“Don’t you have someone you can call?” I stand over Christian as he lays flat on the sidewalk after collapsing. Oliver sits next to me, arching his gaze up. I can smell his expectation for me to congratulate him on catching a “hunk.” I bite my cheek. Christian isnota hunk.
Christian’s not doing well.
His karma from firing me brought real pain.
Or maybe it’s not karma. I stare at Christian wincing in pain.Ifailed to control Oliver. Maybe it’s a very expensive lawsuit if he decides to be litigious?
I’m not happy about this one bit. Even if it’s the single person who fired me on Christmas, I must help him because the accident is Oliver’s fault. Since Oliver is my responsibility—it’s my fault.
“I’m fine.” He mumbles over the double chin he creates when he winces. He rolls on to his side while bracing his lower back with one hand.
The Coffee Loft door flies open, and out comes a literal model. Blonde hair wafting down her back, and alabaster skin so flawless it was smoother that French silk. “What happened?” her words burst with importance.
“Ah, he fell down some stairs and tried to walk. He might have a concussion.”
“I’m fine,” Christian's high-pitched demand bellows from below us. It gets even worse when he tries to pull himself to a seated position. His death rattle rolls out, causing me to gasp in shock.
“Let me help you.” The model swoops in, bracing up Christian as he stumbles to his feet. I cower with my eyes wide as they waddle together back to the building.
He’s seriously injured, and Oliver did that.
Fear swooshes through my body.
I don’t want to get Oliver in trouble. Or worse, Mrs. Nelson. I’m the one who taught Oliver to run after hunks—men. The recruiting game is an innocent thing we do. Oliver wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone.This is my fault! “Can I help?” I stammer, stepping forward to open the door. Before my palm brushes against the handle, Christian hollers loudly, jolting my nerves.
I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, taking an alarmed step back. “Maybe I should just go?”
“Stop screaming.” The woman wraps her arm all the way around him. “You sound like you are dying.”
“I’m not dying.” Christian’s weakened voice wafts out. “It’s just my back. I sprained it.”
I’m screaming in my head while my feet plant on the floor.Don’t go inside! It’s a trap. Since when do I help people who fire me?
The woman speaks so gently, as if she's taking care of an infant. “Let’s get you to your office to lay down on the couch.”
My stomach wrenches, and I combat the urge to grab it as I try to remain tough. There are a lot of things in life I detest, but high on my list of "things I can’t stomach" are people in pain. Against all my better judgment, I cower in the doorway, vowing to not let even a toe inside ever again.
It is a betrayal to step inside this place!
Christian’s huffing out heaving breaths each time he exhales.
The woman’s perfect-mother-hen voice rolls out. “Maybe you broke something?”
“It’s not the pain that’s bothering me.” Christian’s lips purse into a perfect O while he blows out an even breath. “I’ve blown out my back before. It takes days to be able to walk. I can’t work on my feet. Eventually I’ll be fine, but my store will be bankrupt by then.”
My gaze skirts the empty Coffee Loft lobby. Life’s been more than a little crazy lately. There isn’t much I am sure of, but something jiggles inside of me. I need to protect Oliver and Mrs. Nelson. “Don’t worry about getting back to work,” I rush, persuasively. “I can help out.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” His sarcastic tone cackles out.
The woman nods toward me. “Do you know her?”
“Ah, she used to work here,” he mumbles over his double chin again.
“Oh, that’s perfect.” Her posture springs up like a zipper cinching along the spine. “She knows what to do, and she can help out while you rest.”
“No. Nope. Not perfect—”
“I’m Arielle.” Her excitement bubbles out with her gaze locking on me, all the while she speaks over Christian, “I’m Christian’s sister. We’d love it if you will help us.” Now she’s stroking Christian’s back as if he’s a long-haired cat. It helps to keep his sarcasm at bay as they continue to the office at a snail’s pace.
