Left (Still Standing, #1)

by Graves, T. R.

  What the hell? I'm not drinking another drop of alcohol for the rest of my life, and I'm completely sure I won't be able to choke down one bite of food.

  Ryker slaps the bellhop on the back when he says, "Thanks, Dante. Everything looks great."

  He slides a bill into Dante's hand. I'm across the room, but I'm sure I see a one and two zeros.

  Jeez! He must really like this bellhop.

  "You're welcome, sir," Dante says, beaming.

  Interesting for me is the fact that Dante's happiness has nothing to do with the money. It has everything to do with the respect Ryker is showing him, the gratitude Ryker offered for the hard work Dante's put into pulling together this breakfast for us. Suddenly, I feel guilty for swearing that I wouldn't eat a bite.

  Like a pro, Dante pops the cork on the champagne without losing a drop. Then he sets the opened bottle back in the ice bucket.

  After he leaves, Ryker grabs one of the fluted glasses and fills it halfway with the Cristal. He fills the rest of the glass with the orange juice. Since I assume he's making the mimosa for himself, I'm a little shocked when he walks over and holds it out for me.

  I shake my head and wave the glass away. "No thank you. I believe I've partaken enough to last me a lifetime."

  Ryker laughs but doesn't move away from me. He's as determined I'm going to drink his mimosa as I am determined that I won't. I glare at him and don't move a muscle.

  He purses his lips, and on anyone else, it would have irritated me. On him, it just makes him more god-like. "Have you ever heard the expression hair of the dog that bit you?"

  I squint my eyes suspiciously. "No, Ryker, I haven't."

  He laughs a beautiful musical laugh. "It means that the best cure for what ails you is more of it. Trust me on this. You won't feel better today unless you do this."

  He's still standing in front of me, holding the glass out to me, and there's no hint that he's not going anywhere until I've followed the doctor's orders. I knew last night that he was accustomed to getting everything he wanted. This just further proves my theory.

  Like a petulant child, I take the glass. He steps back just enough for me to stand. When I do, we are face to face, and I say, "Just so you know, I'm a nurse, and I'm not sure there is any medical literature that will support your remedy. I actually suspect you just want to get me back in bed, but that will never happen again. I'm not sure what the hell happened last night, but I do know that I don't do one-night-stands."

  Ryker looks hurt, and I immediately regret my words. Inches from my face, he stares at me long enough and hard enough to make my heart race. Everything about his beauty—the way his wounded ego transforms him into a man who is all the more gorgeous—makes it nearly impossible for me not to reach out to him. With that longing, I'm acutely reminded of a moment the night before (drunk or not) when I thought about how much I would like to sleep with him.

  Well, you did!

  With a chuckle that is now sardonic, Ryker says, "I can assure you, Baylee, when I fuck you, it won't be something you'll forget or wonder if it happened. You'll know it, and you'll want more."

  His vulgarity and his promise that we will one day fuck makes my breath hitch, and I'm suddenly unable to look away from the magnificent man standing before me. Despite our very intense interaction, I feel my shoulders relax with the knowledge that I'd not jeopardized my father's trust.

  "I'm not the piece of shit who left you, and I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of women in their hour of need. No matter how beautiful you are or how hard it was for me to fend you off, I have no intention of compromising my morals and ethics," he says.

  I gulp as loudly as he had earlier.

  "Now, drink up. You'll feel better. Maybe even a little less bitter."

  He's admonished me, and I absolutely deserved it so there's nothing I can say or do but follow his demands. A few minutes later, the glass is drained. Even though I hate to admit it, I do feel a lot better.

  Relaxing at the table all laid out by Dante, Ryker has an omelet sitting in front of him; he's holding a piece of half-eaten toast in his hand, and he's reading the Houston Chronicle. More important than anything is the fact that he is purposefully ignoring me.

  "I-I'm sorry, Ryker," I say softly while wringing my hands until all of the blood is squeezed from them. "I've inconvenienced you, and I'm acting as if you're the one who's inconvenienced me. I've never done anything like this." I wave my hands around the hotel room. "I'm ashamed of myself, and I shouldn't take this out on you."

