with “Daniel Frye attending physician” emblazoned in bold stitching on the breast pocket. Good, he wasn’t a know-nothing resident. The last thing he needed was to be a practice patient.

  “I’m your doctor. I’m going to remove the tube from your throat. It will hurt but you’ll feel better when it’s over. Cough for me.”

  The doctor hadn’t lied. It felt like sandpaper scraping the length of his throat, but he didn’t feel better when it was over. Not one bit. He ignored the buzz of attention around him and the medical jargon tossed around and concentrated on breathing. One breath in. One breath out. Something he effortlessly did since he entered the world, now it was manual labor.

  “Do you remember what happened to you?” the doctor asked.

  Did he remember? Yeah, yet wanting an outsider’s perspective, he shook his head. The doctor gave him a quick summation. Julius was shot twice in the back. The first bullet hit his right shoulder, clipped his scapula, and traveled down his back to the right of his spine and lodged in his lung. The second bullet entered his left flank to hit his kidney. He’d lost part of his right lung and his entire left kidney. Luckily, both organs had a spare.

  In other words, he was a fucking mess. But he was alive. That counted for something. The doctor went into detail about the recovery, but Julius wasn’t listening. His mind had latched onto one thing.

  “You’re going to be here quite a few more days to make sure no infection has set in. How’s your pain level?”

  “Excruciating.”

  The doctor nodded, turned to the nurse and mumbled something he couldn’t catch. The nurse left, and the doctor said, “You have a pump to manage your pain levels. Press it when you need a dose. Don’t worry, you can’t overdo it. The nurse will return with something to make you more comfortable and let you get some rest. I’ll return later to check on you.”

  Patience wasn’t one of his virtues, especially when in pain. The pain was vicious and all-consuming. The wait wasn’t easy. Gritting his teeth was all he could do.

  Nurse number one leaned against the guardrail and studied him, but she wasn’t a nurse, so why pretend to be one, even though he was glad she was here, and he wasn’t alone. “You look better than you did after the shooting. I didn’t think you’d make it. Harden would’ve taken it badly if you’d died.”

  Suddenly exhausted, Julius’ eyes slid closed. A dull ache had his shoulder throbbing in tandem with his left side and a death rattle issued with every breath. Fuck, he hurt. If this was the highest level of the pain meds, he had a problem, a big one.

  He realized he had another question, and croaked, “How long?”

  “Three days,” she answered.

  Seventy-two hours of his life was gone, and he remembered none of it. A mental check confirmed he still had toes, legs, a dick, abdomen—pain—chest—more pain. Shoulder—right arm immobilized across his chest. Agony flaring with each breath. Though each breath was a victory. Arms, head—a bit fuzzy. Lower left side, another slice of agony.

  A chair squeaked. His gaze cut to the woman at his bedside.

  “Get some rest. I got you. No one will get to you with me here.”

  Strange thing for a nurse to say, though her voice reached out and caressed him. “Your name?” he croaked through his dry throat

  “Calista Coleman.” She squeezed his arm. The warmth of her palm seeped beneath his skin. “You’re safe, Mr. Morgan. Now, rest.”

  Wait, she had said Harden’s name as if she knew him. “You’re no nurse.” His voice was hoarse, leaving his vocal cords aching.

  Her smile was an easy stretch of her generous lips, yet practiced, not genuine. The smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re correct. I’m not your nurse, Mr. Morgan. I’m your bodyguard.”

  Bodyguard. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, shit.” She agreed with him.

  “Who hired you?” His first guess was his assistant, Meckler.

  “Mr. Gage.”

  Julius would thank him when he saw him. “Who shot me?” He wheezed.

  Gaze steady. Tone flat. “That’s above my pay grade.”

  Harden would make it his business to find out. Once Julius was on his feet, so would he.

  “You’ve had a few visitors. Ms. Davis and Mr. Meckler.”

  “Carolyn? What did she want?” They broke off three months ago, not that things were remotely serious between them.

