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Meanwhile, the man trying to exit the SUV’s rear seat was thin, borderline gaunt, muscles withered away from long hours spent still and sedated. The dark smudges under his eyes made it plain he hadn’t been getting much sleep as of late. He remained good-looking, but if his rigid posture and pinched features were any indication, he was far from carefree.
Vital, healthy, fit? None of the descriptions she’d seen in press clippings applied to the man now.
“I’ll get the wheelchair, Mr. Faust,” said the man who’d come around from the front passenger side.
“No! I’ll walk,” he bit out in an angry rasp that carried to Brigit despite the howling wind.
“But, Mr. Faust—” the driver began, only to be shouted down.
“I said I’ll walk, Lou! I’m not a freaking invalid!”
Kellen swung his left leg out the door without too much effort, but when it came to the right one, he had to use his hands to manipulate the limb over the threshold. Then, lowering himself to the running board first, he eased to the ground. He held a cane in one hand. He used the other hand to grip the door frame. Unfortunately, neither support was enough to save him. A mere second after both of his feet hit the driveway, his right knee buckled. The man he’d called Lou caught Kellen under his arms before he hit the pavement. Ripe cursing followed. The other man rushed forward, as did Brigit, determined to help.
“Who in the hell are you?” Kellen bellowed, shaking off the hand she placed on his arm.
She pushed back her hood and offered what she hoped was a professional smile. Wouldn’t it just figure that she looked her absolute worst for the occasion? Despite the rain slicker’s hood, her hair was damp, and the bangs that she was three months into growing out were plastered against her forehead. As for makeup, she doubted the little bit she’d applied that morning lingered on her eyelashes and cheeks now. Her feet were bare, her calves spattered with wet sand. It was hardly the professional image she’d planned to portray when she first made his acquaintance.
“I’m Brigit Wright.” When he continued to stare as if she were something to be studied on a slide under a microscope, she added, “We’ve spoken on the phone and via email for, well, several years. I manage Faust Haven.”
That news elicited not a polite smile, but a snort that bordered on derisive.
“Of course you do.” His gaze flickered down in seeming dismissal. Although he said it half under his breath, she heard him well enough when he added, “I had you pegged right.”
So, the man had preconceived notions of her, did he? That didn’t come as much of a surprise. And to be fair, she entertained plenty of her own where he was concerned. Still, it irked her that, after a mere glance, he could so easily marginalize her—both professionally and, she didn’t doubt, personally.
Brigit cleared her throat and drew herself up to her full height of five foot six. Since he was hunched over, it put them nearly at eye level. When their gazes connected she didn’t so much as blink. Using her most practiced “boss” tone, she told him, “I wasn’t expecting you. Your email, which I received only this morning, said you wouldn’t arrive until the day after tomorrow.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Obviously.”
“I was in Charleston visiting...” His words trailed off and his expression hardened. “I’m here now. I trust that’s not a problem, Miss Wright.”
“None whatsoever,” she assured him with a stiff smile. “I just wanted to explain that your quarters, well, they are not ready at the moment.”
“Am I expected to wait out here until they are?” he demanded irritably.
Standing under the portico, they were protected from the worst of the rain, but the wind pushed enough of it sideways that it splattered them every now and again.
“Of course not,” she replied as heat crept into her cheeks. What was she thinking, keeping a guest of his position, much less his current condition, out in the elements? She turned on her heel and marched toward the lobby entrance, calling over her shoulder, “Right this way, gentlemen.”
* * *
Kellen didn’t follow the ever-efficient Miss Wright inside to the elevator. Rather, he allowed Lou and Joe to half drag, half carry him in the direction of the door. He’d ticked her off but good. No surprise that, since he’d been so rude. Another time, he would have felt bad about the way he’d treated her. Unfortunately for her, both his usual good humor and his abundant charm had gone the way of his right leg. That was to say, fractured beyond repair. Or so the doctors claimed. They were wrong. They had to be. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life like this...barely able to walk. A mere shadow of the healthy, active man he used to be.
The elevator doors opened after a bell dinged, announcing their arrival. The lobby looked different than he remembered from the last time he’d been to Faust Haven. Gone were the deep green, gold and maroon that had always struck him as more suited to a Rocky Mountains cabin than an ocean-side resort. Varying shades of blue and turquoise dominated the color scheme now, accentuated with weathered white and a pale yellow that reminded Kellen of sand. Overhead lights, along with the glow of table lamps, gave the lobby a warm, welcoming ambiance despite the storm that raged outside.
