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“Sure.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “I just hope Ty doesn’t break her heart. She’s a nice person, and I’d hate to see her get hurt.”
“He retired for her. Not many men would do something like that. He must love her.”
They walked a few more feet, and Jules opened the door to a little deli and the two stepped inside. The smell of fresh-baked bread made Chelsea’s stomach growl. “Love doesn’t always work out,” he said.
She knew that well enough. She’d been in love a few times, only to be dumped flat on her behind. But she’d always picked herself back up and moved on. In the past, she’d let lust and love get all mixed up in her head. She’d let a pretty face, hot body, and slick moves convince her that what she felt was love. The kind that lasted forever. The kind her parents had shared. I
t never had worked out for her, but she was sure she’d find someone someday. “You sound a little cynical.”
He shrugged, and they moved toward the counter. “I always go for girls who don’t like me or just want to be ‘friends.’ God, I hate it when a woman just wants to be friends.”
She wondered if he was talking about his boss. She looked up at the chalkboard menu and asked, “Who just wants to be your friend?”
Jules shook his head. “Never mind.” He ordered a turkey and Swiss, tons of veggies, and no mayo. “How’s your first day of work?”
Chelsea ordered a ham and cheddar, hold the veggies, yes to mayo. “Are we changing the subject?”
“Yep.”
How was her first day? She’d survived and had even managed to find a Betsey Johnson skirt on sale at Neiman Marcus. But…“Mr. Bressler is difficult.”
“I’ve heard. In just over a month, he’s gone through five health care workers. You’re the sixth.”
She hadn’t known the exact number, but she wasn’t...
Chelsea scarfed her ham sandwich and made it back to the Spitfire at ten after two. She’d used the extra ten minutes to pull the Mercedes in front of the bar so Mr. Bressler wouldn’t have to walk the extra block. Surely he’d be grateful.
The crowd had thinned out, and she waved to Colin as she walked to the VIP lounge. Deep male laughter filled the back of the room, and it wasn’t until Chelsea saw Mark that she realized the laughter came from him. Donda sat on the edge of the red sofa, one of her hands resting on his knee as she spoke, gesturing wildly with her other hand. Several empty appetizer plates and glasses sat on the table in front of them. Chelsea pulled out her BlackBerry and looked at it as if she were consulting a schedule. “We have just enough time to get you to your next appointment,” she said. Celebrities loved looking important. Like they were always off to something bigger and better. Most of the time it was a little white lie.
“I just have a few more questions,” Donda said.
Chelsea glanced up and looked at Mark. His brows were drawn as if she was speaking a language he didn’t recognize. He was probably confused about the little white lie. He’d never had his very own personal assistant and wasn’t familiar with how she worked and what she could do for him. Soon he’d be singing her praises. “I’m double-parked in front, but if you need more time, I can come back.”
“I think we’re done.” He reached for his cane.
“Thanks for meeting me, Mark.” Donda rubbed her hand a few inches up his leg, and Chelsea wondered if that was professional behavior for a Sports Illustrated reporter. She’d bet not. “If I have any follow-ups, I’ll be in touch.”
He planted his good hand on the arm of the sofa and stood. He sucked in a breath, then clinched his jaw, and Chelsea wondered when he’d last taken his medication. If it had been that morning, she needed to get him home. Though surely he would have brought something with him. But as they moved through the lounge, his steps were a bit slower and more measured than they’d been an hour ago.
“Take care, sweetheart,” Colin called out to her. “Come back when you can stay.”
She flashed him a smile. “Bye, Colin. Don’t work too hard.”
As they stepped outside, Mark asked, “Boyfriend?”
“I’ve only been in Seattle a little more than a week. Not nearly long enough to find a boyfriend.” She shoved her sunglasses on her face and moved to the double-parked Mercedes. “Give me a few more days,” she said as she opened his door. Then she glanced at the street traffic and ran around to the driver’s side before he could complain about her opening his door. “Make it a week,” she addpan„ed as she slid inside the car.
He looked across the car at her and shut his door. “That long?”
She was sure he was being facetious, but she didn’t care. “Finding guys to date isn’t a problem. A boyfriend takes more time,” she said as she turned off the hazard lights. “There are lots of hot guys like Colin around. Guys who look good in a pair of jeans and a wife-beater. Those guys are fun, but they aren’t real boyfriend material.” She belted herself in.
“So poor Colin is off your list?”
“Nah. I’d go out with him.” She shrugged. “He thinks I’m spunky.”
“That’s one word for you.” He grabbed his sunglasses from the collar of his T-shirt. “Another word would be ‘pit bull.’”
“Yes.” She slid the car into drive and pulled away from the Spitfire. “But I’m your pit bull.”
