Part 11 (1/2)
He had his briefcase and papers all over the table.
”It's Wednesday, and I took time off.”
”Nick, go to work. I'm fine. I don't need a nursemaid.”
Nick led her over to the table and pulled out a chair for her. ”I'm taking you to the doctor early this afternoon. Once we see how you're doing, we'll talk about it.”
d.a.m.n, he was pushy. She sat, because, well, she was getting light-headed.
”What is this? The world's longest date? I'm not going back to the hospital, and the only doctor I know is a gynecologist. I don't think she'd be much help.”
”I called a buddy of mine-Mike. He's a pulmonolo-gist. Lungs are his specialty.”
An hour after they returned from the doctor's appointment, Nick stormed into the bathroom like a boxer jumping into a ring. Rosalie almost put her eye out with the mascara wand. What was with him? Hadn't he ever heard of knocking?
She calmly put the mascara wand back in the tube. ”d.a.m.n.” She rubbed the big black mark under her eye with the corner of a washcloth. As if the rings under her eyes weren't dark enough.
Nick filled the bathroom with barely controlled rage. ”You are the most hardheaded, stubborn woman I know.”
”Yeah, and your point is?” Rosalie tossed the washcloth in the sink and walked past him into the bedroom. She began searching her drawers for a pair of stockings. There were no longer clean laundry piles lying around. Sometime while she was in her pneumonia-induced coma, Nick had not only washed, folded, and put away the dirty pile, but he had folded and put away the clean pile, too. Rosalie had no idea where her clothes were. She should have been embarra.s.sed. Instead, she was annoyed.
”You're not well enough to work. Mike said...”
She turned and spoke through clenched teeth. ”Mike doesn't have a meeting with the Board of Directors. My clients don't care if I have a cold...”
She'd thought she was on the mend; she thought she'd be fine to go into work for a few hours. But after dragging herself out of bed, showering, and dressing, all she had the energy for was sleep.
Nick stepped into her personal s.p.a.ce and stared down at her. She had to admit, his stare was pretty effective. ”You have pneumonia.”
She ignored the urge to step back, did her teenage eye roll, and stood her ground. ”Whatever. I have to make a report to the Board of Directors.”
”Okay. You go in; you give them your d.a.m.n report; and you come home. I'll drive.”
They were nose to nose, and she was running out of steam. ”What are you? My mother?”
”No, but I'll call your mother...”
”You wouldn't dare!”
”Wanna bet?”
”Fine, you drive me and bring me home, but then you're outta here. I appreciate your help, but, Nick...”
”Lee.” His voice had gentled. Nick wrapped his arms around her and hugged her against him. d.a.m.n, he felt good. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat while he rubbed her back. ”I'm just going to drive you to work and back, and then I'm going to make dinner. No more chicken soup. You're up to real food. Besides, you're almost well enough to finish our date. I brought movies.”
”You did?”
”Yeah.”
Of all the businesses in trouble, why did Rosalie have to turn around Premier Motorcars? The one dealers.h.i.+p Nick had spent his life coveting, the one dealers.h.i.+p he'd been unable to buy, the one dealers.h.i.+p he'd targeted for a hostile takeover. d.a.m.n.
Nick must have hid his shock well when he'd dropped Rosalie off in front of the familiar building. She hadn't asked what was wrong or said anything when he offered to wait in the car. After he'd slid the Mustang into a parking s.p.a.ce down the block, he was tempted to bang his head on the steering wheel. What a mess.
When Nick was eight-years-old, he'd wanted to see a Ferrari. He'd heard that people owned such things, but never having seen one in Brooklyn, he was skeptical. Supposedly, there was a car dealers.h.i.+p in the City that sold cars worth so much money, the door handles were made of solid gold.
One hot summer day, Nick had stolen two tokens from his mother and hopped the subway into the City. He'd spent a couple of hours with his nose pressed up against the cool gla.s.s of the showroom, checking out cars he'd only seen before in his Matchbox collection. He'd been eyeing the solid-gold door handles when Mr. La.s.siter snuck up behind him and put his hand on Nick's shoulder. Nick had thought for sure he was going to be run off. Instead, he'd been invited in. That's when he'd fallen in love for the first and only time.
