Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Alpha Males (48 page)

He didn’t deserve her thanks.
 
If he hadn’t been messing around like
that, making fun of her for working at Bob’s Big Boy, none of this would have
happened.
 
She would be safe and
sound in the booth of the restaurant, her biggest worry being how she was going
to get rid of her annoying mother.

His jaw set as he pulled out of the parking
lot.
 
It was the first time he’d had
someone he cared about in the car with him since… well, in a long time, and it
was making him anxious.
 

Ten minutes later, they pulled into the parking
lot of Cape Cod Hospital, and he got Lindsay out of the car and inside.

The ER was surprisingly deserted.

A bleach blonde receptionist handed them a
clipboard with forms to fill out.
 
Lindsay insisted on trying to do it herself, but since she was
right-handed, and that was the wrist she’d hurt, the clipboard kept falling to
the ground.

“I’ll fill them out,” Chace said finally.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he shot
her a look that let her know he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
 
She nodded, then recited the information
to him so he could write it down.

When the nurse came out to call her in, Chace
stood up.

Lindsay looked at him.
 
“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”
 
Right.
 
Of course he wasn’t
going in to see the doctor with her.
 
That would be ridiculous.
 
So
even though every fiber of his being was screaming at him not to let her out of
his sight, he sat back down.

She was gone for what seemed like forever.
 
He paged through a copy of Sports
Illustrated, but he wasn’t really paying attention to what he was reading.
 
All he could think about was Lindsay.

When she finally emerged, she looked much
better.
 
Her face had returned to
its normal color, and her wrist was in a splint.
 

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Now he could get her home and take care of her.

And then he saw the look in her eyes.
 
It wasn’t one of gratitude that he was
there to drive her home, or even one of anxiousness about her injury.
 
No.
 
All that flashed in Lindsay’s eyes now was pure, red hot anger.

***

Her wrist had only been sprained, which was a
relief.
 
A broken wrist, the doctor
told her, would have required a cast and a six week rest period.
 
There was no way she could afford to
take that much time off, not with the deadlines she had and the fact that she
wouldn’t get another check until she turned her book in.

She was given a splint to wear, with strict
instructions not to use her wrist for two days.
 
She was supposed to ice it every few
hours, and take a double dose of ibuprofen every six. Once she found out she
was going to be fine, the shock of what had happened began to wear off.
 
And along with it went her gratitude to
Chace for taking care of her.

Now she was just pissed.
 
She wouldn’t have been in the kitchen in
the first place if Chace hadn’t been messing with her.
 
Of course, it had been her decision to
go back there, but still.
 
He was so
antagonistic.
 
Like how he’d just
shown up at her house last night, accusing her of stealing his dog.
 
And this morning!
 
Chace had come over demanding she let
him fix her fence, and then took his shirt off right in front of her! What a
show off.

He was one of those ridiculously good-looking
men who thought they could get away with anything because of their looks and
charms.
 
God, it made her
angry.
 

She stormed into the waiting room, intending to
give him the silent treatment for the rest of her life.
 
He was sitting exactly where she’d left
him, a magazine open in his lap.
 
When he saw her, he stood up.
 
He looked so concerned and worried that she almost believed it.
 
Almost.

She stomped over to the receptionist window and
paid her bill, then walked right outside to the parking lot.
 
She waited by the passenger side of his
truck, and as soon as he unlocked the door with the key fob, she pulled on the
handle with her left hand and got in.
 

She didn’t need to be taken care of.
 
She wasn’t some damsel in distress, or
some silly schoolgirl he could just have sex with and toss away, like that girl
he’d brought home the other night.

He got inside and started the car, guided it
out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

She decided to forget the silent treatment and
start yelling at him, but she didn’t know where to start.
 
She ran through a bunch of different
openings in her mind, but none of them seemed fitting.

“I’ll pay the medical bill, of course,” he said
after a few moments.

“You’re damn right you will.”
 
She glanced at him out of the corner of
her eye, saw his face harden and his grip on the steering wheel tighten.
 

“What did the doctor say?”

“He said I could sue you if I wanted.”
 
It was a lie.
 
Doctors obviously couldn’t give legal
advice, but she wanted to get him all riled up, and this seemed like the easiest
way to do it.

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Doctors don’t say things like that.
 
They’re doctors, not lawyers.”

“Well, this one has a brother who’s a lawyer,”
she improvised.
 
“A big time
personal injury lawyer.
 
The doctor
sends all his injured patients to his brother, and then the brother sues them
for millions of dollars and wins.”

Chace shook his head.
 
“That’s illegal.”

“It’s not illegal,” she said, not having any
idea whether or not it was true.
 
“It’s just, you know, a grey area.”

