“You’ve got a bit of temper there, mon chéri.” He sounds pleased for some reason.
I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t have a temper.”
He smirks. “I never said it’s a bad thing. I like my women to be fiery. All the better for when I’ll make you submit in bed.”
Even as his words cause a frisson of helpless desire inside of me, I keep my face calm. “Good thing I’m not your woman then. Now, stop fidgeting. I need to change this.”
He just smiles, idly, unperturbed by my rejection and I keep my touch light as I unbind the wrapping and study the wound. The stitches are holding and I disinfect the area again before putting on the gauze, securely.
“No showers.” I order, sternly. “I’ll get you a sponge.” On seeing the wicked look in his eyes, I narrow mine, my tone terse. “So that you can wash yourself.”
He pouts at that and the sulky look shouldn’t be as adorable on him as it is. “But, mon chéri. Moving my arms hurts.”
I pack up the first aid kit, my tone calm, even as my heart races. “Don’t be a baby.”
He pats the seat beside him, his eyes laughing. “Come have breakfast with the baby then.”
My lips twitch but I sit down. I eat the food he prepared and as the first bite of the crisp bacon enters my mouth, an involuntary moan escapes me.
This is delicious!
I feel his eyes watching me but I ignore him and quickly devour the meal.
He eats the broth and I feel a little bad because I know my cooking skills aren’t exactly the best but he doesn’t complain.
I leave to get dressed because I have to go to the bank and deposit the check. As I exit the bedroom, I study my jacket with a frown, poking at the tear in it. I look up to see Damien sitting on the couch, his legs stretched out on it, the laptop in his lap.
Feeling a bit guilty, I say, “I’ve changed the sheets on the bed so you can move in there.” I don’t remind him of the faulty heating, only saying, “I’ll bring some soup from this Chinese place nearby for dinner.”
I shuffle by the doorway, nervous for some reason.
He looks at me. “Look after Braden for me. And hand him this message please.” And he gives a small note with the phrase, ‘The sparrow doesn’t fly east.’ written on it.
I blink at him. “Is that code for something?”
He winks at me, but doesn’t offer anything else.
I leave with a sigh.
Braden Fox is wide awake by the time I reach his room. He’s refused pain medication according to an annoyed Annie and his alert eyes study me intently as I enter the room, carefully shutting the door behind me. I feel awkward and out of place as I approach him. “Um, I have a message for you.”
He blinks slowly and I see the suspicion dart into his eyes. His hand is reaching for something and I pass him the note that Damien gave me before I left the apartment. He takes the message from my hand and it takes an extra effort from him to unfold it and read it. He freezes. His voice is hoarse. “Damien’s alive?!”
I nod. “He’s staying at my apartment. I—He was insistent I look after you.”
“Do you have a phone?” he suddenly demands and without thinking I hand it to him after retrieving it.
He dials a number with shaking hands and waits with the phone pressed to his ear. After a few seconds, I see his face go lax with relief. “How bad is it?”
I don’t know what Damien says but Braden swallows before responding. “They’re going to release me in four days.” He nods at something. “That’s what I thought.”
Then he’s shaking his head. “Nothing. They got away.”
He doesn’t seem overly concerned about me overhearing the conversation but I step back and say, “I’ll come take the phone from you later.”
I feel his eyes on me as I leave.
Moving about in the hospital feels bizarre to me as I recall that I have a stranger living in my apartment who casually offered me ten thousand dollars which the bank manager assured me would be transferred to my account in three days after he verified the funding source of the check.
“Alex! Hey!” I hear Mathilda’s voice call out to me from the nurse’s station where an attractive young man is standing in a suit. He looks to be about fourteen or fifteen and his expression is stoic.
As I reach them, my friend says, “This is Matt Sawyer. He’s Mr. Fox’s emergency contact. Do you mind taking him to—?”
“Yeah, of course. Right this way, Mr. Sawyer.”
The man—no, boy—looks at me, silently, before nodding. He clearly doesn’t seem to be the talkative type and I have never been an intrusive person so I let the silence between us linger.
Opening the door of the private room, I begin, “Mr. Fox, you have a—Where do you think you’re going?”
The next part of the sentence is torn out in the form of a growl as I stride forward and grab the man who is half out of the window by the back of his shirt, yanking him back in.
“Ow!” he complains as I march him back to bed. “Be gentle with me!”
“Get in bed!” I order him, my eyes narrowed. He takes one peek at me and then hastens to obey, his entire face pale with exertion. Irritation blooms within me. “Are the two of you incapable of listening to simple orders?!”
He watches me, sheepishly. “I had something to do.”
“I don’t care,” I snap. “You can do it later. Once you’re released from the hospital. You’re not supposed to move!”
I don’t even know how he moved because even slight movement should be causing him unbearable agony.
Something occurs to me and my eyes now turn into slits. “Did Damien put you up to this?”
His eyes widen and when he doesn’t say anything, that’s confirmation enough and I growl, “Of course he did. I’m going to kill him when I get back home. It’s bad enough that he’s a shitty patient. Now he has you climbing out hospital windows after one phone call.”
Braden looks like he’s about to choke. “W-What?”
“You’re Alexandra Jameson?” came a quiet voice from behind me, reminding me of the person I had brought in with me.
I look over my shoulder and clear my throat. “Yes, um, Mr. Fox, you have a visitor.”
Even as I say that, I suddenly wonder why I had to guide the man all the way here when he could have simply found the room by himself.
“What’re you doing here?” Braden demands and I step aside to see Matt stare at him as if he’s bored beyond belief. “I’m your emergency contact.” He looks toward me and there is a flicker of distrust in his eyes. “Your apartment is too small.”
I gape at him. “Excuse me?”
He continues. “You don’t have a proper bed or sufficient heating or food. You can’t—”
“Oh, shut it, you brat!” Braden growls from where he’s reclining on the bed. “Alexandra saved Damien’s life.”
“It’s Alex,” I correct out of force of habit, staring at the youth who’s now looking at Braden instead, his lips curled into a sneer. “Have you seen the shithole living conditions Damien is—”