The Penthouse Pact Read online

  Argumentative ass.

  But what really surprised her was the fact that he knew her name. Any time she served him his Grande Americano extra shot, he seemed to look everywhere and anywhere but at her. Not that it surprised her. She was invisible to most men, especially the techies who worked at SKYWEB. They all came in to Uncommon Grounds with their heads buried in their devices, too lost in their string of code, or whatever else they were looking at, to notice they were being served by a real person.

  Hello, I function on sugar and caffeine, not binary code, or whatever it’s called.

  What ever happened to the art of conversation, an appreciation for ones environment? As an art history major at Washington State—who loved to paint and wanted to open her own gallery someday—she took great interest in nature and the beauty of her setting.

  Speaking of beauty…

  She stole a quick glance at Parker’s dark suit and broad shoulders as he circled the front of the vehicle. Her gaze moved to his midnight hair, cut short around his ears, then dipped lower to take in a firm, square jaw that he clenched whenever he was angry—and he always seemed angry about something or other. Did he even know he did that? She examined his clean-shaven face—the only soft thing about him—and linked her fingers together as they itched to touch.

  Seattle’s most eligible bachelor.

  Not that she cared. Stuckup, arrogant men weren’t her type. Not that she had a type. She didn’t. She was too busy trying to keep afloat, to make it on her own, and the last thing she wanted was to get mixed up with some overbearing man who thought he could run the show, only to dump her and leave her with nothing.

  Parker continued to circle the car. Maybe she should slide into the driver’s seat and run him over. As that evil idea danced in her head, she glanced at the ignition. Where the hell were the keys?

  Stuck-Up-Suit stopped when he reached her door. Shit. She’d been so caught up that she hadn’t realized what he was doing. Dammit, she was more than capable of opening her own door and would have done just that had she known where the handle was located.

  Stupid car.

  Stupid Parker.

  A cool gust rushed over her body as her door swung open, and he held his hand out for her. At least he wasn’t scooping her up into those big, strong arms of his.

  Big, strong arms?

  What the hell? She hated this guy—long before he ran her over. She shifted in her seat, and once again the world tilted on its axis. Okay, so maybe she did have a concussion. Not that she wanted Parker to know. If he so much as got a hint of her dizziness, she’d no doubt find herself back in his arms.

  Would that be such a bad thing?

  Hell, yes!

  She didn’t want any contact with him.

  He held his hand out, and she ignored it.

  “I don’t need your help. You’ve done enough.”

  He glared at her. “Humor me.”

  “Parker—”

  “Take my hand, or I’m going to carry you.”

  She huffed, and even though she wanted to ignore his outstretched arm and climb out on her own volition, she reluctantly took it. Better to swallow her pride than to do a face plant on the sidewalk—or find herself wrapped up in him again.

  That would be the worst.

  Or not.

  What the hell?

  Callused hands closed over hers, and the flash of heat was instantaneous. Cripes. Her nipples swelled beneath the ugly cotton shirt management forced the employees to wear, and she prayed to God he hadn’t noticed. Although she’d just bet a guy like him never missed a thing—especially a woman’s arousal.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled. As soon as her feet hit the sidewalk, she pulled her hand away and crossed her arms over her chest to hide her body’s reaction.

  “You okay?” Parker asked. “Still dizzy?”

  “Fine,” she lied, the pounding in her head making it harder and harder to put one foot in front of the other. Despite the fib, he slipped his arm around her waist to guide her inside the electronic double door, and it was clear he was on to her. Once inside, he led her to the busy waiting room. She glanced around to take in all the people who needed attention far more than she did. This was going to take hours she didn’t have.

  Parker stepped up to the counter and exchanged words with the nurse on duty. Curious glances were cast her way, raking over the ugly brown server uniform that let everyone know she was a barista, when he came back and crouched in front of her. No doubt they were wondering what right a waitress had to be associating with a hot billionaire like him.

