“Oh, don’t worry. I have three therapy sessions set up for myself this week alone,” he told me, flashing his phone at me to show me his schedule.
“Good. That’s good. This is a lot.”
“We will get through it together,” he said, tone sure.
It was only a couple of minutes after that when the doctor came out to speak to us, inviting us back into Miranda’s room where she was in the bed looking pale and exhausted.
She had stitches on her arm and butterfly strips on the worst cut on her face.
The bruises had time to really settle in, looking stark against her skin in the unflattering light.
“I’m okay,” she insisted as Cam and I both stood there for a second.
“Hey, that’s my line,” I said, forcing the light, easy smile to spread across my face, knowing that was what she needed from me right then. “You’re okay,” I told her, moving up the side of her bed. “Did they give you anything yet?”
“They can’t,” she told me. “Not yet.”
“Why not?” I asked, brows furrowing.
“Because of the drugs.”
“The… drugs? What drugs?”
“Rit…” she started, then glanced toward Cam, and started again. “Heput something in my drink. That was how he got me to the studio. I don’t even remember getting out of my car. Oh, God. Mitchell,” she said, eyes going round.
“Mitchell is okay,” I assured her, putting my hand over hers. “He was in the trunk. He’s shaken up, but fine.”
“Good. Okay,” she said, nodding, trying to figure out what was next on her list to worry about.
Then her gaze was lifting, going toward Cam.
And that, it seemed, was what finally got through to him.
“Randi, I’m so sorry,” he said, tears welling up and spilling over.
“Hey,” she said, glassy-eyed, as she held her hand out toward him. “Come here,” she demanded.
I gave her other hand a squeeze before slipping away, giving the two of them a much-needed private moment.
“How is she?” Lennon asked when I walked back into the waiting room.
“Waiting for the scan results, but she seems to be okay. Physically, at least.”
“The bastard who did this to her is in surgery. You broke his jaw.”
“Good.”
“And his nose. His eye socket…”
“He had it coming.”
“I’m not denying that,” Lennon agreed. “I am just keeping you updated. There’s also a couple of reporters outside.”
“Reporters? Really?”
“Miss Coulter has been popular in the news circles, being so successful at such a young age. They heard she’s been attacked by her assistant’s boyfriend. They are going to want a statement. I don’t do statements.”
“Neither do I.” Or the rest of my team.