***
Though the doc had given me a clean bill of health a week later, it had taken a few days before my headaches had eased, too. My wrist, however, would take far longer to heal. Max had insisted that I take the six weeks the doc said would be required for my hand to be one hundred percent, as sick leave.
Nope, Kate wasn’t pleased at all. If she wanted to fire me, well, there were other stores who were clamoring for my services. But now that Max had started work at Sinclair Investments Inc., I missed him.
Tossing my paintbrush into the turps jar, I was so glad Gus’s painting was finally done. Who knew when I’d started his portrait several weeks ago how much my life would change?
Then last night Max had said he was paying Titus back; he didn’t want me working with the guy. Had I just started the painting, I probably would have agreed, considering how much it upset Max whenever I was holed up with Titus. But the painting was almost completed. More, Titus had paid a lot of money, which I’d given to my Dad.
So I’d dragged Max to the almost completed canvas with no penis in sight, since Titus had his one knee raised. And pointed out that I only had the background to finish.
“As long as the bastard’s not naked around you,” was all he said. And that was settled.
I peered through the window again for the umpteenth time, my belly tying itself into a lovely tight knot. Ugh, I was going to give myself an ulcer worrying.
Max had persuaded two galleries to come and see my work despite my doubts. It was almost five, and those people would be here soon. But Max wasn’t here yet. With him starting his new job, I wasn’t sure he could get away from work.
My cell rang. I grabbed it off the table and smiled at the name. “Hey, Dad.”
“Ila, sweetheart, you okay? I just spoke to Ray. She said something about you falling and hurting your face?”
“I’m okay, Dad. I tripped, just a little accident.” I uttered a silent prayer for forgiveness for lying to my father. Ray and I had decided not to tell them anything. Dad had too much to worry about.
“I’m glad you weren’t seriously hurt. Is Max around? I tried calling his cell phone, but he’s not answering.”
“No, he’s not back from work yet. He’s probably in a meeting or something. I’m sure he’ll return your call.”
“Right…okay.”
At the tension in my father’s voice, uneasiness took hold. “Dad, what is it? Can I help with anything?”
A short pause. “Your mom’s hospital bill. The entire thing has been paid,” he said, wariness creeping into his tone. “They wouldn’t say who, and we don’t have rich relatives—that’s over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Ila.”
My legs trembled. I sank onto the futon. “Max,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Dad said as if I’d asked a question. “He’s the only one I can think of. Sweetheart, I gotta go. I’ll call him later.”
After Dad had rung off, I jumped up and paced around the studio, rubbing my hands down my paint-smeared jeans. I should go change—ugh, what did it matter? I was an artist, not a secretary being interviewed for a job.
Max had paid Mom’s bill.
God. The echo of my father’s words continued to rumble around inside my head.
At the sensation of being watched, I spun around. Relief flowed through me.
Max stood at the entrance of the studio, rocking the hell out of a gray suit, white shirt, and gray tie with tiny red daisies that I’d bought for him on his first day back last week. The tattoos on his neck peeked out from beneath his collar.
He was hot, sexy as hell, and a little dangerous with that scar on his brow. His blond hair retained its neat appearance since it was cut so short, but the look in his striking green eyes made my heart trip. A slow, sexy smile appeared. “Hey.”
“I was so afraid you’d be late.”
He strolled into the room. “I said I’d be here. I know how you get when meeting people, Logan. You like to hide in the background. I’m not letting you do that.”
I scrunched my nose at him. “And here I thought you’d be my support.”
“I always am...” His gaze swept over me in that utterly male way as he loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt. “Great, you haven’t changed. I like the artsy look. And stop worrying.” He gave me a slow, sensual kiss with tongue and lips while he shrugged off his jacket. Stepping back, he dropped his coat on the stool.
I rubbed my damp palms down my jeans again. “My dad was looking for you.”
