I can picture this dude laid out on the sand, staring at the camera. He could be a fucking model.
“Miranda?” He flashes me a smile that makes me want to make bad decisions.
“Yes, that’s me.”
He sticks his hand out—a large, manly, gorgeous hand that could do wicked and wonderful things to me. “I’m Gabriel Lord. Founder and owner of Spynners Studios.”
I reach my hand out toward him. “Pleased to meet you.”
He releases my hand and folds his arms across his chest, the smile fading. The words falter on my lips as his dark brow furrows. “Let me ask you—why didn’t you list the appropriate emergency contacts on your sheet when you first joined the studio?”
His lips form a line. Firm, pursed. Disapproving. His green eyes stare down at me, demanding an answer.
What’s it to him? I don’t see how my filling out of paperwork falls under his umbrella of authority. “I don’t think that’s any of your business—”
His sharp tone cuts me off. “As someone who’s taken a vow to care for my clientele, keep them safe, and offer the very best service possible, I see it as very much my business.”
I narrow my brows at him, giving him a glare. “Are you quoting your business mission statement at me?”
“Maybe.” He stares back, unflinching.
“Huh.” Maybe I should shock him. Tell him mine. Sugar Daddies Escort Service; matching high paying clientele with the date of their dreams.
“Look, Mr. Lord. I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble but I’m not planning on suing the company or anything, if that’s why you’re here.”
“I assure you, it's not.” He flashes me a look, as if anything I could ask of the company wouldn’t touch the wealth he possesses. “It’s just that when you fell, we had no way of contacting anyone.”
I heave a sigh. “So what? They brought me here, to the hospital, which they would have done, no matter what I’d put on that paper. Go ahead and fill it in as 9-1-1.” Point, set, match.
He pulls a sheet of folded white paper from his pocket. Unfolding it slowly, he holds it in his hand. His perfectly formed finger points to the middle of his page. “It says here, under ‘who to contact in case of emergency,’ you put, and I quote, I don’t do emergencies.”
His gaze comes back to me. Fixes on mine. Makes me squirm beneath its boldness.
I stare back. “Well, I… don’t do emergencies.”
He raises a dark brow. “But you just did. Didn’t you?”
I have no response other than the blush I can feel rising in my cheeks.
He tucks the paper back into his pocket. “Miranda, my company will see to it that your bills are paid. That your every need is met. Should you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Your wish is our command.” He slides a shiny black business card onto my hospital tray.
And leaves.
What the fuck was that?
I don’t have time to process the strange visit, because the doctor is back. We share some small talk, chit chat, then he gives me the update. “Your tests are clear. We’d love you to stay and rest another hour or so, so we can keep an eye on you. I think this was an instance of—too much exertion after not eating a proper breakfast—I’m guessing you’ve not had a proper breakfast?”
“Actually, I had a two-course meal. One latte and one espresso.”
“Ah—so over-caffeinated and undernourished? Most likely that’s the culprit here, and not something more.”
“Something more?” My mind goes to all kinds of worrisome underlying health conditions. Heart disease. Cancer. Old injuries causing new problems. Panic shoots me up from my laid back position.
The hand of God comes down again, pressing my shoulder into the bed once more. “Don’t worry. Just rest.”
“Fine.” I give in, dropping my head back onto the pillow.
“We’ll take good care of you.” He gives me a curt nod.
“Thank you, doctor.”
My phone rings. Someone’s put in on my bedside table for me. Videocall from Lexi. I take a moment to compose myself before I answer. “Hey, babe! What’s up?”
Her straight, light brown hair is shorter than when I last saw her, just skimming past her shoulders in a blunt cut. She’s added bangs, too, giving her a rocker indie edge to her good girl heart-shaped face. The tips of her pearly white teeth dig into her glossy bottom lip as she stares back at me. “Are you okay? I’ve been so worried!” She begins her line of questioning, barely pausing to take a breath.
She’s wearing classic Lexi. Oversized pumpkin colored cardigan. White V-neck tee underneath. Her fingernails are a shiny black. A look I could never pull off, but on her it's adorable.
Her big blue eyes are wide as she smiles into the camera. A massive diamond sparkles on her tan finger. The one from Tom.