  Instantly forgiving me, Ryker smiles. "You've not inconvenience me at all, and I'd really love it if you'd join me for breakfast. I have to eat by myself all the time. It would be nice to have company for a change."

  Ryker waves me toward the chair in front of him before taking a sip of his latte that has a rosetta leaf swirled into the milky foam. Needing a cup of coffee more than my next breath, I'm instantly jealous. He notices me staring at the cup and nods his head toward another cup like his that is sitting on my side of the table.

  Sitting, I sigh with relief and wrap both my palms around the oversized mug and cozy up with it. I breathe it in deeply before taking my first glorious drink.

  "Holy hell! This is the best cup of coffee I've ever had." I moan.

  Ryker laughs. "I don't know about the best ever, but it certainly is a good cup of coffee."

  I take another drink and grin. "I stand by my contention. The best cup ever. Hands down."

  "I'll defer to your judgment," he says with a giant grin.

  Ryker puts down the paper, and I see that he's been reading all about the dinner party he missed. A heaping tablespoon of guilt is added to the shame I've already been dealing with.

  "I'm sorry I ruined your evening," I mumble, putting my coffee down and hating myself like I've never hated anyone.

  "I told you last night... though you might not remember it... but I'll meet with those same people later this week. It'll be more productive that way. Stop worrying about me and that boring party. You have enough on your mind without that. I was thinking..." he says, clearing his throat and reminding me of a boy who's about to ask the head cheerleader to the prom. "Maybe the two of us could spend the day together doing something fun and getting our minds off our problems."

  Instinctively, I know his offer is more about him trying his best to keep my mind off of my very public breakup than keeping his mind off anything he has going on.

  I shake my head.

  "I think you've babysat me long enough. You have a life you need to get back to. I'll be fine. You won't have my suicide on your hands. I promise."

  As soon as the word suicide falls from my lips, I shrink. My mother committed suicide when I was a little girl. The effects... the after-effects aren't anything I would ever inflict on anyone. Especially not Dad.

  Ryker's eyebrows rise as if he's heard the seriousness of my thoughts. "Well, that is good news, but I've told you several times that I don't do anything I don't want to do. I have a free day, and I think you're free. Why don't we run by your place, let you get changed, and go in search of a daylong adventure? Woman's choice," Ryker says as if he's daring me.

  I send a mischievous grin his way. "I'm absolutely sure you're going to regret letting me decide what we do. I've lived here for two years. There are things I've wanted to do and haven't because Colt was busy working or Colt's father would turn his nose up to it." I challenge Ryker.

  Ryker winks at me and says, "Bring it on."

  Suddenly, I'm excited about a day that had the potential of being the worst day of my life just like last night.

  "Eat, and we'll go," Ryker orders.

  * * *

  Ryker and I are standing under the awning outside of the Hyatt, the hotel Ryker is calling home for the next few days... Weeks?

  When the ever-versatile Dante—still grinning from ear to ear—pulls up in front of us, driving a pure white Bugatti and Ryker walks toward the car like only an owner would, I say, "You
. Drive. A. Bugatti? You have got to be shitting me."

  Ryker laughs and says, "No... I'm not shitting you. This is my car."

  He doesn't need to tell me he loves it. I can tell by the way he admires its every curve and the gentle way he climbs in that this car is a prized possession for him. With a price tag of over two million dollars, I can absolutely understand why.

  Dante runs around to my side and opens the door for me. Intimidated and worried I'm going to do anything that will add one ounce of wear and tear to his perfect car, I slide into the white leather seat very, very carefully, making sure I don't touch anything unnecessarily.

  Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't like the white on white, but with this car... in this car, it pulls a punch that no other color could achieve.

  "Thank you so much, Dante," I say before he closes my door.

  In response, he tilts his head and says, "You're welcome."

