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“Doc.”
“You dick,” I mutter, and he smiles. “Feeling better?”
“Peachy.” He wriggles his head on the pillow. “Bet you’re reconsidering letting me hire Beau now, huh?”
“Do you honestly think Beau would be fulfilled doing the club’s accounts?” I ask on a laugh. “She was nicknamed Lara Croft, Brad. Pen-pushing isn’t in her.”
He pouts. “Accepted.”
“Good, now shut the fuck up about it.”
Knock, knock.
“Come in,” I call. “That’ll be your coffee. Or your tea.” A few seconds later, the door opens. It’s not a Starbucks, and it’s not one of Esther’s good old English cups of tea. An explosion of red appears. “Pearl?” I say, getting up from my chair, thinking she’s probably lost. Looking for the TV room. The kitchen. The—
“Hi.” Her accent is local to London. Surrey, at a guess. She looks better, brighter, more awake and less sallow.
“You okay?” I tilt my head, curious, seeing her look past me.
“Just checking on... Brad?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, looking back, seeing the man himself as stiff as a board on the bed. “That’s Brad.” His eyes are fixed on Pearl. The atmosphere is thick. I feel like an imposter.
Should I leave?
She’s nibbling her lip, awkward as fuck, and Brad is doing nothing to make her feel comfortable. “I’m just gonna use the—”
“What can I do for you?” Brad asks, sounding cold and curt. Intended?
“I just wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
“Well”—Pearl glances at me, taking the hem of her shirt, definitely one of Beau’s, and twists it in her grasp—“for rescuing me.”
“This ain’t no fairy tale,” he grunts, scowling at himself, resting a palm over his wound. “I’m no white knight.”
“I never said you were.” She stands taller. “I just wanted to thank you.”
“Thank him too, then.” Brad points at me, and Pearl smiles awkwardly. What the fuck is he doing, other than making himself look like a total wanker?
“Thanks.”
I wave it off. “Good to see you looking better.”
She backs out of the room, looking uncomfortable, and as soon as the wood comes between us, I turn to Brad. “What the fuck was that?”
He huffs and looks away.
“You didn’t have to be such a dick.”
“What does she want from me?”
“Nothing. Maybe an appreciation of her appreciation.”
“She’s deluded. She thinks because I helped her out of there I’m some sort of hero.”
“She’s twenty-one. Of course you’re her hero, you knob.”
