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“No.” I fold my arms across my chest and the action causes me to wince in pain.
Lincoln turns his head at me like a curious Labrador and I have to resist laughing. Who is this guy and what has he done with my boss? “What do you mean, no?” he asks.
“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need you payin’ my bills. It’s my fault I fell off my bike, and therefore, I’ll suffer the consequences.”
“What bike do you mean, anyway? Motorcycle?”
I shake my head. “No, mountain bike. My hobby. I hit a rock and went ass over teakettle, I did.”
He grins. “You amuse me with your metaphors. I find them refreshing. I am, however, not happy to hear you injured yourself. I want you in tip-top shape, so as soon as Gail gets here, you’ll be leaving. With me.”
So demanding and controlling. I’m kind of digging it, if I’m honest. Not that I’d ever let him in on that.
“Okay, fine. But you’re not payin’ for it. Sir.”
“We’ll see. Shut down your computer and grab your stuff. We’ll wait for her out front.”
I reluctantly obey and as soon as we get to the front, Gail is walking in the door.
“Oh, my God. Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a shoulder injury. I’m gonna get it checked out. Hurts worse than a snake bite!”
Her brown eyes widen as she twists her hair up into a bun. “You’ve been bitten by a snake?”
I wave with my good arm. “Just once, when I was twelve. I’m lucky though, wasn’t a rattler.”
“What do you mean, just once? That’s terrible!” Gail says, putting her apron on.
I chuckle. “My cousin Davey’s been bit three times! Although, he’s pretty dumb. Didn’t learn to stay away from the critters the first two times.” I shake my head.
“Let’s go,” Lincoln says, gently grabbing the elbow of my good arm.
Since I know he won’t let me drive my Toyota pickup truck, I don’t argue when he ushers me into the backseat of what I’m assuming is a very expensive car. A man who looks to be in his fifties holds the door open for me. Lincoln briefly introduces us before getting in. The driver closes the door before he climbs into the driver’s seat.
“Where to, sir?”
“Vanguard Imaging, Lucas.”
“On it, Mr. Silverstone,” he says, pushing buttons on a dash-mounted GPS.
“See,” I say, nudging Lincoln in the ribs, “he gets to call you Mr. Silverstone.”
“I’ve asked Lucas several times to call me Lincoln, but he refuses. He’s almost as stubborn as you are,” he replies staring at me. Then, he lowers his voice, “However, if you wish to call me that in a, ah… more personal setting, I won’t object.”
I swallow hard, rendered speechless at the blatant sexual innuendo. I cannot grasp this other side to him. Why is he being so friendly and flirty? Not that I mind. Not one single bit. That being said, they’ll be selling popsicles in hell before I let him pay my medical bills.
The car pulls up to a large medical center.
“I’ll wait out here,” Lucas says as he opens the back door.
Once we’re far enough away, I boldly ask, “Do you really need him to open and close your door? I mean, seems easy enough to do yourself.”
“It’s what he’s paid to do,” Lincoln replies.
I have a lot to say to that, but I shut my mouth as we walk down a long hall and enter through a glass door markedVanguard Imaging.
There’s nobody waiting, and we walk up to the receptionist.
