“You’re sure you want that, the Dancing Shrimp?” Imai asked before sipping his water.
“Yes. I love shrimp.”
“Odori-ebi it is then.” Imai raised his water glass to her in a silent salute and ordered grilled tuna with steamed rice and vegetables for their main course.
What did that mean? Kim raised her eyebrows at him, but Imai simply continued sipping at his water.
A little while later she found out when the waiter returned to their table ‑‑ with a plate full of live shrimp.
“What’s that!” Kim sucked in her breath, her eyes widening at the sight of the little crustaceans wriggling around on the rectangular, white porcelain plate. One of them looked like it was trying to make a dash for its life by slipping over the edge, but Imai reached across the table with a set of chopsticks and plopped it back next to the thin slices of cucumbers.
“It’s not to your satisfaction, miss?” The waiter gave her a puzzled frown. “Would you like your baby prawns fresher?”
Fresher? Kim gawked at the waiter. “No, no.” She swallowed. “They’re alive and kicking enough for me, thank you.”
Imai offered her the chopsticks. “This is a fabulous delicacy of sashimi,” he explained, his smile widening. “Enjoy.”
They were looking at her. Their legs were wriggling and their huge antennae were waving as if they were pleading for their lives and the one was trying to escape again …
Imai plucked the frisky one up with his chopsticks and grinned. “Looks like they didn’t leave this one in the sake quite long enough.” He plunged it into the small dish of sauce then took a bite. “Eat yours before they die,” he said lightly.
“I need to use the ladies’ room ‑‑ excuse-me.”
Once in the ladies’ room, Kim splashed cold water on her face, then leaned back against the sink. She’d probably just created an “international incident” the way people had been staring at her. She splashed her face again, then grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. Great, now she looked like a seasick raccoon with the mascara smeared under her eyes. At least she’d had the presence of mind to grab her purse instead of letting it slide off her lap when she bolted. She fixed her makeup, took a deep breath, then forced herself to go back to the dining room.
Thankfully the prawns were gone. Of course Imai remained sitting there like the freaking Cheshire Cat. “You did that on purpose,” she muttered as she slid back into her seat.
He took on a very snooty look. “I asked if you were sure that’s what you wanted. You said, and I quote, ‘I love shrimp.’”
“I do, but I don’t expect them to give me accusing looks.”
He laughed and she concentrated on unfolding the napkin on her lap.
“Consider it karma for the way your countrymen treated me when I was a kid.”
Kim looked up quickly. “You were born in America? No wonder your English is so good.”
He sipped his water. “I was born here in Tokyo. My father transferred to work with the Japanese Embassy when I was four until I was fourteen.”
“You’re rotten.”
He laughed again and saluted her with his glass, and Kim found herself smiling despite her annoyance with him. Surely there was a law against any man being so damn charismatic.
The waiter brought their entrée, and Kim persuaded Imai to regale her with his adventures growing up in Washington DC.
“And what about you?” Imai asked after the waiter brought them coffee following their meal. “What was it like growing up the all-American girl?”
Kim forced herself to stop gazing into those hypnotic eyes of his. She turned her attention to stirring sugar into her cup. “There’s not much to tell. I wasn’t so much the all-American girl as the poor piece of trailer-trash who fell for the first boy to pay attention to her.” Oh God, why in the world had she blurted that out?
“How did you end up in L.A.?” he asked after a time.
Kim looked up. “Mandy’s father. He joined the Marines and was sent to Camp Pendleton near San Diego. He went to the Persian Gulf and didn’t come back.”
Imai reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “I’m sorry for your loss. It must have been hard on your and your daughter.”
Kim looked away and pulled back her hand. “He wasn’t killed. He deserted when his platoon came back.” She looked up and managed a bit of a smile. “You can take the boy away from the trailer park, but putting a uniform on him won’t necessarily take the trashiness away from him.”
“Please don’t do that. Don’t belittle yourself because of where you come from. You’re more of a lady than any diplomat’s daughter.”
Kim sipped her coffee then looked at her watch. “We’d better get going or you’re going to miss your appointment.”
“I guess so,” Imai agreed without argument, probably for Kim’s sake. She wished now she hadn’t closed the conversation; talking with him had been surprisingly pleasant. When he wasn’t being an insufferable drama queen about things, anyway.
The waiter brought the check, and Imai slipped a gold credit card into the leather binder. While they waited for the receipt, Kim offered him a small smile.
“So, how did a diplomat’s son become a rock star?”
Imai laughed. “Does it seem that farfetched?”
“Maybe a little.” Kim tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Most of the musicians I met in L.A. got started in garage bands during high school.”
His expression soured a bit. Not a whole lot at all, but enough for Kim to notice. “Let me guess.” She bit her lower lip. “Your father wasn’t too happy about it, was he?”
The waiter returned Imai’s card and another brought over his crutches, and he and Kim headed toward the exit. “Let me put it this way. If you ask my father how many children he has he’ll say two. My mother, on the other hand, will say three ‑‑ but not within his hearing range.”
