“Are you all right?”
I nod, because that’s all I can do.
Inside, we learn they want six hundred bucks for the car. Before I can process that number, Jason hands over a black American Express card.
“I’ll pay you back.”
Somehow.
I should’ve called an Uber for Betty. My carefully calculated budget has no room for even incremental payments on a six-hundred-dollar debt. I’ll have to pick up some extra shifts at the restaurant to settle my debt with him as soon as possible. So much for thinking my waitressing career was over now that I have a big new job.
“Don’t worry about it. I need to get back to the hospital, so can we please expedite this transaction?”
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth as he reminds me that my disaster is affecting his first day of work, too. I step back to give him room to sign the credit card slip. Sneaking a glance, I find his signature remarkably legible for a doctor and then berate myself for caring.
After one of the workers delivers the Porsche to the parking lot outside the office, Jason takes a long measuring walk around it, checking every inch for damage.
I twist my hands together and say two Hail Marys while I await the verdict. “Is it . . . Did they . . .”
“She seems fine.”
They probably hear my sigh of relief all the way up in Broward County.
Jason opens the passenger door and gestures for me to get in.
I let out a yelp when my ass connects with sizzling leather seats.
“Watch out, the seat might be hot.”
“Gee, thanks for the warning.”
Needing to do something with my restless hands, I reach for the seat belt and have it secured by the time he slides into the driver’s seat. Here I am sitting in the world’s sexiest car next to what could very well be the world’s sexiest man with a rat’s nest on my head, a seat burn on my bum, holes in my hose and a vinyl smear on the front of my pricey suit. This could happen only to me.
“I really will pay you back as soon as possible.” If I have to waitress every night for weeks, I will pay back every dime he’s spent to get me out of this mess.
“You can pay me back in trade.”
CHAPTER 3
CARMEN
I stare at him, my mouth hanging open in shock.
“Close your mouth, and get your mind out of the gutter.” His chuckle is sexy and galling. “As appealing as your idea might be, that’s not what I’m talking about.”
I feel my face go hot and not from the bright sun beaming down on us. “You don’t know what I was thinking!”
“Oh, please. Like your every thought doesn’t show on your face.”
“It does not!”
“Does too.”
“I never knew neurosurgeons could be so immature.”
That draws another laugh from him. “Our childlike brilliance makes us so charming and lovable.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.” I’m surprised there’s room left for me in the small car with all the space his overblown ego requires. Good thing the top is still down.
“What I meant was I need your help.”
“You need my help? With what, exactly?” I can’t wait to hear this.
“My reputation has taken a rather serious hit, and I need to fix it—fast.”
I’m intrigued by the agony I hear in his voice. I know what agony feels like, and despite my best intention to stay removed from him, I find myself shifting in the seat so I can better see him. And, oh my . . . He’s put on the Wayfarer sunglasses, has one hand casually looped over the wheel of the powerful car, and the sleeve of his starched dress shirt is rolled up to reveal the golden hair and an expensive watch on his forearm. Yum.
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“When we get back to the office, do a search for my name. The whole thing is out there for the world—and the board at Miami-Dade General—to see.”
I gasp. “You met with the board?”
He releases a short laugh. “If you want to call it that.”
“Oh God.” Is it possible to get thrown in jail and fired in the same day? I fear I’m about to find out. My stomach takes a sickening dive. Giordinos don’t get fired, and they sure as hell don’t get arrested. When I think about the huge party my family held at the restaurant to celebrate my new job . . . I just can’t go back and tell them it all went to shit on the first day.
“What?”
“Mr. Augustino requested that I, um, keep you clear of the board meeting.”
His hand tightens on the wheel. “Great,” he mutters. “You might’ve mentioned that to me.”
“As if you gave me the opportunity!” Remembering him tossing me his keys and his gal pal has me scowling. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“Because I want you to see what I’m up against before you hear my side of it.”
“Are we talking personal or professional?”
“Personal. Extremely personal.”
There’s something about the way he says that . . . I don’t want to be interested. I do not want to know what personal matter has left his reputation in tatters. Yeah, sure. I want to know all right. I want to know so badly I have to resist the urge to ask to borrow his phone so I can start searching right away.
My mind spins with scenarios and possibilities, none of them pleasant. I’m almost afraid of what I might learn about him. For some odd reason, I don’t want to read anything that will force me to dislike him forever. I much prefer the kind, thoughtful man Betty described to the arrogant, entitled jerk I expected him to be.
“Just remember,” he says, glancing at me, “you can’t believe everything you read. There’s always another side to the story.”
His words send a nervous flutter through my abdomen.
We arrive at the hospital, locate the staff lot and secure him a parking pass rather efficiently in light of how the rest of my day has gone. When we’re parked in his assigned space, he stops me from getting out of the car. “It was wrong of me to ask you to take care of Betty, but I want to thank you for your help.”
“Even if it cost you more than six hundred dollars and got your car impounded?”
“You’ll pay me back, and the car is fine.”
“It might take me a while to pay you back, especially if I get fired.”
“Why would you get fired?”
“Hello? I failed to do the only thing my boss asked me to do and ended up in jail on my first day of work. If he doesn’t fire me, it’ll be a flipping miracle.”
“He doesn’t know about the jail thing,” Jason assures me. “Mona promised me she wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“Mona?”
“The executive assistant who took your call from, um, jail. When she tracked me down and told me what’d happened, I asked for her discretion.”
“And I’m sure she was more than happy to give you anything you requested.” I can’t help the disgust that drips from every word I say to him. Guys like him can get any female they encounter to march to their orders just by looking at them with their bedroom eyes.
“She assured me she wouldn’t tell anyone, which I figured would be important to you.” His shrug makes me feel small for questioning his methods. How does he manage to infuriate me and endear himself to me in the same second? He’s giving me whiplash. “And by the way, I like your hair all curly like that.”