Rock Him Page 7

  He crouched next to her. “Let me,” he said, reaching for Ella’s foot.

  Maddy held it away from him. “No, I’ll do it.”

  Ella’s wide-eyed, brown gaze darted from one adult to the other.

  Maddy sighed. “Please, Asher.”

  It was obvious her hands were stiff, probably painful, and he was surprised by her lack of dexterity. He rarely thought about her condition anymore. It didn’t seem to affect her. But now, watching her struggle, his chest grew tight.

  She finished tying the first shoe.

  Asher reached to take the second shoe from her, aware of Ella’s curious gaze.

  “Asher.” She met his eyes calmly. “Ella can see that I have trouble tying her laces, especially in the morning, but I try until I get it, right Ella?”

  “Right, Maddy.”

  He sat back on his heels, his throat thickening as she put the shoe on the little foot with her swollen, gnarled hands. It took her two laborious attempts to tie the laces.

  She glanced up into his face and whispered, “It’s okay.”

  He rose to his feet.

  But it wasn’t okay. There were those reports from his investigator. Apparently she’d left college between her junior and senior years due to health problems. Mrs. Anderson had spent a small fortune in medical bills. Medical bills that had led to a bankruptcy and ongoing financial problems. Was Maddy having a flare up of the disease? He knew what rheumatoid arthritis was, or he thought he did. He’d researched it soon after meeting her on the plane because he needed to be sure it wouldn’t get in the way of caring for Ella. So far it hadn’t. Until this morning, he hadn’t realized the million little things that were difficult for her. There must be something that could be done.

  He snapped his attention back to the scene in the kitchen as he realized Maddy was speaking to him. “Asher, will you take Ella to the bus stop this morning?”

  He nodded and held out his hand to help Maddy up. He ran his thumb over the tops of her small hands. Hands that must give her pain.

  She scowled and tugged it away. “Don’t pity me,” she hissed.

  “I don’t pity you,” he replied, his eyes searching hers, astonished by the tenderness that swept through him. “Does it hurt?”

  She cut her gaze to Ella, gave a quick negative shake of her head then turned to grab Ella’s lunch from the counter.

  “Backpack,” she reminded, following them to the front door. She kissed Ella on the cheek and knelt to give her a hug. “Have a good day, honey.”

  “Can we go for frozen yogurt after school?”

  “We’ll see.”

  Ella’s face fell and she whispered to Asher, “That means no.”

  Maddy smiled. “It means maybe.”

  It was impossible to keep pace with a five-year-old. She was either skipping ahead or dawdling behind, all the while keeping up a steady stream of chatter about her reading buddy, a fourth grader named Olive, and what she wanted Santa to bring her for Christmas. Christmas! It wasn’t even Thanksgiving. In the past, he’d taken off and headed to Cabo or Hawaii with a girlfriend or group of friends. Last year he’d taken someone — Natasha, if memory served — to a tiny island in the South Pacific; he had vague memories of scuba diving, sailing, and squabbles.

  Family holidays were out of the question after that disastrous Vegas Christmas three years ago. Dee had spent half of the time pleading with him to stop baiting his father, and the other half telling Sterling to quit being so argumentative. Asher had made an effort — the first day. But the continual tension had left them all on edge and he’d flown back to LA before things could come to a head with the old man. His stomach churned. If only Dee hadn’t reconciled with Sterling. If only he’d had more time with her.

  This year he’d be celebrating with someone who still believed in Santa. He made a mental note to talk to Justin about getting a tree, lights, ornaments — the whole shebang. It would be lonely with just him and Ella since Justin and his partner had plans to go on a cruise that week and Maddy was going home to Virginia.

  Asher walked up the steps to his house, entered and closed the front door. He was going to trash every last pair of lace up shoes Ella owned and replace them with ones with Velcro. After he made a phone call.

  He came down the stairs thirty minutes later and deposited the paper bag with three pairs of lace up shoes near the front door. “Maddy?”

