Man of Fate. Rochelle Alers

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СКАЧАТЬ gotten up that morning he’d tried remembering if she had a trace of a southern accent. He recalled her saying her mother lived in D.C. and her father in North Carolina, which meant she had southern roots. The bruises on her face were darker, almost purple, but some of the swelling had gone down.

      Picking up her handbag, he closed the distance between them and cupped her elbow. “Good morning.”

      Ava attempted what passed for a smile, but even the slightest gesture made her face ache. “Good morning, Kyle.”

      His eyebrows lifted. “Oh, you remember my name?”

      “Yes, I do.”

      Not only had she remembered his name but also his face. He hadn’t shaved and the stubble on his jaw enhanced his blatant masculinity. She wanted to tell Kyle that what she wanted to forget was the image staring back at her when she stared into the mirror earlier that morning. The skin around her left eye was frightfully swollen and a hideous bruise running from her eyebrow to her jaw made her look as if she’d been hit by a professional boxer.

      “How are you feeling?” he asked.

      Ava studied the man, who, despite her hitting his car, had come to her rescue. He’d assumed responsibility for towing her car and seeing that she’d received medical treatment.

      “A lot better than I look.”

      “The bruises and swelling will go away in a few days,” he said, reassuringly.

      “That’s what the doctor said.”

      “What else did he say?” Kyle asked.

      “I’m going to have to rest, because healing is going to take time.”

      “What about your headaches?”

      “I can take either acetaminophen or ibuprofen, but no aspirin. That’s Tylenol, Advil or Motrin,” Ava explained when Kyle gave her a puzzled look.

      “Do you have any at your place?”

      “Yes.”

      Kyle tightened his hold on her arm. “I believe you’ll have to settle your account before you’re officially discharged.”

      Ava closed her eyes again when a sharp pain settled over her left eye. “I’m ready.” She was ready to go home, take a shower and get into her own bed.

      Leaning heavily against Kyle for support, she followed him into the elevator. It was another twenty minutes before she settled the bill and found herself outside the hospital. Reaching into her bag, she took out a pair of sunglasses and slipped them on.

      “I’m parked around the corner,” Kyle said. He tightened his hold on her waist. “Take your time, Ava,” he cautioned softly.

      “If I walk any slower I’ll be standing still,” she countered.

      “You’re supposed to take it easy,” he retorted. “The doctor’s recommendation indicated that someone should check on you for at least twenty-four hours, and you may need to be awakened every two hours to make sure you’re conscious. Do you have a neighbor or friend who can do that?”

      “No. What I’ll do is set my clock.”

      “What if you don’t hear the clock?”

      “Then I guess I won’t wake up.”

      Kyle glared down at her. “That’s not funny.”

      “Neither is having a concussion. I can’t remember the last time I was sick. I managed to get through high school without missing a day of classes.”

      “I guess that’s why you’re such a stubborn patient.”

      Ava knew she was in no shape to engage in any verbal sparring with Kyle Chatham so she gritted her teeth and swallowed the sarcasm poised on the tip of her tongue. Even though she’d rear-ended him, Kyle was partially to blame because he’d slowed down too quickly. The sunglasses did little to block out the brilliant summer sunlight which only intensified her headache. It was only when he settled her in the low-slung sports car that she was able to close her eyes.

      “How far downtown do you live?”

      She opened her eyes and stared through the windshield. “I’m on Riverside Drive between 112th and 113th.”

      “I’ll try to avoid the potholes.”

      Ava smiled, but it resembled a grimace. “Thank you.” Those were the last two words she said as she closed her eyes again and settled back against the leather seat that smelled brand-new.

      Whenever he stopped for a red light, Kyle glanced furtively at his passenger. He didn’t know what to make of Ava Warrick. As she was being discharged, he’d learned that she was thirty-four, single and a certified social worker. She worked for an agency that provided social and psychiatric services to women and their children.

      He knew she was trying to put up a brave front, but whenever she thought his attention was elsewhere, he saw her clench her teeth or ball her fingers into a fist. Her comment about making it through high school without an absence spoke volumes: she set unrealistic goals for herself.

      Kyle wanted to tell her that he’d “been there, done that,” working eighty-plus hours a week. When he was lead counsel on a case once, he’d locked himself in his office for thirty-six hours straight, leaving only to shower in the executive restroom and to change his clothes. His secretary ordered in for him, and when the day came for the trial he was running on pure adrenaline.

      He won the case and the next day he flew down to the Caribbean, checked into a hotel room and slept around the clock. The billable fees and the firm’s share from the suit earned him a six-figure bonus but the accolades weren’t enough to make up for the stress and burnout.

      He drove across 135th Street then turned south onto Broadway. Students from Columbia University filled the streets along with neighborhood residents taking advantage of the warm summer weather. Ava still hadn’t stirred when he maneuvered onto Riverside Drive, thankful to find a parking space along the tree-lined street overlooking the Hudson River.

      Reaching over, Kyle shook Ava gently. “We’re here.”

      Ava awoke, her eyelids fluttering wildly. “That was quick.”

      “Nothing but the best from the Chatham car service,” he said jokingly.

      “I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much trouble.”

      “Don’t apologize. Accidents happen.”

      “I know, but I want to make it up to you.”

      Shifting on her seat, Ava stared at the man beside her. When she’d come to New York from Washington, D.C., as a college freshman, her roommate had warned her that New Yorkers were known for minding their own business. If it didn’t concern you then don’t get involved. Kyle Chatham had broken that rule.

      But the World Trade Center tragedy and the city’s campaign of See Something, Say Something changed a lot of New Yorkers. People had a different attitude. After living in СКАЧАТЬ