He wants a nurse? Fine. He’s going to get the best medical care his soccer money can buy. But he’s also going to get a front-row seat to exactly what he threw away. I’m going to be efficient, I’m going to be cold, and I’m going to make every single second of his recovery absolutely miserable.
I look at him again, watching him fail miserably at hiding his injury. “Are you taking anything for the pain?”
“Only at night,” he says. “I usually try to power through during the day.”
“Pain isn't a teammate, Luca. You don't ‘power through’ it. You’re just sabotaging your healing and making your physical therapy ten times worse.”
He lets out a rough breath, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face. “Yeah, my physical therapist pretty much hates me. How’d you guess?”
“I’m a medical professional, Mr. Chidubem. It’s my job to know when you’re being stubborn and stupid to the point of making life miserable for yourself—and everyone else around you.”
He almost smiles. The ghost of a dimple threatens to appear, and I have to look at my tablet to keep my pulse from flatlining. “So, if I decide to go with Aspen and Oak—”
“We both know you will,” I interject, my confidence cutting through his fake hesitation.
I know he wants me.
“If I sign on,” he continues. “How is this actually going to work, considering our...history?”
“As far as I’m concerned, when it comes to business, we don't have a history. We’ll have a contract.”
He lifts a dark brow. “And this contract entails what, exactly?”
I scoff, leaning back. “It’s a standard corporate agreement. It outlines your expectations as the client and mine regarding payment terms and deliverables. Simple.”
With a flash of mischief I get a glimpse of the old Luca. The man who knew how to push my buttons the moment he met me. “Fine, then. I’d like to amend my original request for services.”
I roll my eyes, bracing myself. “Okay. What are we amending?”
“I'll need the light cleaning services.”
“Standard. Fine.”
“And,” he leans in, his gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second, “I’ve been having a hard time getting in and out of the shower. I’ll require assistance with bathing.”
I suck in a sharp breath, my professional mask slipping just an inch. “I think you can manage a shower chair, Luca.”
“I can’t. I fell last week. Call my PT if you don't believe me.” He looks me dead in the eye, his expression dangerously innocent. “I haven't been able to properly wash in days. I didn't trust any of those other nurses to help me, but since we’re still legally family, I’d be comfortable with a sponge bath from you.”
This absolute asshole. How is he weaponizing his hygiene, right now?
“I’ll wash your back,” I snap. “That’s the limit.”
“Full upper body,” he counters, “or the deal is off.”
“That will be an additional thousand dollars a week for thespecializedlabor.”
He doesn’t even flinch. At this point, I’m pretty sure he’d pay a million just to see me hold a washcloth to his torso. “I can manage that. And if I need transport for matches or events, I’ll need you for that as well. Do you cross state lines?”
I think about the pro bono clinic I run on weekends at Biddy Mason Charter School and how much of Luca’s “guilt money” could buy new equipment or supplies for those families.“Travel requires five-star accommodations and an additional two thousand a week.”
He nods, looking satisfied. “Very well. It’s a deal.”
I instinctively hold out my hand to seal it with a handshake, but as he reaches out, I see him angling to bring my knuckles to his lips. I snatch my hand back before he can make contact.
“No, Luca. I’m serious. This is business. You broke and abandoned the possibility for anything else.”
The pain that flashes in his expression is raw enough to make me feel a twinge of guilt, but his face turns back into a mask of granite instantly. “Understood.”