  He handed her a clipboard. “I put in all my insurance information. I need you to fill out the rest.” She took it from him and looked it over. “I’m going to run and check on my mother. You’ll be all right?”

  Tenacious, she lifted her chin. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Of course you will be,” he said, lips pinched as he shook his head.

  She smirked at him as he stood, and his hand slowed as he scrubbed his jaw, his gaze locked on hers. She knew what he was thinking. The second he left she was going to bolt. Smart man. She would have been gone as soon as he turned his back—if the room wasn’t upside down. She pinched her eyes shut, and tried to focus on the paper.

  “Maybe I should fill this out for you.”

  “I’ve got it, Parker.” She waved him away and zeroed in on the words. “Go check on your mom.”

  He hesitated for a moment. “Okay. And I’m really sorry. If there’s any way I can make it up to you…”

  Her gaze shot to his at the sincerity in his voice, and when she caught the tenderness in his eyes as he stared back, she softened. Maybe he wasn’t such a complete ass.

  “It’s okay. Go see your mom.”

  She watched him as he left. So did every other single woman in the room, and some not so single ones. Whispers reached her ears, but she ignored them and tried to focus. With blurry eyes, she filled in the blanks as best she could, then let her lids flutter shut, preparing herself for the long wait.

  “Layla,” the triage nurse called.

  She blinked and stood on wobbly legs. The nurse rushed up to her and hooked her arm around her waist. “Mr. Braxton says you might have a concussion.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I fell.”

  “Okay, let’s get you looked at.”

  She led her to a small room and took her vitals, then told her to stay put. Layla hadn’t been to the emergency room in years, but she was pretty certain that she was supposed to go back to the waiting room. When the doctor showed up, and she was bumped to the top of the waiting list, understanding dawned. Parker had pull. Big time. Still, it wasn’t in her nature to push ahead of everyone else.

  “How are we today?” the elderly man with kind eyes and graying hair asked. He gestured toward the examination table. “Please have a seat up here for me.”

  “A little bumped up,” she said, instantly liking him. Layla never knew her father, but as a child she’d dreamed of one day having a dad again. When she envisioned him, he wasn’t all that different from the soft-spoken man examining her.

  “I can see that.” He checked her knees, inspected her knuckles, then turned her hands over. “Scraped, but no stitches needed.”

  “Good.” She averted her eyes, not wanting to see the blood.

  He set her hands on her thighs, his gaze going to hers. “You don’t like needles?” he asked.

  “Only sewing needles, and even then from a distance.”

  He laughed at that, pulled a slender penlight from his coat pocket, and shone it in each eye, flicking it back and forth. “Headache?”

  She was about to nod but remembered what happened last time. “Yes, and dizzy.”

  “Double vision?”

  “That, too.”

  “Feeling nauseous?”

  Her hand closed over her stomach. “Tumbling like an acrobat on speed.” But that could be attributed to the donut that doubled as her breakfast and lunch. A big, custard-fil
led pasty on an empty stomach washed down with a dark brew would make anyone sick. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, right? Every cent she made went in to paying for her upcoming winter semester and rent, which she was late on once again. Food was secondary at this point.

  He spent a few more seconds checking her eyes, then tucked the pen back into his white coat pocket. “Looks like you have a concussion.”

  Shit, that was the last thing she wanted to hear. “And that means…”

  “You have to rest.”

  “For how long?”

  “Recovery could be as quick as a few hours, or as long as a few weeks.”

  “I don’t have weeks. Exams are coming up. I can’t miss classes.” Plus, she needed to work extra hours to get caught up on her rent. She kept that to herself, because he didn’t need to know.

  He nodded and focused on her chart. “You need to spend the next few hours resting, Layla. Can you at least do that?”

  “Okay,” she said to appease him. But as soon as she was discharged, she was headed straight to campus.

  He studied her, those astute blue eyes moving over her face, before his focus returned to her chart. His pen flew across the paper as he wrote something, but she couldn’t see what it was. “I see Mr. Braxton brought you in. Will he be taking you home?”