Kim touched his arm as they walked out. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She wanted to say more but thought better of it. It really was none of her business. They picked up the gift Imai had bought earlier, then headed to the medical center where Imai’s orthopedist practiced. To Kim’s surprise, Imai insisted that she accompany him into the examination room and introduced her as his private nurse. The doctor tried to suppress a definite grin, and Kim was certain that the nurse accompanying him had a decidedly pissed-off look. If she only knew how not fun working for Imai Shimizu could be.
Doctor Morimoto, who spoke English almost as well as Imai, gave Kim a nod of approval. “You have been doing a good job as his nurse,” the older man said. “Since Imai isn’t complaining too much, I see you’ve been keeping his medicine on schedule.”
Kim felt a swell of pride and self-satisfaction when Imai rolled his eyes at the doctor’s words. “Even though the patient might not like it all the time, I do try my best for his sake,” she said with a pleased little smirk in Imai’s direction.
“I can imagine.” Morimoto scribbled out a prescription for what looked to be a lower dose of the pain medication. He didn’t bother looking up when Imai huffed and made a face at Kim.
“Don’t let this go to your head,” Imai warned.
“Too late,” Kim replied, taking the prescription from the doctor.
Morimoto turned to Imai. “If you keep listening to her and taking care, you might be out of that cast a week or two early.”
“I want out of it now.”
“That’s impossible,” the doctor said.
“You said six to eight weeks. It’s been five and a half. I have a concert tour to rehearse for.”
Dr. Morimoto shook his head. “All the more reason to keep the cast on for the duration. You’ve only had this shorter cast for two weeks. If you injure yourself again, you’ll have to have the above the knee one back for the duration.”
“It’s best not to take chances with your health,” Kim said, going over to take a closer look at t
he x-ray on the viewing box.
She felt Imai’s glare stabbing her from behind, but she kept her attention on the x-ray. “Look at how well your bones are knitting together. Removing the cast is definitely not worth the risk if it means losing all this progress you’ve made.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Morimoto reopened his prescription pad. “You know, Donovan-san, I’m going to try reordering some calcium supplements for him.”
“Reorder?” Kim returned to her seat, ignoring Imai’s dark look.
“He wasn’t very receptive to taking vitamins with the other caregivers.”
“Ah, I see.” Kim made a tsk, tsk sound and took the prescription from Morimoto.
“Both of you are forgetting one thing,” Imai snapped. “I’m the patient, and I make the decisions. Which means I want this cast off now.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. He sounded just like Mandy when she didn’t get her way. “You want to regain full use of your leg, don’t you?” Kim snapped. “One false move, a little slip in the shower, and you might very well be crippled for life. Do you want to perform sitting in a wheelchair from now on?”
“She is correct, Imai-san. There could be serious complications ‑‑”
“If you don’t get this fucking cast off today, I’ll get it off myself.”
Kim stood and put her hands on her hips. “Oh, stop acting like a spoiled child. I’m sure you can practice your singing in a cast. I’ve seen you perform with your band; you don’t do any acrobatics. You don’t even dance. You can wait.”
Clearly furious, Imai stood up as well and crossed his arms over his chest. “No, I don’t prance around on the stage like a moron, but I still perform!” he fumed. “Being a halfway decent nurse doesn’t make you an expert in the music industry, so save the advice.”
Kim’s temper flared. “No, I won’t. Not when it means letting my patient put himself at unnecessary risk.”
The doctor cleared his throat, and they both whipped around to face him. “What?” they grumbled in unison.
“I have a suggestion.” Morimoto was obviously making an effort not to smile. “Since you’re both so adamant about this issue, and I understand both sides of the argument, why don’t we try an air cast?”
Imai scowled. “I don’t want the fucking cast.”
“But this is a good compromise.” Kim could’ve smacked herself for not thinking about it sooner. “The air cast is a protective boot that will keep your leg safe while it finishes healing, but it’s removable and much less cumbersome than the one you have on now.”
Imai’s scowl softened, and Morimoto took it as sign to call for his nurse to bring an air cast.
Dr. Morimoto gave Imai a stern look as he stood beside the tray of instruments to remove the fiberglass cast. “My recommendation is still that you leave this cast in place a minimum of two more weeks.”
“No.”
The doctor turned to his nurse. “Please note on Shimizu-san’s chart that he is adamant about the cast removal at this early stage.”
Imai opened his mouth, but Kim gave him a quick poke in the ribs and pressed her index finger to her lips.
“In addition to the walking boot, I’m going to wrap your leg in an elastic bandage that must remain on at all times with the exception of your taking a bath. A tub bath, no standing in the shower putting pressure on it until it’s fully healed. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Imai grumbled.
“You also must continue to use your crutches. Understood?”
Imai rolled his eyes like an impetuous teenager. “Yes.”
Morimoto turned to Kim. “If he experiences frequent or severe pain or swelling I want him brought to the emergency room immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just get on with it,” Imai growled. “I booked a recording studio for four o’clock.”
“You need to go home and rest,” Kim said.
“I need to work to pay your inflated salary.”
