Page 22 of Miss Fortune

After shutting the passenger door, I went around the other side and got in. Twisting in my seat, I searched for the duffle bag in the back where I’d put an extra shirt. As I shrugged into it, I glanced over at my passenger. Her eyes were glued to me. Either she liked what she saw, or she was still in shock from the sight of blood.

“Here, let me get you buckled in.” There was no way to avoid brushing against her as I reached across to pull the belt over her generous chest. “You okay?” I asked when she sucked in a breath.

“Aside from my humiliation, I’m fine. Don’t you need to let people know you’re leaving?”

“I’ll send them a text to explain.”

“I live in Studio City, so if you get onto the 101, I can give you directions from there.”

“I’m not taking you home. I’m taking you to a hospital. You might need stitches, not to mention a tetanus shot.”

Her face blanched. “No hospitals. It’ll be fine.”

“What happens when you get home? You’re going to remove my shirt from your arm, get a good look at the cut and the blood, and pass out in your bathroom, probably hitting your head on something hard on the way down. Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn, but if you think my reaction to blood is over the top, then taking me to a hospital is a hundred times worse. I’ll make an appointment on Monday to see a doctor.”

Today was Saturday. Her cut could be infected by Monday, if in fact she could get an appointment. “I have a friend who’s a doctor and he makes house calls. Would having him come by work for you?”

“Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble.”

I put the truck in reverse and backed out of the space, using my Bluetooth to give the command to dial Lucas. A former client turned friend, he was a private physician who made house calls. His usual clientele included celebrities and sports athletes, but he made himself available for friends.

After four rings, I got his voicemail, so I left a brief message for him to call me when he got a chance. Saturdays were probably quite busy for him, with a number of patients. Daisy took deep breaths, still looking pale.

“Do you want some water?”

“No, thanks. I’m afraid if I drink anything, I’ll throw it up. Do you, um, mind distracting me?”

“Not at all. With what?” I wasn’t big on small talk, but I could try if it meant taking her mind off of the blood.

“Why do you have a truck in LA?”

“I like being able to load a surfboard or haul things for my home improvement projects.”

“What kind of home improvement projects?”

“Couple weekends ago I put a new retaining wall in my backyard. I also built a deck a few months back.” Doing projects for the house and working out were how I decompressed from my stressful workweeks.

“Impressive. Is that why you like to volunteer to build houses?”

“I volunteer because people are appreciative.” It was the first time I’d been able to put it into words.

She nodded. “I get it. It’s nice to be able to do something constructive or creative without someone demanding it beforehand or criticizing it afterward.”

“What does ‘ope’ mean? You said it earlier when you were about to faint.”

She grinned. “It’s Midwestern for ‘oops.’”

Usually I struggled for conversation, but I found every answer she gave leading to a new question for her. “How long have you been dating Eric?” She’d only been at the office a week, but she could’ve known him before then for all I knew.

“I met him Thursday. He invited me to happy hour with a group from the office and mentioned the volunteer event today. Since my car is in the shop, he picked me up to drive me here, and we were supposed to grab dinner after. I had no clue about the ex or any of the history.”

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

She shrugged. “Aside from my hurt arm and my pride, I’m fine. Although I hope the whole Wendy drama doesn’t make things uncomfortable in the office.”

The comments hurled about her weight and clothing had to have stung. “If it gets awkward, let me know.”