He exhaled slowly, and some of the tension left his shoulders. He remained a long way from relaxed, but he knew one thing for certain. He’d been right to come here.
He’d been second-guessing the decision to leave Switzerland ever since his plane touched down in Raleigh and the only one to greet him at the airport had been his mother’s ancient butler holding a hand-lettered sign bearing Kellen’s name. Orley hadn’t changed much, but Kellen apparently had. The older man hadn’t recognized him. Of course, it had been nearly a dozen years since Kellen had set foot in his boyhood home in Charleston.
And it had been longer than that since he’d been to the island.
He glanced around again. “This is...this is nice,” he said to no one in particular.
“The remodeling was completed last fall. All of the guest rooms have been updated in a similar color scheme.” She cleared her throat. Her tone was just this side of defensive when she added, “I emailed you numerous photographs.”
He didn’t remember the photos. He probably hadn’t bothered to open the attachments. Too busy burning through his trust fund to care, he thought with a mental grimace. Well, he was done with that. In a way, the accident had forced his hand. He couldn’t ignore his responsibilities any longer. It was time to put his degree to use and start earning his keep.
“They didn’t do it justice,” he murmured.
Nor, Kellen admitted, had the image he’d had in his head done her justice, despite what he’d just said about having her pegged.
For the past five years, he’d signed her paychecks, given the reports she’d dutifully sent on the first of each month a quick skim and approved her capital improvements—all while offering minimal input. This had been accomplished remotely. He’d never laid eyes on the woman to whom he’d entrusted what was now all that was left of to his birthright...until now.
She’d shed the old-man-and-the-sea rain slicker and stood in front of the reception desk wearing an aqua-blue polo shirt adorned with the inn’s logo and a pair of white shorts that skimmed to mid-thigh. Nice legs—tanned, toned and surprisingly long for someone who probably topped out at five and a half feet. His gaze lifted to her waist, which was small, before rising to her breasts, which were just the right size to fill a man’s hands.
He tore his gaze away, surprised to find himself ogling the woman—his employee no less—as if he were some sort of sex-crazed frat boy on spring break. At the same time, he was a bit relieved by his reaction, as base as it was. He’d felt dead for so long...
“I need to get off my feet, Miss Wright. Sooner rather than later, if you don’t mind.” Pain turned his tone surly.
“Of course.” She gave a curt nod. “Follow me.”
Pride demanded that he do so under his own steam, as slow as that would make the going. He took his cane from his driver before turning to Joe.
“Help Lou with the bags.”
Officially, Joe was his physical therapist, but the younger man didn’t mind pitching in as an extra pair of hands when needed. He was being paid well enough, and it wasn’t as if he was kept particularly busy since Kellen regularly skipped his daily stretching and strengthening workouts.
He knew he needed to do them, of course. But knowing and doing were two different things. Hell, some days, Kellen was lucky to get out of bed at all, especially when specialist after specialist offered such a grim prognosis.
He shifted from his good leg to the bad one. Even using the cane to bear much of his weight, the pain was excruciating. He bit back a groan and wondered for the millionth time if it had been wise to swear off the narcotics his doctor prescribed, even if they had made him dizzy and brain-dead. Even if secretly he’d worried that the lure of oblivion might prove too much and he would wind up addicted.
His progress was slow, his gait uneven and lurching, although at least he was able to bear his weight. Brigit turned around once, concern obvious in her expression, but she didn’t offer any assistance. Even when he stumbled before catching his balance, she kept her distance and said nothing. Apparently, his rude dismissal of her help outside had done the trick. He was glad for that. Kellen hated the way people were always rushing to his aid, opening doors, clearing a path for him. For the invalid. Hell, he was surprised they didn’t try to wipe his mouth or other parts of his anatomy as if he were a damn baby.
Women had been among the worst offenders. That was one of the reasons he’d ditched the entourage of females that had routinely crashed at his chalet. As for his male friends, the number had dwindled to nil once it had become clear Kellen no longer would be throwing any of the parties for which he had become legend.
Users and hangers-on, every last one of them. What did it say about him, Kellen wondered, that the only loyalty he commanded was among people such as Joe and Lou and, yeah, Miss Wright, all of whom were on his payroll?