Her answer was a scowl.
The soft whirr of the cast saw interrupted Imai from retorting.
* * * * *
“That’s slightly better,” Imai said as they stood waiting for the elevator.
“Stop that!” Kim poked his arm. “Stop trying to put your weight on it.”
Imai stuck his nose in the air. “Oh, I so pity your daughter with a harpy like you for a mother. Do you let the child breathe on her own?”
“Yes. I let her do many things on her own.” Kim’s eyebrow twitched. “It’s my patients who tend to need the most supervision, actually. Constant supervision, in fact.”
“Is that so?”
The elevator door opened, and Kim invited herself to step in first. “Some of them end up regressing during treatment so they behave more childlike and immature everyday.”
“I think we both know those certain patients are completely ‘mature’ in every way.” Imai arched an eyebrow at her and gave her one of those irritating yet sexy smirks of his as he stepped inside.
Images from last night flashed through Kim’s mind, but she played it cool and licked her lips. “These patients also tend to have very inflated egos that distort their perception of reality.” She returned his smirk. “Not everything is as big or as important as they think it is.”
Chapter Twelve
They walked to the car park in silence until the valet tried to hand Kim the keys. Imai snatched them. “I can drive now.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Then call a taxi home for yourself. I have things to do.”
Kim huffed her displeasure and walked around to the passenger side of the car. “They don’t pay me nearly enough to deal with you and your attitude.”
Imai stared at her over the roof of the BMW, and she could only imagine the hard glint of his eyes behind the sunglasses. “Then quit.”
“I won’t give you the satisfaction. Sorry.”
Imai dropped into the driver’s seat and gave her a dry look as she climbed in. “I’m starting to think you’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”
“Second most stubborn person,” she pointed out before calmly buckling up.
Not as concerned with “professional decorum” as before, Kim Donovan had proved throughout the entire afternoon that she was more than a match for his sharp tongue. But as infuriating as her quips were, Imai couldn’t make himself stop feeling for her. Even knowing Kim didn’t return those feelings couldn’t bring an end to them.
He didn’t know what possessed him. Without any second thoughts, he leaned over and brushed his lips across her cheek.
Kim jumped as though he were a leper. “Why did you do that?”
“Temporary insanity,” he muttered before turning the key in the ignition. He gripped the steering wheel much harder than usual and kept this eyes glued to the road. He certainly wouldn’t make that mistake again. He should call Suzuki and have him fire her. With that damn cast off he had no real need for a nurse, and he needed a stylist who was used to working with concert clothing and lighting. He wanted this solo tour to be a great production, as intense as ChildsPrey but something all his own.
When they reached the private recording studio, he had one of Nakamura’s interns take his prescription to be filled.
“Is your leg bothering you already?” Kim asked softly. “Maybe you should rest and do this tomorrow.”
The concern in her lovely blue eyes and melodic voice almost made him forget his earlier annoyance with her. Almost. “I’m fine.”
She breathed a slow sigh. “All right, but please don’t push yourself. It will only delay your recovery.” With that she retired to a small leather sofa in the far corner of the control room and rummaged in her purse for a notebook and pen.
He snorted with contempt, glaring at her before moving into the recording booth. Though he was more pissed with himself than anything. Angry because of all the women in the fucking world, he had to fall for the one who wasn’t interested.
“I
mai-san, are you ready?”
“Yes!” he barked at the producer manning the recording equipment, silencing the other man immediately with his sharp tone. “Just get on with it, I don’t have all day.”
Inside the control room, Kim looked up from her notebook. What had happened now? The technicians talked among themselves in Japanese, but she guessed from their irritated looks they weren’t too happy with Imai’s current prima donna attitude. But then she was the last to blame them for that.
She shifted her gaze to the large window separating the studio from the control room. Imai was perched on a high stool, shifting through some sheet music on a stand before him. One of the technicians said something to him in Japanese. He replied, then picked up a set of headphones. The technician turned to Kim.
“Imai-san wants you to bring him water.” He pointed to a mini fridge in a corner on Kim’s side of the room.
She glanced to the window that separated the booth from the studio. Imai was giving her a pissy look and making a “hurry-up” motion with his hand. Great, so he was showing off for the guys. Jerk.
Setting aside her purse and notebook, she got the bottled water and went through the door to the studio. She handed him the bottle, and he grabbed her wrist when she turned to leave. “Stay.” He indicated a padded stool against the side wall.
“No. I don’t want to ruin anything. I might make noise or cough or something.”
“I want to run through these with an audience. Stay. Move the chair there where I can see you.”
As she pulled the chair to a spot just across from Imai, Kim rolled her eyes at his attitude but decided against saying anything. She was starting to learn that Imai’s fussiness, much like a cranky baby’s, could be diffused as long as not too much attention was given to it.
“Are you r ‑‑” the producer in the control room started to talk over the speakers and promptly clammed up when Imai gave him an irritated look. He sipped the water Kim had brought and then lifted the headset to one ear so he could listen to the instrumental tracks clearly while singing.
Under a Silver Moon Page 10