  “No,” she said, a little too quickly. She produced her phone from her back pocket. “I mean, I’m going to call my friend.” She really didn’t have anyone to call—her best friend Andi, who also worked at the coffee shop—didn’t have a car. That, and she was in Bellevue visiting with her mother today. Normally she wasn’t prone to lying, but today it was necessary, otherwise she’d find herself in Parker’s car again. Or his arms. Not going to happen.

  “Will she be able to spend the night with you? I think it would be in your best interest.”

  “For sure.” Liar, liar. She glanced down, expecting her pants, or rather skirt, to go up in flames.

  “Okay, I’ll send the nurse back in to get you cleaned and bandaged.”

  “Thank you.”

  He touched her shoulder, a gentle, caring squeeze. “Be sure to rest, Layla.”

  “I will.” Not.

  A few minutes later, the nurse arrived. Long ponytail bobbing, she bounced into the room, tray in hand. Layla glanced at her nametag. Brittany. They appeared to be about the same age.

  “Do you want to lie down while I do this?” Brittany asked, dropping the tray on the desk and reaching for the antiseptic.

  “No, I’m fine.” She just wanted this done and over with.

  Brittany soaked a cotton ball and tended to her wounds, cleaning them and covering the cuts with gauze and bandages. She tried to engage Layla in conversation, but the more she talked, the worse Layla’s head felt. She briefly closed her eyes, but the room started spinning. Feeling off balance, she gripped the sides of the bed and swayed.

  The nurse put her hands on her Layla’s shoulders. “Whoa, you okay?”

  “I will be,” she said.

  Stupid concussion.

  Stupid Parker.

  “You do have someone picking you up, right?”

  “Yeah.” A bus.

  “I’m going to use the wheelchair to take you out of here.” Layla was about to protest when Nurse Brittany said, “You don’t want to risk a fall.”

  It was true. She didn’t. That would only slow her down, and truthfully she wanted to be gone before Parker finished visiting his mother.

  She sat quietly while Brittany fetched a wheelchair, and when she came back, she helped ease Layla into it. With her head down, hair covering her face—she so did not like drawing attention to herself—Brittany wheeled her to the exit.

  “I’ll wait here until your friend comes.”

  “No, that’s fine.” A bit panicked—and slightly embarrassed that she really didn’t have anyone other than her best friend Andi to call—she scanned the vehicles lining the street. “I see her.” Layla raised her hand and waved to some strange woman putting money into her meter. The woman stilled, gazing back at Layla, like they just released her from the crazy ward. She pushed from the chair and stood, trying her hardest to keep her balance. “I feel much better. Thanks so much.”

  Brittany hesitated for a moment, but Layla walked away. The sound of the wheelchair being rolled back into the hospital gave her a measure of relief. Once Brittany was gone, she turned and made her way to the bus stop. She pulled her bus pass from her purse and squeezed onto the already full bench. She had no idea what time it was, or how long it was going to take for the bus to come. She reached for her phone to check, but the sound of tires squealing a few feet away stilled her. What the hell?

  Slowly lifting her head to keep herself from getting dizzy, she spotted Parker’s Tesla doing a U-turn in the street. Oh, crap. Now what? He pulled up in front of her, stopped his car in the bus lane, and climbed out.

  “You can’t park there,” she said, as all eyes turned to Parker, except hers. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She lifted her chin, but the second her gaze met his, desire bombarded her and evoked a myriad of sinful thoughts. Honest to God, how could he do that to her with just a simple look. She was a virgin for crying out loud and didn’t go around fantasizing about hotheaded guys who thought they could tell her what to do. Well, at least she didn’t before today. Had to be the concussion.

  “I could ask you the same,” she shot back, nudging his temper on purpose. Perhaps if he was really mad, he wouldn’t notice the effect he had on her.

  “I thought you said you had ride home.”