  Ryker takes off like we're on the Audubon rather than the downtown streets of Houston. When I glance over at him, I see a man who is happy. Behind the wheel of this car, he's a little boy with his first toy. He doesn't treat it with kid gloves. This car was meant to be driven, and that he does.

  "You remembered Dante's name?" Ryker says randomly while we sit at a red light that turned so long ago that it would have been too blatant to run.

  I glance over at him and say. "Yes. You called him Dante this morning when he brought our breakfast."

  Ryker nods. "Yes... I suppose I did. It's just that most of the people I met wouldn't know he was the same person who brought our breakfast much less remember his name."

  Ryker is doing nothing more than stating facts, but there's a message behind what he's said that I want to explore.

  "Do you make a habit of knowing your bellhop's names?" I ask.

  Ryker smiles and nods. "At every hotel I go to, I take a few minutes to watch the employees' interaction with the guests. Once I find someone who takes his/her job seriously, does the job they were hired to do and does it with the passion of person who plans to do it the rest of their life, I go to the hotel concierge and ask for that employee to be assigned to me for the duration of my stay. At the end of the time and as long as I don't see another side of that employee, I reward them handsomely for their efforts."

  The instant the light turns green, Ryker takes off with such speed that seconds later I can't even make the light out in the rearview mirror.

  "That's very interesting," I muse quiet and to myself. At least, that's what I meant to do.

  "It's not interesting at all. My mother was a minimum-wage maid at a hotel until I was a teenager. She loved her job and did it well. When I see people who love their work as much as she did, I reward them for doing a job that will never make them rich."

  Hm!

  "You're a long way from a boy whose mother was a hotel maid," I say, waving my hand at the dash of his very expensive car.

  Ryker chuckles. "Yes. I am."

  After a few minutes of deep thought, Ryker says, "I began working at the hotel with Mom when I was sixteen. She'd taught me well. I met and welcomed every guest like they were royalty. I was covering as many shifts as they'd give me so I could help pay her doctor bills. She'd gotten real sick, and I was willing to do anything to make sure she had money for her doctor visits."

  Something about the pain in Ryker's voice when he mentions his mother's illness tugs at my heart. It's as if he's the teenage boy living through his mother's illness and the man of the house who had to help make ends meet all over again.

  "The hotel where she worked full time offered health insurance. The problem was that if she paid for the insurance, we wouldn't be able to pay our rent. Since we were living hand to mouth, she had to pay the rent and forgo the insurance."

  "After she'd been at the hotel for about five years, she started having problems. Without insurance and needing to work every day, she ignored the sporadic temperature spikes and the frequent bloody lip until she got so sick she collapsed at work."

  I'm fascinated by Ryker and the fact that he's sharing such intimate details with me, but I'm most interested in his mother's fate. Since my own mother committed suicide when I was ten, I can't help but wonder if he is as motherless as me.

  I hope not. Not having a mother to share things with is a tragedy I wouldn't wish on anyone.

  "A day after she collapsed, we found out she had non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Prepared to fight for her life, Mom filled out every piece of paper necessary to get on her company's insurance. With the news that she was officially covered, we were happy to have it and just knew she would be getting the best care anywhere. I mean, we lived in the Texas Medical Center for Christ's sake. When we tried to get her into MD Anderson, we found the insurance she'd worked so hard to get didn't cover pre-existing conditions. Since we already knew about her cancer, it was useless."

  Ryker turns reflective, suddenly keeping his story to himself. Given the subject and the fact that I have no idea how this is going to turn out, I—channeling patience I don't have—sit wordless in my seat and wait for him to continue... willing him to continue. The way he's gritting his teeth and rolling his jaw muscles leads me to believe the ending is not a happily ever after one.

  Did she live and do they have Sunday lunches when he's in Houston? Or... did she die, leaving a teenage boy to fend for himself?

  After several more deep breaths, Ryker continues. "Anyway... I was working late one night when a man, James Franklin, and two women climbed out of a car worth more than it would have cost for Mom's entire course of cancer treatments. The man winked at me, tossed me his keys, and strolled up to his room with a woman underneath each arm."