Walking though the big gla.s.s doors of Premier Motorcars had been a life-altering moment. He'd only experienced a few-walking into Premier, getting arrested, finding Rosalie asleep in the emergency room and thinking she was dead. Nick shook his head, trying to erase that image. He didn't want to think about what it meant.
From the moment he walked into Premier, he'd loved everything about the business. The air-conditioning that sent a chill though his whole body; the sound of shoes tapping across polished marble; the smell of the place- a combination of coffee, cigarettes, leather, and new car.
That was the first time he'd looked under the hood of a brand-new car. The fact that the car was a Ferrari had only made the experience that much better. The owner of the dealers.h.i.+p, Mr. La.s.siter, had even let him sit in the driver's seat. It was the first time Nick's b.u.t.t had ever touched leather.
Mr. La.s.siter had been good to him when he'd gotten out of Juvie and asked for a job. Nick had nothing to feel guilty about. He'd worked his a.s.s off for the man and would still be if he hadn't been replaced by Mr. La.s.siter's Ivy League son.
Jack Jr. was the stereotypical trust fund baby. He worked as little as possible, drove expensive cars, and spent money like it was going out of style. But that wasn't enough for Jack. What the trust fund didn't buy him, he didn't mind taking by force. Like most bullies, Jack only preyed on people weaker than himself. One evening, Nick walked into his office after hours and caught Jack forcing himself on the new receptionist. When Nick pulled Jack off her, her dress was ripped, and she was in tears. Nick saw red. Jack Jr. had gone crying to daddy, told him G.o.d only knows what, and the next day, both Nick and the receptionist were out of a job.
Before Nick left, he'd warned La.s.siter that Junior would ruin him. Was it Nick's fault he'd been right? Anything Nick had done only hastened the inevitable. So he'd made a few calls, mentioned a concern or two to a high-ranking loan officer. So what? He'd done nothing too underhanded, certainly nothing illegal, and there was no paper trail. Unfortunately, no matter how much Nick told himself he had nothing to feel guilty about, he still heard Father Francis's voice in his head, telling him he was going straight to h.e.l.l. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Rosalie now stood between Nick and the one thing he'd wanted since he'd had the innocence to dream. Premier Motorcars.
Chapter Eight.
Nick turned off the TV and DVD player. He and Rosalie had been watching Life of Brian. Life of Brian. No, No, he'd he'd been watching-she'd fallen asleep ten minutes into the movie. One minute she was laughing that great laugh of hers, and the next, she was dead to the world. Good thing they'd been watching in bed. been watching-she'd fallen asleep ten minutes into the movie. One minute she was laughing that great laugh of hers, and the next, she was dead to the world. Good thing they'd been watching in bed.
It was almost eleven. Not too late to call Mike and find out how Rosalie was doing medically. He still couldn't believe she'd told him that her condition was none of his business. h.e.l.l, he was the one who'd made the d.a.m.n appointment with Mike in the first place. If it wasn't his business, whose was it?
Rosalie was asleep on top of him. It took a minute for Nick to slide out without waking her. She was a piece of work. When she was awake, she was always so careful about not touching him. It was as if she were afraid they'd look as if they were together, which they weren't. He knew that, and it was obvious she knew that. What difference did it make if she touched him? The minute she fell asleep, though, she was all over him like cotton on silicone in a wet T-s.h.i.+rt contest.
Nick stood and reached for his sweats, tiptoed out of the bedroom, and shut the door. He didn't want Rosalie to know he was checking up on her. Nick called Mike's pager and punched in his cell phone number. Ten minutes later, his phone vibrated.
”h.e.l.lo.”
”This is Dr. Flynn. You had me paged?” ”Mikey, it's me, Nick.”
”I thought that number looked familiar. So, how's our patient?” Nick groaned. ”That good, huh?”
”She's impossible, Mike. Do you believe she went to work today?”
”No kidding. How'd she get there?”
”I drove her. If I hadn't, she'd have taken the d.a.m.n subway.”
”I heard from the days.h.i.+ft nurse that Nurse Gus had to threaten to sedate her to keep her from climbing over the side of the bed to escape. He said you pulled a he-man stunt and carried her into the ER.”
”She wasn't going to go in otherwise.”
”Dr. Jansen asked about you.”