The Heir's Unexpected Return. Jackie Braun
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Kellen had on now.
Did he plan to wear them? If so, when? Where? Once again, she was left with the uneasy feeling that her employer was hunkering down for the long haul.
The man was accustomed to a robust social life, if the press accounts were to be believed. Well, he wouldn’t find much of that on the island. Of course, since his accident, he’d lain low. In recent months, the only time his photograph had graced the newspapers, whether the legitimate press or the gossip rags, he’d been shown leaving a doctor’s office or a hospital. No smiles for the cameras in those pictures. He’d worn the same pain-induced grimace she’d viewed firsthand. And his palms had been up, as if to ward off the swarming paparazzi.
Brigit finished clearing out the drawers and hastily grabbed a selection of outfits from the closet, which she took to the spare room. Joe had finished emptying his lone suitcase. Hands on his hips, he was glancing around.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked.
“I’ve got some equipment I need to bring in for Mr. F’s sessions. Some of it is going to take up space. I don’t think you’re going to want it in the living room.”
He was right about that. “The inn has a gym on the main floor. It’s small, but there should be room for your equipment.”
“Mr. F prefers privacy.”
Brigit nodded. She couldn’t blame him for that. She preferred privacy herself. Not that she would be getting much of it for the next who-knew-how-long.
“If I have my treadmill moved to storage, will that be enough space? The bookshelf under the window can go, too.”
Joe squinted, as if visualizing the room sans the items she’d mentioned. “Yeah. I think that will do it.”
“Great. I’ll call the bellboy.”
“No need. Lou and I can handle this.”
“All right.” That settled, she nodded toward the bag that was still on the wheelchair’s seat. “Is that Mr. Faust’s?”
“Yes.”
“I can take that to the master bedroom, if you’d like. I still need to get my toiletries from the bath.”
“Appreciate it.” Joe handed it to her. Then, “Speaking of toiletries, I take it the two of us will be sharing the bathroom in the hall.”
Brigit managed to squelch a groan. The invasion of her privacy was officially complete. Still, if she had to share a bathroom, she supposed she’d rather do so with an affable Joe rather than a sullen Kellen. The latter would be too...intimate.
Where had that thought come from?
She forced a smile and, striving for good humor, asked Joe, “So, are you neat?”
“I can be when the situation calls for it.”
“Trust me. It does,” she replied drily.
“Then I promise I’ll do my best to remember to put the toilet seat down, too.”
Brigit’s laughter was cut short by a snort coming from the living room. Then Kellen yelled, “Can you two skip the chitchat and finish up? As I’m the one who signs both of your paychecks, I know you have better things to do with your time than flirt.”
Flirt! Brigit felt her face flame, but it wasn’t merely embarrassment that brought heat rushing into her cheeks. The nerve of the man accusing her of flirting, as if her spending a few minutes talking to a colleague meant she was some sort of slacker. And to think mere minutes earlier she’d started to feel sorry for him based on the extent of his injury. Every ounce of sympathy had evaporated now.
Joe pulled a face. “Sorry,” he mouthed.
Brigit nodded, but she was too damned irritated to be sorry.
She delivered the bag to the master bedroom. While Lou and Joe moved the treadmill and bookshelf to storage to make room for the physical therapy equipment, she changed the sheets on the bed where Kellen would sleep. Afterward, she gathered up her toiletries from the attached bathroom and put out fresh hand and bath towels. Then, satisfied that everything was in order, she turned to leave only to do an about-face.
“Toothbrush,” she muttered aloud.
She opened the medicine cabinet, planning to grab the item in question. When her gaze landed on the bottle of extra-strength ibuprofen, an idea formed. One that she couldn’t resist. She fished the eyeliner pencil out of her makeup bag and, after jotting her message, grinned at her reflection in the mirror.
* * *
As Brigit entered the living room, she braced for an unpleasant exchange.
Be polite. Be professional. But hold to your principles.
She needn’t have bothered with the internal pep talk. Kellen was fast asleep on her couch. He remained seated where he had been, but his bad leg was propped on the coffee table, one of her colorful pillows under the heel serving as a cushion. In sleep he appeared less formidable and intimidating than he had while glowering at her and barking out orders. But even in slumber he wore a grimace that pulled down the corners of his mouth. Pain. Add in a wheelchair and cane, and it should have made him seem vulnerable. Only none of that did.
Nor did it detract from his overall good looks. With his chiseled cheekbones and square jaw, the man was classically handsome. No getting around that, even in his diminished physical state. Nor was there any getting around his reputation as a freewheeling ladies’ man. A lot of women probably thought his polished looks and well-padded bank account made him quite a catch. Especially if they were able to excuse his nasty disposition, she thought uncharitably.
Kellen’s head was canted sideways in a position that was sure to leave his neck sore when he awoke. Even so, she didn’t attempt to wake him. She had no desire to poke a sleeping bear. Instead, she tiptoed past him, eager to avoid further unpleasantness. At the door, she chanced a glance back. The less interaction Brigit had with her boss, the better.
* * *
Kellen woke to the sound of a door closing. He straightened on the couch and craned his neck to one side and then the other. In the short time he’d been asleep, a crick already had formed just below the base of his skull. He grunted. Yet another sore muscle for Joe to work on during their afternoon session. If Kellen went. Maybe he’d skip it again. What was the point, anyway?
It was this kind of thinking that made him angry, even as it also left him feeling defeated. He wanted to get better, but what if he never did? What if all of the medical experts were right?
Kellen rose unsteadily to his feet, bearing as much of his weight as possible on the cane. Damned thing. He hated using it. Hated that he had to use it. But most of all, he hated what it represented. It shouted to the world that Kellen Faust was no longer the man he used to be. He was injured, limited.
Useless.
The very thing his own mother had always accused him of being.
The conversation they’d had not long after he’d arrived at her home in Charleston sprang to mind.
“The only thing you’re good at is spending money. You’ve all but drained your trust, living high on the hog in Europe. No cares, no responsibilities.” She’d waved one of her bejeweled hands, the diamonds her second husband had given her winking under the lights. “Well, don’t expect me to bail you out. You’re just like your father. You’ve never planned for a rainy day.”
They were estranged, had been since he was a boy, really. Since not long after his father’s lengthy illness and death had left them nearly penniless. She’d come back stronger than ever thanks to remarrying well, but not before hocking almost everything of value to stay afloat. As his grandfather’s sole heir, Kellen had been well provided for. In a way, that had only made her resent him, especially since he’d continued his father’s free-spending ways. As a result, Kellen and his mother