  She stepped out of the living room into the hallway, a mug in hand.

  “Can we talk? I have a couple of things I want to discuss with you.”

  “Sure.” She followed him across the gleaming wood floor to the enormous chocolate suede sectional and tucked herself into the corner.

  Had she winced just then?

  He seated himself a foot away, turning to study her. Odd. When he’d met her on the plane, he could have sworn she wasn’t beautiful. Barely pretty. Now? He was … attracted. No, more than that. His body rebelled against this ridiculous celibacy with surges of lust toward her at utterly inappropriate times. He’d never met anyone less inclined to play the temptress, and yet, everything, every move she made, was enticing. Was it because he couldn’t have her? Was he so used to getting whatever he wanted that now he only wanted what he couldn’t have? He grimaced. If that was the case, he was pretty fucked up.

  He’d been out a handful of times in the last few weeks and hadn’t jumped in bed with anyone. He didn’t want to bring anyone here and he couldn’t seem to work up enough interest to take a woman to a hotel. Maybe he needed to hit some better parties or clubs. Then there was the getting up early thing. He didn’t feel as disconnected as he had the first few weeks after Dee’s death. Maybe he was coming out of his funk.

  Maddy was far too thin for his liking, but her thick-lashed, wide-spaced, sober gray eyes, that nearly perfect bone structure, those lips … his gaze lingered on her lips. She smiled over the rim of her mug and his heart skipped a beat. There it was, that magnificent smile. That was what made her beautiful. Now that she was living here and he was spending more time with her and Ella, he got to see that smile frequently. Sure, her lips triggered lust, but that wasn’t what seized up his heart. He had plenty of experience with lust. This was … tenderness, affection. Combined with lust it was uncomfortable and, given their situation, completely inappropriate. She was his employee, for God’s sake.

  “Let’s talk about your … condition,” he said.

  Her smile vanished leaving a frozen, expressionless mask in its wake.

  “What are you doing for it, medically speaking?”

  “None of your business,” she responded frostily.

  “I made an appointment with a rheumatologist,” he ignored her gasp, “the best in the area, to talk about treatment options.”

  Her gaze was stony. “Asher, I manage my disease. I have since I was a teenager,” she replied, frost giving way to ice.

  “Are you on the latest medications?”

  She dropped her gaze. “I’m on … a medication. It helps.”

  “Are there other, better options? What about physical therapy?”

  “Asher, I’m not comfortable talking about this. You’re my boss.”

  “Tough,” he responded. “I need you to be healthy to … to take care of Ella.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I am healthy, damn it.” She twisted her hands together in her lap.

  “I know it’s a chronic illness. I’ve read a little bit about it.”

  Her chin came up.

  “I read there are some pretty powerful medications. I also know that if you decide to try them you need regular follow-up with a doctor and shots or intravenous infusions. You haven’t done any of that, as far as I know, since I’ve met you.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed
together so tightly the skin around her lips blanched.

  He went on doggedly, “If you need any of those things, our insurance is good, and what it doesn’t cover, I will.”

  “You don’t need to — ”

  “Bullshit.” He moved closer to her. “I want to understand. Are there drugs you could take to make it less painful, less — -”

  “Ugly?”

  “No.” He took her hand in his. “It’s not ugly, Maddy. Nothing about you is ugly.” He swallowed and released her hand. “It’s hard to watch you struggle. It’s hard to know someone like you is in pain.”

  She looked daggers at him with those magnificent gray eyes. “Someone like me?”

  “Someone I care about, someone Ella loves.”

  She sighed. “Asher, the newer medications are expensive, some aren’t even covered. And some of the damage to my joints happened during my childhood before those drugs were available so I have scar tissue that interferes with my dexterity. Then there are the side effects … its trial and error.”

  “This better not be about money.”

