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“No point in losing pay. I can take her. Can you inform her manager she is unwell?” Perry says, and my friend nods robotically as she watches in fascination. I can tell by the excitement leaking into her concerned eyes that this Perry guy is just as well known as our boss. He walks us the last few steps to the sleek car, helps me in and hangs over the door frame. “If you’re sick in his car, he will literally never forgive you,” he says, shutting me in. My friend waves sheepishly at me through the windshield as I stare back in confusion.
Perry joins me and closes us in.
“Maybe we should book an Uber?”
My suggestion is met by a blank stare. “Absolutely not. I’ve wanted to drive this thing for months. You’re doing me a favour.” He flashes me a bright smile.
The drive is uneventful, and by the time we arrive at the hospital, I’m feeling a little better. Perry escorts me inside, and we are seated after a brief chat with the nurse.
“I’m going to lose my job, aren’t I?” I wring my hands and keep my face averted as Perry leans on his knees. I don't want to witness the pity on his face. It was already evident when my boss fired me back at the hotel—twice I caught his eye and saw him looking at me with the same kind of defeat one might view a vulnerable and cornered animal about to be eaten by a predator.
“Cain can be too quick to react. I mean, you did puke on his shoes.” He chuckles deeply.
“He...you...I was knocked down. Look at my face!” I gape, pointing at my deformed forehead.
“I am. You’re gorgeous, alien lump and all.” He winks.
“Is it really that bad?” I ignore his compliment and slouch back on the uncomfortable waiting chair. I start messing with my fringe, suddenly conscious of the bump.
“I mean, you’ve got an impressive lump on your head, but your fringe covers it.”
“What about the word idiot written there for calling my boss a prick?” I say, embarrassed. That particular moment has become stuck on repeat in my mind: the words as I angrily uttered them, the hostile shock on his face when he heard them, and the moment my stomach lost all control. It keeps playing over and over. How those few words had cut through his vacant interest and set it on a knife's edge. He went stiff, stood taller and broader as though he was carrying the entire hotel on his back, ready to launch at me, his face contorted in sharp rage. His teeth had snapped together before he ended it all with his parting shot. He’d been large and authoritative, with his deep and rich tone angled to wreak havoc at a moment’s notice.
Perry laughs, loud and impressed. “I’ve got to admit, I’ve never witnessed anyone call my friend a prick before.” He kicks back, hooks his ankles together, and knits his fingers behind his head. “I mean, other than myself.” He snorts out a laugh.
“Please don’t laugh. I need this job. I’ve not long moved here. It was hard enough securing my position when the hotel was taken over. Shit.” I sigh, rubbing my temples.
“You know, you have a pretty vulgar mouth for front-of-house.” That timbre—the slow, deep rumble has me stiffening. I slowly look up as my boss lowers into the chair opposite mine. He straightens his suit at his wrists and the bright hospital light glints off his watch and cufflinks. His feet are placed firmly apart. He’s in steel grey from head to toe. Gone is the black suit from before. I swallow a blush. “You finally have some colour back in your face,” he observes, his nostrils flaring with annoyance. His sudden appearance had led me to believe he was regretful of his behaviour back at the hotel, that some small part had niggled at him in my absence and resulted in him driving here to rectify the situation. However, his posture, the low but crisp way in which he speaks, suggests otherwise. His brow has left the soft curve of his face and is arched high in question. His lips have since twisted into a brutal sneer—add that to his well-built frame, and he is unnervingly intimidating.
“Shame that my legs don’t meet your standards,” I mutter.
“They’re nicely bruised,” he quips. I frown and look down. Lifting my skirt enough to see my knees are, in fact, scuffed and bruised. I look at Perry, who is giving him, Cain, a hard stare.
“No thanks to you two.” I can’t quite bring my eyes to meet my boss again. Perry, who is far more relaxed and easy-going, slings an arm around my neck and grins at me.
“Ah, don’t be like that. You’d never have met me if I hadn't knocked you on your arse.”
“Oh, so it was you!” I laugh shortly. My boss shifts in his seat and glares my way, nailing me to the chair. I go rigid and unhook myself from Perry’s grasp, muttering about how long we will have to wait. I go from staring at my fingernails to picking at the seam on my skirt, but every now and then, I lift my gaze to find my boss’s burning right back. The hairs on my neck pucker and stand to attention. My heart is still perfecting a scattered pulse, and when our eyes lock, my lungs collapse quicker than a punctured balloon.
“Miss Lauren Lindel?” I startle in my chair.
“That’s you, alien head.” Perry nudges me, and I giggle nervously. My boss is still staring at me. Eyes hard. Knuckles white as he works his hands against one another, cracking one of two fingers in the process. Why is he here? It’s painfully obvious he would rather be somewhere else. His agitation overlaps his beauty and has those around him faltering upon inspection. I get up and move away, but stop and look back at both men. Suited, lounging, almost model-like in the waiting room. I hate to admit it, but I agree with Amberley. He's hot. It's all she has said since we started—how hot our boss is. Both of them are, in their own right. Perry is cheeky and roguish, Cain athletic, brooding and intimidating. I scan a look around and see women eyeing them up.
“I appreciate you bringing me, but I can probably make my own way home.” I clear my throat and give them a small smile of thanks, hoping to God my boss takes pity on me and allows me to keep my job. He doesn’t speak, even though his lips twitch to deliver words I’m sure I’m not ready to hear, and his jaw flexes in a way I know will only cause more upset. When his shoulders rise in agitation, I begin to step away. A shiver sweeps down my spine, and my eyes widen in concern that he may stand and humiliate me once more in front of these people. However, those large hands knit together between widely spread thighs, and he drops his head, watching me with thinly veiled dislike. I’m already walking away when I stop for a second time and look back at Cain—or Mr Carson-Ivory. “I’m sorry about.” I point to his clothes, my cheeks burning hotly. I want him to like me. I need him to feel an ounce of sympathy for my predicament. Desperation burns brightly in my gut and has my insides squirming in fear. I need this job. I have an apartment, bills, and a loan to pay off. I can’t return home. “The grey looks better.” I hold my compliment in two loosely clasped hands and deliver it with a shameful gleam of hope in my eyes. I even grin when Perry laughs loudly and find myself flicking a look between them to try and ascertain my boss’s mood. No words are spoken in response. His grimace doesn’t falter, and those eyes that I know will have left many women melting and men baulking are an unwavering dagger to my chest. Sighing, I follow the nurse across the waiting room and through a set of locked doors, where she escorts me to another bay to wait for more tests.
Chapter2
Lauren
It’s a long wait from one room to another. When I’m finally given the all-clear, I’m shocked to find Perry is still waiting for me in the main accident and emergency room. “Oh, I didn’t think you’d stay. It's been hours.” I blush.
Perry jumps up and walks to me. “So, what’s the verdict? ET on his way for you?”
“Haha. Mild concussion. Just got to take it steady. I feel a lot better minus the headache,” I inform him, scanning the room for my boss, but I can’t see him anywhere. I refrain from asking the only thing that has been on my mind since I left both men—do I get to keep my job?
“Let’s get you home.” Perry holds out his elbow for me to take. Tentatively, I slip my fingers through the small crook and tilt to look up at him, trying to gauge some sort of answer in his disposition alone.
“I can go back to work. I need some bits from my locker anyway.” I have no intention of going home. I need to make up the hours I’ve lost today. I angle for an answer, assuming that he and Mr Carson-Ivory have already spoken about my job, but his answer is as elusive as my boss’s mood.