  “I do.” Starching her spine, she glanced past his body and down the street. “Should be here any minute.”

  He clenched his jaw like he always did when pissed off and mumbled curses under his breath. “You said you had a friend picking you up.”

  “The bus driver and I go way back. I like him a lot. He never once ran over me.”

  Way to poke the bear, Layla.

  He took a step toward her. “You’re coming with me.”

  Chatter erupted around her as everyone watched Parker cause a scene. What the hell was wrong with this guy? All she wanted was to be left alone. “I am not coming with you.”

  “Yeah, you are,” he said.

  Clearly no one ever said ‘no’ to this man. “No, I’m….”

  Her protest died on her lips when he scooped her up and carried her to his car. Why does he keep touching me?

  “I could use some help here,” she said to the crowd. “I’m being kidnapped.”

  Not one person came to her aid as he carried her off. Were they all afraid of Parker Braxton? Well, she sure as hell wasn’t.

  “Put me down.” Even though she was fuming, her hands snaked around his neck to hold on when what she really should be doing was giving him a good throat punch. She’d watched numerous self-defense videos. She could do it if she wanted to.

  So why wasn’t she doing it?

  He opened the door, set her on the seat, and shut it tight. She immediately went in search of the elusive door handle. Jesus, she hated this car. Parker slid into the driver’s side, and she sucked in a breath, hating how his presence overwhelmed her, how freaking good he smelled.

  “Your books are in the back seat,” was all he said as she struggled to get out.

  Her hand stilled. Right. She’d forgotten all about them. She clearly wasn’t thinking straight. She turned to reach for them, and he put his hand on hers to stop her. A warm palm closed over one wrist, and her entire body lit up like a Christmas tree. She sucked in a breath. All righty then.

  “Leave them for now.”

  She snatched her hand back. “Fine.”

  “The doctor said you have a concussion and that you needed someone to spend the night with you.”

  “You were checking on me?”

  “Yes,” he said, unapologetically. “I told you; you’re my responsibility.”
/>   “I’m not—”

  “Do you have a friend to stay with you?” The muscles along his jaw rippled as he put the car into drive. He pulled into traffic and retraced the route he’d taken to get to the hospital. At least he was taking her back to her campus.

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “Would this be the same friend who was picking you up? Your bus driver?”

  She glared at him. “I have more than one friend, you know.”

  He cast a quick glance her way, and when his eyes locked on hers, she was almost certain her ovaries were about to explode. Good Lord. She needed to get sex off her mind, a difficult task considering she was sitting next to the hottest guy on the planet, the same guy who had a different socialite on his arm every week.

  As they neared her campus, he took a left instead of a right. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you home.”

  Unease cramped her stomach. “How do you know where I live?” He arched a brow, and she rolled her eyes. “Of course, you looked at my chart. Is nothing off limits to you?”

  “No.”

  As they approached the run-down basement apartment she lived in, she darted a quick glance around. “Pull over.”

  “Why?”

  “I just want to get out here.”

  “I’m not letting you out here. I’m taking you to your apartment.” He slowed and crept into the cracked and pitted driveway, and stared at the run-down house before him. “This is where you live?”

  “That’s what it said on the chart you snooped in wasn’t it?” she said, hating that she felt embarrassed. The man was a billionaire who was used to luxury, and she could only imagine what was going through his head, what he’d think about the ugly building she lived in. She waited for some nasty comment about her living conditions.

  “Fine,” was all he said, no mention of it at all, and for that she was grateful. “I’m going to see you in, and I’m staying until your friend arrives.”

  Panic clutched her throat. “You don’t have to do that.” He was already out of the car collecting the textbooks from the back before she could finish protesting. He came around the car, opened the passenger side door, and helped her out.

  He slid his arm around her waist when she stood, and honest to God it felt nice to be held by him. Still, she should protest. “I’m fine you know,” she said. Too bad the objection was a ridiculously feeble one.