  "By midmorning, James was calling and asking for his car. When he saw I—still working twelve hours later—was the one getting it for him, he was curious about me. He asked why I was working so many hours, why I wasn't out chasing young girls. Near my breaking point and knowing I was about to lose my mother, I explained to him that I was willing to work as many hours as I had to in order to save my mother's life. I told him that MD Anderson wouldn't take her on as a patient until I could give them one hundred thousand dollars, and I swore to him that I'd work my fingers to the bones and die of exhaustion before I gave up and stood passively by while she wasted away and died.

  "I think I even told him how much I hated every man and woman working at the elitist hospital. With a meanness I've never felt before or since, I wished horrible things on them and their families.

  "James was instantly interested in me and my life. I was no longer the bellhop, but rather a young man who needed some help, and it was help he could offer. As if he were sent to me by God and our paths were destined to cross, he dialed a number on his cell phone and demanded that my mother be admitted to MD Anderson, even if he had to pay the hospital bills himself. Within twenty-four hours, she was at MD Anderson getting the treatment they'd denied her just weeks before.

  "When James found out we were living in the hotel so we could save as much money as possible and I could work every minute they gave me, he bought us a condo near the hospital, making it easier for Mom to travel to and from her treatments.

  "A few months later, we found out Mom was in remission and could go back to work. I sent James a letter, thanking him for everything he'd done for us. I told him I would do anything he asked me to do. I meant it then, and I mean it now," Ryker says quietly.

  His love for his mother and his respect for James is palpable. His unconditional loyalty to James makes Ryker even more fascinating than he was an hour ago.

  "A few days later, James knocked on the door of the condo he'd bought for us and asked me if I'd come to work for him. I agreed and have worked for him every day since. Some of that time was directly, and the rest has been indirectly."

  As if I'm possessed and absolutely unable to stop myself, I reach over, take Ryker's hand in mine, and intertwine our fingers. When his shocked stare jerks toward me, I feel self-conscious and try to pull my
hand back, cursing myself for acting on instincts.

  Refusing to let me go, he squeezes my fingers tight and a heartwarming grin crosses his face. Then he pushes the gas pedal. I'm instantly sucked deeper into my seat and can't hold in the giggle that bubbles from within.

  "This car is amazing!" I shout.

  Ryker laughs. "I know."

  CHAPTER 7

  HAIR OF THE DOG

  Baylee

  After we made it to the condominium, I realize—again—I don't have my purse and am glad I have an emergency key hidden above the entryway light next to the door. Unfortunately, I don't know Ryker well enough for him to see where it's hidden.

  "Can you drop me off out front? I'm going to have to drop by my neighbor's house and grab my spare key. I'll have it by the time you park and get up to the apartment," I say, tucking my hair behind my ear and turning to watch out the window.

  Ryker seems irritated when he says, "I can... but you don't need to lie to me about what you're going to be doing."

  My head whips toward the driver's seat. I'm shocked he knew I was lying and even more appalled that he called me on such an innocent lie. I wrinkle my brow and watch him, wait for him to elaborate.

  He may be driving, but it doesn't keep him from staring pointedly at me and saying, "I have to meet with lots of people. Make lots of deals. The biggest advantage I have over those people is my ability to pick up the telltale signs of a lie, and yours are obvious enough that even an amateur could pick up on them."

  He glances back at the road without even a hint that he plans to tell me how I gave myself away.

  "I-I just didn't want you to see where I hide my spare key and thought it would be better to lie than to tell you—to your face—that I haven't known you long enough to share something so private with you," I say, making sure I don't move an inch or look anywhere but at him.

  Ryker shrugs. "Was that so hard?"

  I soften. "No. Did I offend you?"

  He laughs. "Hell no! I happen to know you spent the night in a stranger's hotel room and have now agreed to spend the day with said stranger. I was beginning to wonder if you have any sense of self-preservation. At least now I know you do."