  “I didn’t ask. She was shown the exit.”

  He grimaced and it wasn’t from the pain in his chest. “How bad of a scene did she cause?”

  Her full lips quirked a bit which—he’d bet a grand— qualified as a full grin on her neutral face. “She could’ve sold tickets. Shall I call her and tell her you’re awake,” she offered with a hint of fake sweetness in her voice.

  “No,” he said quickly, followed by a groan as a sharp pain twisted through his side.

  She was at his side, silently watching as he regained his composure. He appreciated her silence. Coddling would only annoy him.

  “Meckler said he was your personal assistant,” she continued. “Since you were unconscious and couldn’t confirm or deny, we denied him access.”

  Julius could imagine how that went.

  “He was irate.”

  He gave a silent chuckle at the diplomatic spin she put on it. “I need Meckler,” he said but she’d turned away from him and walked to the door.

  “Noted. He’ll be given access.”

  The nurse returned to change his IV and drain his catheter bag. She made notes in his chart, all under the watchful eye of his bodyguard. “I’ll be right back with food for you, Mr. Morgan.” Boy, she was chipper.

  “Don’t get excited,” Calista said as the nurse left. “It’ll be broth and Jell-O. Nothing solid for a while.”

  He didn’t think he could keep it down anyway.

  Calista leaned closer. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?”

  He noted the concern in her voice and wasn’t impressed. Her concern was paid for, just like everything in his life was bought and paid for. Hard to judge loyalties when it came with a price tag. The sharp edge of pain ebbed, and he settled deeper in the bed. “No. You can go.”

  “I can stay.” She strolled over to the plastic chair, sat, and crossed her legs.

  “When I give you an order, you obey it.”

  “First, obey is the wrong word to use, Mr. Morgan. Second, you’re not my boss. Harden Gage is. He pays my salary. He tells me where to go and what to do… And he has never used the word obey. At least, not to me.” She snickered.

  He wanted to respond, had something witty on the tip of his tongue, but darkness swallowed him. When he woke she was gone, replaced by Harden.

  He looked worn, wrung out, and guilty. Not an emotion Harden had a lot of dealings with. Julius actually felt sorry for the bastard. Until pain rolled through his body. “You’re surprisingly unscathed.”

  The entire
event played out in his mind like a movie instead of random snapshots. There was nothing for Harden to be guilty over. “I’m glad you’re unscathed, but what happened?” If anyone knew, it would be Harden. He peddled in information because it was the true power and he was good at it. The new head of the New York syndicate, he damn well better be good at gathering and peddling information.

  Harden shrugged. “You got shot.”

  “No shit!” Julius snarled and regretted it when pain arced through his chest. He tried to hold out and managed until he broke out in a sweat and all of him trembled. He was losing the battle, but he’d go down fighting. He wouldn’t give in. He couldn’t.

  “I refuse to watch you suffer,” Harden snarled and grabbed the pump. He pressed the button and Julius had never been more grateful for the sweet injection of the good stuff. Within seconds a beautiful numbness spread over him.

  Harden had the decency to appear contrite, which was as close to a sorry anyone would ever get. Silence spread around and between them, a comforting embrace between friends where unnecessary words remained unspoken.

  “Enemies coming out of the woodworks like roaches,” Harden said after a while. “Three days later and I’m not sure who tried to kill me, but I will find out and take retribution, personally.” His tone was cold and determined.

  Tongue thick, it took effort to speak. “So, I was collateral damage.”

  Harden leaned against the footboard. “Unfortunately.” His gazed coasted to Julius’ shoulder, then his side. “Hanging around me is hazardous. More so now that I’m the boss no one wants to recognize. I didn’t want it to turn bloody, but my hands are about to get very, very dirty.”

  They were never clean. Julius kept that thought to himself. The obvious didn’t need to be stated.

  “You took a bullet for me.”

  “Two.” Julius felt the need to clarify and earned a dry chuckle from his friend.