My face heats.
“As much as we’d like to say we have the utmost trust in every employee at the Skyline, my brother can’t risk his name or his building being tied to any bad press.”
“His building.”
He tilts his head. “Yes.” Confusion colors his face. “You know who my brother is, don’t you?”
“Not really, no.” And the thought that I slept with a man who has kept nearly everything about himself a secret makes me sick to my empty stomach. “Up until a few hours ago, I assumed he was born in the wild and raised by wolves.”
He rolls his lips between his teeth and nods, fighting a smile. “I see.”
“I know his name is Alexander, and I’m assuming from the name plastered on the bird that brought us here his last name is North.”
He lifts his brows, waiting for me to put two and two together.
“Alexander North? An architectural engineer.” I shrug. “What am I missing?”
He stumbles back, grins, shakes his head, and laughs. “Oh, this is rich. You really don’t know.”
“Know what?”
He sighs, steps back, and ushers me into the bathroom. “It all makes sense now.”
“I’m glad it makes sense to someone,” I say with a huff of irritation.
“Take your time,” he says. “The doctor will wait for you here in the bedroom, and I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.”
I did exactly what Hudson suggested and took my time. I devoured a warm steak sandwich and roasted potatoes, downed a glass of ice water and an iced tea, and with a full stomach, made my way to the shower. The multiple showerheads—totally worth the ten minutes it took for me to figure out how they all work—were exactly what my worn-out body needed. I filled the bath with water so hot it made me lightheaded. Then I got back in the shower and burned through two disposable razors getting all the hair off my body. I wrapped up in a warm robe and lotioned from foot to face with a variety of expensive products.
I blew my hair dry, and now I’m currently staring at the clothes left hanging in an otherwise-empty attached closet. Faded blue jeans, buttery soft and with the perfect amount of stretch, a white button-up collared shirt cut to flatter a woman’s waistline, a gray cashmere sweater with a deep V-neck, and a brown tailored coat. I check the labels—Thom Browne, Loulou Studio—I’ve never heard of these names before. I pick up the brown suede booties and peek at the label. Tory Burch. Now there’s a name I recognize. There’s a lavender thong made from an expensive-feeling cotton blend and a matching bralette. I check the sizes.
“Huh… he is good.”
I get dressed and check myself out in the mirror. My wavy hair falls over my shoulders, making me look like an Instagram fashion influencer. My face, however, looks dull in comparison to my luxury clothes.
I sort through the array of makeup samples and decide on a tinted moisturizer, some bronzer, mascara, and lip gloss. I don’t recall a time in my life where I’ve made this much of an effort just to leave a building. This will be the most glamorous walk of shame I’ve ever done.
That’s all last night was—convenient sex between two lonely people who know nothing about each other. Whatever feelings I thought I felt growing between us were clearly one-sided.
I bundle up my dirty clothes and stuff them into the garbage, happy to never see them again.
When I walk out of the bathroom, there’s a woman waiting for me. She lifts her head from her cellphone and smiles politely. “Ms. Wilder, I’m Dr. Janis Oberman.” She holds out her hand, and I shake it. “I was told you have some old injuries that might need attention.”
“I think I’m okay. They’re healing.”
Her blue eyes sparkle in the light, and her skin practically glows with health and youth. Seriously, how long has she been a doctor? Because she looks younger than me. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to assess them myself.” She motions for me to take a seat on the upholstered bench at the end of the bed.
My health insurance through work is shit. And I don’t even know if I still have a job. I’d be stupid to turn down free healthcare. So, I sit.
I take her through all my injuries, from the cut on my forehead that is now a small red scar to my broken ribs and finally the healing wound under my arm.
“You must have a lot of people who will be excited to have you home,” she says and presses lightly on sensitive spots.
“A few.” I’m sure Lincoln, Courtney, and Darin are going to be shocked.
She presses a stethoscope to my chest. “Your parents must be worried sick.”
I breathe in and out slowly. “I’m not close with my parents, so probably not.”
“I’m sorry,” she says with a sad smile, then pulls back and sets down her stethoscope. “Mr. North did an excellent job with your care. The antibiotics probably saved your life.” She nods toward my lip. “And when did the lip contusion happen?”
I part my lips while she examines the bite.
“I, uh… must’ve bit it in my sleep.”
She backs away, her casual grin falls. “Are you sure that’s what happened? There’s nothing else you want to tell me?”
You mean how the wealthy guy who I had sex with last night bit me in a moment of passion? No, thanks.
“Nope.”
She smiles sadly and backs away. “I’m going to ask that you get an x-ray to make sure your ribs are healing properly. And I’m going to give you a prescription for a more powerful antibiotic just to make sure we’ve wiped out all infection in that wound. You’re going to have some significant scarring on your abdomen where you got scratched up, and the wound will also leave a mark. I’ll prescribe some lotion that might help with that.” She’s punching all sorts of things into her phone while she talks.
I button up my shirt and readjust my sweater. “I don’t know if my insurance will cover—”
“No need to worry about that. Mr. North insisted he cover the costs. Are you familiar with the Cartwright Imaging Center? Walk in at any time for that x-ray. I’ll make sure they know you’re coming.” She slips her phone into the pocket of her coat. “The driver will swing by to grab your prescriptions on the way to take you home.”
“Wow. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” She grabs her purse. “Thank—”
Alexander.
“—Hayes.”
I stare at my boots. “Hayes. Of course.”
“Best of luck to you, Ms. Wilder. And welcome home.” She walks out of the bedroom, and I stay, stuck in place and staring out the window.
“Time to go home.” And yet, home doesn’t feel the same anymore. When did that dusty, rustic cabin begin to feel more like home than anywhere else?
I walk slowly from the bedroom, making sure to take in every detail of the penthouse, knowing I’ll never be in a place this nice again. I’m at the top of the spiral stairs when I hear mumbled voices filtering up from below. I lean in and focus, searching for Alexander’s voice in the mix.
“… dodged a bullet on this one.” That sounds like Hudson or maybe Hayes.