  She laughed, but it was bitter. “Easy for you to say, Richie Rich. It is about money. I’m a part-time student and a full-time employee. If the insurance company covers the medications at all, it won’t cover the full amount and they’re really expensive — we’re talking thousands of dollars. And don’t get me started on the expense of doctor visits for follow-up and hospital visits if there are complications. Believe me, I speak from experience.”

  “But there are benefits? To the newer medications?”

  “They can slow the progression of the disease. They can reduce pain,” she admitted. “But they make me more susceptible to infection, complications from colds and flu viruses. Let’s not forget we live with a little germ factory.” She managed a smile.

  There was that hitch in his chest again.

  “I want you to keep that appointment, Maddy. Please. Let’s see what the insurance covers; it’s supposed to be a good plan.”

  She stood up. “Fine.”

  “And I want you to do whatever he recommends. Expense and complications be damned.”

  She shook her head. “And if I get sick?”

  “We’ll take care of you.”

  • • •

  Maddy scowled as she sat in the front passenger seat of the luxury sports car — this one was even more ridiculous than the one he wrecked, if that was possible. People stared at it in the stop-and-go traffic on the freeway. Clearly Asher, who had insisted on driving her to her doctor’s appointment didn’t believe in keeping a low profile. They discussed Maddy and her classes on the way, but Maddy was too annoyed to relax. She was also nervous about meeting with the rheumatologist.

  After the complete physical exam, the doctor instructed her to dress and meet him in his office.

  She sat in one of the two chairs facing his desk. The door opened and Asher came in the room. Her mouth dropped open as he settled himself into the chair next to her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. This conversation would be difficult enough without her rock star boss hanging on every word, waiting to take over her decisions. She’d stopped allowing her mother into her consults as soon as she turned eighteen. This disease was hers to manage. Her pain. Her choices.

  “Finding out what I need to do to help,” he replied, giving her a smile that nearly stopped her heart.

  She ignored that traitorous organ, allowing anger to stiffen her spine. “Asher, get out. This is none of your business and totally inappropriate.”

  “I know,” he replied. “I just want to know what we can do — ”

  “You can’t do anything. I’m not a child, I’ve been managing my disease — ”

  “Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what the doctor is going to say? That your disease is well-managed? I need to know as your employer and your friend that we are doing everything we can.”

  “The doctor is not going to tell you anything, Asher Lowe. Now get out!”

  The doctor knocked on the door and entered.

  “Doctor, you are not allowed to share any of my medical information with this man. In fact, I don’t want you to speak while he’s in the room,” Maddy said.

  “Maddy.” Asher’s tone was pleading.

  Tough. His manipulations would not work with her.

  “Asher. I’ll admit I’ve let some things slide. Mainly due to time, money, benefits.” She shrugged. “But if this job allows, I’ll follow the doctor’s recommendations for drug and non-drug treatment to the letter. Go wait for me in the waiting room.”

  The doctor started to interrupt, but Maddy silenced him. “Not one word, doctor, while he’s here.”

  Asher stood, his expression stony, and left the room.

  The rheumatologist grinned. “Must be nice.”

  “Nice?”

  “To have someone care that much,” he said, still grinning.

  Maddy stiffened. “We’re not together if that’s what you’re alluding to.”

  “Oh, no.” Dr. Baxter lost his smile. “I never thought so.”

  Of course not. The idea of Asher Lowe with Madeline Anderson was inconceivable.

  The doctor recommended one of the newer biologics to treat her disease. He warned that if she got sick, she could end up hospitalized with complications, so he needed to see her monthly for follow-up visits.

  “Maddy, when was the last time you had a flare?”

  “I’ve had some minor ones along the way, but the last significant one was in college.”

  “How bad?”

  “Pretty bad. I had to drop out for two semesters. There were a few hospitalizations that year.”

