He would lose his mind if she drove his car without him. The idea of taking advantage of her key without permission made her shake her head at her own train of thought. She couldn’t violate the only rule Josh had ever given her. Not to mention that the idea of driving alone made her legs shake.
But Jill needed her. Her aunt had taken a huge chance, hiring her to work on this high-profile project. Clara couldn’t let the firm suffer the consequences for its most junior member’s selfishness. She had to take responsibility for stretching herself too thin.
Josh did let her drive the Corvette almost every night to the studio and she’d bring it right home after the meeting. After pulling his number up on her phone, she stared at the digits. 8:15. Who was she kidding? If she asked he’d definitely say no and then she’d be out of options.
Clara curled her fingers around the key until the edges bit into her palm.
Please don’t let him hate me for this. With one last glance down the street for the bus, she ran to the car.
The thirty seconds when she had to move the driver’s seat to accommodate her short legs almost stopped her in her tracks. The seat seemed to resist sliding forward, like the ’Vette wanted to save her from herself. Silence smothered the empty interior as she turned the key in the ignition until the sudden roar of the engine made her jump.
Josh would understand. He had to.
“This isn’t so bad,” Clara said to the empty passenger seat a few minutes later. If she kept up a steady stream of conversation, she could almost pretend Josh rode with her.
But then the adrenaline started to wear off and panic threatened to claim her.
She gulped as she sped up to keep with the flow of traffic. So far she’d only had to merge twice.
As she tried to relax her grip on the steering wheel, she realized her fingers had gone slightly numb. The second the meeting ended, she and Jill would take the car back, and Josh would never be any the wiser. She practiced her lines for the presentation over and over in her head.
At last, she exited the interstate and slowed at the four-way stop sign a few blocks from the firm.
Almost there.
The Corvette made it about halfway across the intersection before Clara heard the familiar squeal of rubber against pavement followed by a metallic crunch.
chapter twenty-three
EXCUSE ME, MISS? I’m looking for suspected felon Clara Wheaton.” Josh entered the hospital room in last night’s rumpled clothes. Despite the teasing tone, he had dark circles under his eyes, obvious traces of strain.
His familiar presence washed over Clara, soothing her in a way nothing else had.
“Josh,” she said the way someone might utter Wow as they watched a shooting star pelt across the sky.
But then she remembered. Remembered that she didn’t deserve to have him rush to her bedside like some fairy-tale knight in shining armor. She sucked in a shaky breath and fought off the threat of tears, unwilling to risk Josh offering her sympathy instead of the scolding she’d earned.
It felt like weeks since she’d seen him, rather than hours. She’d grown too accustomed to having him around. To the breadth of his shoulders and the steep slope of his nose. To the way he made her laugh even when her brain insisted on working overtime. Clara had taken the gift of his kindness and crushed it under her heel. Why did he always look so handsome? She tore her eyes away from his face long enough to notice the slightly limp bouquet clutched in his fist. The inevitable avalanche of her sobs burst forth.
“Whoa there,” Josh said. “Hey, now. Are you in pain? Do you want me to get a nurse?” He moved closer to her bed, his face drawn, and brought the back of his hand to her forehead.
“What are you doing?” She hiccuped, looking up at him from under his palm.
The tops of Josh’s ears went pink. “It always made me feel better when my mom did it. Like whatever hurt was being taken seriously.” He swiped at the tracks of her tears with his warm thumb.
She had stolen his car and ruined their friendship. Why was he so calm? So sweet? Her shoulders tensed, waiting for him to yell or, worse, quietly express his disappointment.
Josh must have mistaken her guilt for pain because he said, “Easy, tiger. You’ve had a big day,” and then, seemingly remembering the flowers in his other hand, he placed them gingerly on her lap.
Her heart rate monitor picked up. It was stupid and vain, but Clara hated that he was seeing her in her hideous hospital gown. She considered this whole scene overdramatic for what amounted to a glorified fender bender. The damage to her pride would take longer to heal than her body.
Despite her protests that she was fine, just shaken, the EMTs at the scene had insisted she go to the hospital to get checked out when her blood pressure wouldn’t come down. She’d tried to explain that the physiological response stemmed from concern about her roommate’s and boss’s reactions, but her reasoning had not mollified the medical professionals.
At least they’d let her sign a release form and ride with Jill, who had left Toni Granger in the waiting room to rush to her side, instead of making her ride in the ambulance. Once at the hospital, she found no effective argument against the hours-long series of tests and waiting. She had only just managed to convince Jill to go back to the office and run damage control when Josh arrived.
Clara pointed her chin at the ceiling in an effort to slow her waterworks. If she looked at Josh she’d lose it again. Why was he acting like she hadn’t done this awful, selfish thing? If her family had taught her anything, it was that when you let people down you suffered the consequences. Hurt feelings at best, news articles and jail time at worst. You didn’t get flowers and you certainly didn’t get affectionate nicknames.
“Sorry, they’re a little smushed.” Josh turned the flowers so the less crushed side faced her and held them under her nose. “I, ah, may have accidentally sat on them on the ride over.”
Her heart throbbed, two sizes too big for her chest. His sweetness tortured her guilty conscience. “I’m so sorry, Josh. I know you must be livid, but whatever happens, I’ll make sure your car comes out of this whole thing as good as new.”
A tiny wrinkle appeared between his brows. “Wheaton, I could give two shits about the car right now. Someone tried to mangle you.” He was still holding her face in his hand, stroking back and forth over her jawline like she was made of glass.
“That’s not exactly true. The guy got confused. He’s from out of town, like me, and isn’t used to driving in L.A. and he felt so terrible, Josh. He really did. He was a wreck.” She pictured the older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a big mustache sitting on the curb next to her with his face in his hands.
“Mm-hm,” he said, noncommittal. His eyes traced over her face and neck, her arms, and he even peeled back the blankets to inspect her legs. “Where are you hurt?”