Page 7 of Sexy Bad Boss

“Like I tripped over a goddamn goat and no one will let me filet it.”

She furrows her eyebrows and glances at Garrett, then whips her head around for a double take. I bet she’s a golf fan. Either that or she thinks he’s good looking. For some reason, my younger brother attracts women like flies to honey. I don’t get it, personally.

“Are you…?”

“Engaged?” Garrett supplies. “Yep.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks redden. “I, um, I thought you were this famous golfer. You look a lot like him. And the last name, Frost…”

How in the world can my womanizing brother make a doctor sputter and blush like this? Well, I suppose I can’t call him a womanizer anymore. Erin has apparently managed to turn him into an honest man. Or at least a man in love.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says.

“I didn’t realize you were engaged. To the nanny? I like her. Or at least, I like the person the media portrays. She seems…real, you know?”

“Yes. She is. She’s pretty amazing, actually. And we just got engaged last night, at a private family function, so the media hounds haven’t gotten wind yet.”

“Oh. Well, congratulations.”

Garrett’s disembodied voice shouts, “Fore!” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen. “Uh-oh, here we go. Callum—that’s my manager—wants to know why he had to find out about our engagement on Facebook.” He chuckles as he taps on the screen.

Rolling my eyes, I point out, “That private function was also where I screwed up my hand and leg and apparently banged my head badly enough that I’m missing a chunk of time from last night.” I’m hungry and in pain and irritated because Myra’s not here. Which I know is ridiculous—Garrett said it’s Sunday and I don’t usually see Myra on weekends, so why would I miss her?—but refer back to hunger and pain. I have every right not to be rational at the moment.

“So you do have a touch of short-term amnesia,” the doctor says, suddenly all business. Dropping her gaze to the iPad in her hand, she starts tapping the screen, presumably taking notes on my condition.

“Apparently. So when can I go home?”

“It’s going to be difficult enough for him to get around with the sprained wrist and broken ankle,” she says to my brother, like he’s my keeper and has any say over my life whatsoever.

“My ankle’s broken?” I stare down at the offending appendage, like I’m waiting for it to explain how the hell I’m supposed to run my business with a broken ankle. Or tell me how soon I will be able to get into the office. Or how—

“Yes,” the doctor says, breaking across my thoughts. “A clean fracture but definitely broken. The tendons are strained as well, which is not uncommon with this sort of injury. But the concussion and short-term memory loss concern me more than anything else. I don’t want to release you without someone agreeing to care for you twenty-four-seven, at least for the next week. Then I want you to see your primary care physician, and I want his or her sign-off before you’re allowed to be on your own.”

“I’m fine,” I tell her, but she ignores me and looks at Garrett, like she expects him to give her direction. Which is irritating as hell. The only person who’s allowed to control any aspect of my life should be me. And perhaps Myra, since for all intents and purposes, she’s been doing a damn good job of it for years now. At least in a professional sense.

“Shit,” Garrett says, tugging off his cap so he can rake his hand through his hair. “Paynt and Chloe are in Paris on their honeymoon. I’m not sure where our sister Ronnie is at the moment, but I assume she’s heading back to New York in the next few days. Our parents live in an old, three-story farmhouse, so probably not good for a broken ankle. And, shit, James is supposed to stay at Chloe and Paynt’s house to look after Spot while they’re gone.”

“The dog?” the doctor asks.

“Goat, actually. Although my daughter leads her around on a leash like a dog.”

“Oh.” The young doctor looks as confused as I feel, and I’m part of this damn family, God help me. “Is this the same goat he tripped over?” she asks.

Garrett nods. “Probably not a good idea to leave him to care for her for the next couple weeks, I suppose.”

“For Christ’s sake, I’m not really going to filet the damn animal,” I defend myself. “It wasn’t the goat’s fault I tripped over it.” Although I’d sure like to know what did set into motion the series of events that landed me here in this hospital bed, listening to this woman tell me I can’t fend for myself for at least a week, possibly longer.

“I suppose I could ask our parents to stay at Paynt and Chloe’s house with him,” Garrett says.

“Hell no.” Is he kidding? One aspect of last night I do remember is Mom’s critique of my social life—or lack thereof. She wanted to know how I was supposed to give her grandchildren if I don’t even date once in a while. And then she embarrassed me further by telling me she was well versed in the process of creating babies and if I needed any advice—and that was the point I’d made my excuse and gone to seek out Myra.

Garrett pulls off his cap again and rearranges it on his head. “Well, I guess you could stay with us. I’m just worried about Abby’s toys being underfoot. And now the duck. If you can’t avoid tripping over a goat, how are you going to maneuver around a duck?”

“A duck?” the doctor asks. She glances at me, a clear question in her eye.

“My family does not understand the concept of normal pets,” I tell her. “Or better yet, no pets.”

Garrett ignores me and explains. “My fiancée sort of inadvertently adopted the thing—rather, it adopted her—and now my daughter’s in love with it, and apparently I’m now the proud owner of a white duck named Ducky.” He doesn’t look particularly put out by the addition of a waddling family member. I, on the other hand, have no interest whatsoever in sharing space with his feathered friend.