  But that hadn’t been the worst thing. The worst thing that year was Trey. Who could blame him? She didn’t. Not anymore. She’d gotten sick — really sick — her junior year in college. And Trey couldn’t deal with endless doctor visits, the hospital stays, caring for her after her discharge. Trey was fun-loving and clever, he had loved her — of that she had no doubt — but he was not equipped to deal with her illness. She had broken up with him, beating him to the punch, and remembering the relief mixed with guilt in his eyes when she told him they were done. The hollow protestations of love, loyalty, and support that followed. Her stomach churned at the memory. So she had returned home and had another flare, and then another, and it was a year before she had the stamina to return to college.

  “So that’s good then,” the doctor said, as he made a notation in her chart, “the significant flares have been infrequent. I’ll know more after I run your lab work, but you seem to be pretty healthy, considering.”

  Maddy nodded.

  “We’re going to change up your medications. I’ll go over what that will mean, but I also have a list here of non-drug treatments.” He glanced up from his paperwork “If you do them routinely, they’ll help.”

  “Exercise?” Maddy asked wearily. Working as a barista and being on her feet all day, classes and studying had left neither the time nor the inclination for exercise other than walking the last few years.

  “Yes. Swimming is best. Can you swim?”

  She nodded.

  “Does Mr. Lowe have a pool?”

  “Yeah. Heated year-round,” she admitted.

  “That’ll be perfect. Hot tub?”

  She smirked and he laughed. “I’ll take that as an ‘of course.’”

  He encouraged physical therapy twice a week and they worked up a schedule of stretching, swimming and hot tub soaks.

  They shook hands and Maddy went out to the waiting room to schedule her next appointment. She was surprised to see Asher leaning on the counter, chatting with the front office staff — all women, all eating ou
t of his hand. She cleared her throat. One of the ladies hustled over to schedule her next visit.

  Asher winked.

  Once in the car, she caught Asher sneaking glances. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you what he recommended.”

  “Oh, the nurses were very forthcoming about the typical treatments for your condition.”

  “Stop calling it that. Seriously, Asher, its rheumatoid arthritis. Not ‘my disease’ or ‘my condition.’ And I’ll do what the doctor suggested; I’m no masochist.”

  “Good.”

  “Stop butting in though. I mean it.”

  “Okay.” He sounded duly chastened, but he was smiling.

  She smothered an answering grin.

  • • •

  The next morning, after walking Ella to the bus stop, Maddy put on her blue swimsuit, a piece so old and dry rotted it was almost transparent. She studied herself in the mirror ruefully. No, not almost transparent … actually transparent. Had it been that long since she’d been swimming? Yikes. This thing was indecent. It was time to order a new suit with rush delivery.

  She pulled her hair into a tight ponytail, wrapped herself in one of Asher’s many white guest robes and made her way downstairs.

  The water was steaming, and it was a chilly fall morning. Her feet were freezing, and after she took off the robe and threw it in a lounge chair, the rest of her was, too. She gave a brief longing look at the hot tub, then entered the pool water. Not warm enough. She stood uncertainly, halfway down the steps of the long rectangular pool and trailed her fingers in the water, dreading the moment she would have to immerse herself. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she glanced up to the window of the master suite, Asher’s room.

  There he was in the huge window, staring down, wearing what appeared to be a towel wrapped around his hips. His eyes were locked on her, not moving. She dropped her gaze, then remembered her transparent suit and plunged the rest of the way down the steps to start her laps, her mind racing. Why had he been standing there, staring?

  • • •

  After dinner, she approached her room to find, hanging on the doorknob, a bag from a sporting goods store. She unhooked the purchase and brought it into her bedroom, bemused. She shut the door and reached in, retrieving a pair of goggles and an orange rubber swim cap. That was thoughtful of him. The paper still hung heavy in her hand — she peeked inside and grabbed the silky black material lying at the bottom. Huh. A swimsuit. She checked the tags. Her size. She held it up, flipped it around and cocked her head. The style could politely be called matronly. Once on, it would cover most of her chest and back and all of her hips. It was not flattering, not in the slightest. It wasn’t like she had plans to buy a bikini — she was swimming for exercise after all — but this thing was hideous. The memory of him standing motionless in the window and wearing only a towel popped into her head.