“A grey area?”
 
He shook his head.
 
“Listen, if you’re thinking about suing
me, you should just say, ‘hey, I’m thinking about suing you.’
 
Don’t go making up some bullshit story
about a nefarious doctor and his shark lawyer brother.”

“It’s not made up!”
 
God, he was infuriating. “And I am
thinking about suing you.
 
For lost
wages, and pain and suffering.”

He looked at her, his dark eyes meeting
hers.
 
“You don’t look like you’re
in much pain.”

“That’s because they gave me some ibuprofen.”

His forehead wrinkled.
 
Somehow, it made him look sexier than
ever.
 
“They gave you
over-the-counter pain relievers and yet you’re in so much agony you feel the
need to sue me for pain and suffering?”

“That’s for the jury to decide,” she said
ominously, hoping she sounded like she knew what she was talking about.

He shook his head and drove the rest of the way
to her house in silence.
 
When they
pulled into her driveway, Lindsay reached over her bad right hand and opened
the door with her left.

When she got to the front porch, she could feel
him watching her from the truck, just waiting for her to struggle so he could
swoop in and save her.
 
Well, he was
going to be disappointed.
 
She
didn’t need anyone to save her, least of all Chace Davenport.

When she finally got inside, she threw her
purse on the kitchen table and then collapsed onto the couch.
 
Suddenly, she was exhausted.
 
The day had taken its toll.
 
She knew she should call her mother and
tell her what had happened -- she had three missed calls from Sylvia on her
cell phone.

She would rest her eyes for one minute, she
told herself, and then she’d call her mom.

But a few seconds later, Lindsay was fast
asleep.

C
hapter
S
ix

When Chace got back to The Trib, he found the
place in complete disarray.
 
The
Boston Ladies for the Preservation of Cape Cod may have thought of themselves
as fancy and refined, but they’d made a huge mess.
 
Dirty dishes littered the tables,
napkins had been tossed on the floor, and tables had been haphazardly pushed
together and never returned to their rightful places.

 
It
was going to take hours to get everything cleaned up, so Chace cancelled the
dinner service and spent the evening with Chuck, the two of them working to put
the restaurant back together.
 

When he finally got home, Maximilian was
waiting for him on the porch, an accusing look on his face.
 
Chace dropped the leftover steak he’d
brought as a peace offering into the dog’s bowl and gave him a scratch behind
the ears as the dog gobbled up his dinner.

Chace opened the fridge and surveyed the
ingredients.
 
The pickings were
slim, but he did have some chicken breasts, and he always kept the pantry
well-stocked with pasta.
 
He decided
to make himself a chicken parm.
 
It
was a dish his father had taught him to make, a recipe his dad had been
extremely proud of, even though they weren’t Italian and his dad owned a
seafood restaurant.

He began to bread the chicken, looking out the
window toward Lindsay’s house as he cooked.
 
Her lights were off.
 
She was probably sleeping, exhausted
from the events of the day.
 
He
hated thinking about her over there, alone in that house, unable to use her
arm.
 
What if she fell again?
 

It didn’t matter, he told himself. She’d made
her feelings toward him perfectly clear.
 
And honestly, it was better that way.
 
For her and for him.

He finished breading the chicken, fried it
briefly on each side, and then popped it into the oven.
 
He took a shower while it was baking, letting
the hot water beat against his shoulders as he tried to wash off the day.

He was back downstairs and had just finished
draining the pasta when he looked out the kitchen window.

He peered closer.
 
What the
hell?
 
Surely he couldn’t be seeing what he thought he was seeing.
 
Lindsay was outside in her pajamas,
heading down the driveway toward her car.

***

Lindsay had woken up to find the house
dark.
 
Her wrist was throbbing, her
throat was dry, and her face felt grimy.
 
She desperately needed some ibuprofen, a hot shower, and some food.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have ibuprofen or
food.

There was a gas station a couple of miles away,
up on the main road, and she knew she could probably pick up what she needed
there.

She was pretty sure that when the doctor said
she wasn’t supposed to use her wrist at all for forty-eight hours, it included
driving. But what was she supposed to do?
 
She needed food.
 
She needed
painkillers.
 
And it was only a few
miles. What could happen?
 

So she shrugged into her coat, grabbed her
purse and keys, and headed outside.
 
She’d opened the car door and was about to slide into the driver’s seat
when a hand reached out and slammed the door shut.

She whirled around, expecting an intruder.
 
Instead, she found Chace.

“Oh, God,” she said, sighing. “What the hell
are you doing here?”

“No, what the hell are
you
doing?”
 
He moved around her, so that his body was between hers and the car.
 
“Didn’t the doctor say you weren’t
supposed to be using your wrist?”