I don’t want to wake Nathalie without any breakfast. To say that I’m upset she didn’t check on me last night is an understatement. I thought we had a moment the day she stitched me up. I guess I was too drunk, and my tequila goggles showed me what I wanted to see.
When I enter the coffee shop, I’m surprised to find it fully staffed. Lang couldn’t bother to find me anyone until he needed me for a mission.
He’s such a fucking asshole.
I’m about to send him a text when I’m interrupted by the beauty coming from the back room.
“Morning, Doc,” I greet her.
“Follow me,” she says, turns around, and walks away.
What is with this woman? I should ignore her, but I don’t. Instead, like a lost duckling, I hurry behind her, afraid she’ll leave me. Who the fuck is chasing her? Is she training for a marathon?
She finally stops when we reach one of the examination rooms.
“If you wanted me all to yourself, you could’ve just—”
She shows me her hand as if stopping me. “Take off your shirt,” she orders.
I grin. “Oooh, me-like-it where this is going. Ladies first.” I slightly bow.
She glares at me. “I’m serious. I need to see the wound and change the bandages. The nurse just texted me that you didn’t let her do it.”
Virginia is a snitch, but I’ll take this as my cue to get a kiss from the cute doc. I wiggle my eyebrows. “Nice excuse. Before I let you see my naked body, you need to buy me dinner and kiss me.”
She crosses her arms and taps her foot. “Fisher, I’m serious. We don’t want that wound to get infected.”
My phone buzzes. I ignore it and look at her. “You left me. I thought you were going to take care of me.”
“First of all, you had a nurse by your side, twenty-four-seven. If something had happened to you, she would’ve called me. Second, I never said I’d take care of you. Lastly, I had patients who needed me.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You got patients?”
She nods. “Some have even paid me”—she moves closer—“real money.”
I chuckle, and my phone buzzes several times.
“Fuck.”
“Language.”
I pull out my phone. It’s Lang. He needs to talk to me. The last text makes my gut twist.
Lang: 9-1-1
Fish: What now?
Did we leave someone behind? Do I have to hide until they do a manhunt? I look up at Nathalie, who’s staring at me expectantly. She’s not in danger, is she?
Fish: Is anyone in danger?
Lang: I wouldn’t call it danger but it’s an emergency. San is fine, in case you’re wondering. I should be there in four hours. Meet me at your place.
Fish: I’m off until I heal.
Lang: This is a different kind of emergency. Be at the house.
Fish: Why not the coffee shop?
Lang: This emergency has to be handled privately and never in the bar. Never. Do you hear me? The construction company should be there today or tomorrow.
Fish: Cryptic.
Lang: It’s going to be a shit show.
I scan the messages looking for clues. There’s nothing that hints at what might happen when he arrives. There’s no mission involved. I should be ready for anything.
A prank.
Everything has been too quiet.
Will they dare to prank me while wounded?
Probably, since it’s nothing major. No, that can’t be it. They wouldn’t warn me. Unless they’re warning me to fuck with my head.
“Everything okay?” Nathalie asks.
“I think so.”
“Good, now take your shirt off,” she orders again.
I grin. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
She gives me her I-am-going-to-kill-you-glare. “You never take anything seriously, do you? I should be reporting this injury to the police.”
“I’d appreciate it if you don’t do that. The police won’t do anything, but if a third party finds out…they might blow this out of proportion. People like to make up shit about me to make money.”
She touches my face. “It looks better. I never asked. Who hit you?”
Okay, so she ignored my plea. Does that mean she won’t go to the police or that she’ll take it into consideration?
“What if I tell you the other guy looks worse than me?” I joke, moving the conversation along.
She gives me a disapproving look. “Did you get into a fight?”
“Obviously.”
“Did you kill the other guy?” She makes a weird sound. It’s a low groan or a huff. I’m not sure.
I shrug. “Sign the NDA, and you’ll find out.”
“No. Are you still taking your antibiotics?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I salute her and flinch.
“If it’s hurting, I can prescribe pain meds,” she suggests.
“Nope. I’m fine with just a couple of aspirins when it’s hurting like a bitch.”
“What did you put on your eye?”
“Aloe vera, lavender, and rose extract.” I wink at her. “Nydia has this crazy-ass ointment that’s good for bruises. She gave it to me before leaving for Fiji. I can’t believe everyone left me.”
“Who left you?”
“My bandmates. They abandoned me.”
“You have a band?”
“You really don’t know me, do you? I’m Fisher Hannigan, keyboardist of Too Far From Grace.”
She looks at me with disdain. “Do I have to know you?”
I grin. “Well, you already know me.”
“A small unfortunate event that I can’t fix.” She takes off her surgical gloves. “I need to see you tomorrow.”
“You can see me anytime you want, Doc.”
“Can you go five minutes without flirting?”
“Can you go five minutes without being so beautiful?”
Her cheeks darken. She’s so fucking beautiful. “Stop it.”
“You’re fun to tease, Doc.”
“You’re…you’re…”
“Enchanting?”
“Annoying!”
“You dig me.”
“No, but I’ll be happy to dig the hole where I’ll bury you.”
I can’t help but laugh. She’s all worked up, and I wish I could take her in my arms and kiss her. I don’t. She’s not ready, and I’d rather wait until she accepts me.
“You can put on your shirt now.”
“I can’t believe you’re not kissing my boo-boo. If you want, I can kiss your boo—”
“Stop it!”
“You need to relax.”
“You need to grow up. You’re a man-child who gets into street fights and can’t even go to the hospital,” she says, assuming that I just brawled in some bar and someone bailed me out before I got into serious trouble.
I kiss her nose. “Take that as payment for your services.”
“Does anyone in this town know that the currency is dollars? Not cookies, chickens, or…kisses.”
“Sign the NDA,” I suggest.
“Have a good day, Fisher.”
“I’ll bring breakfast and help you with your patients in a bit. Miss me, Doc.”