Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, Hayden Avery, YazminXD, and Singingsilent! I'm glad the previous chapter evoked the emotions I tried so hard to put onto paper-it took me five hours to write and rewrite it just right. :) I anxiously await reviews to see if the readers liked a chapter or not so I know if I'm doing a decent job.
Numbers, numbers, and more numbers taunted in the study two mornings later. These files grew messier with each day. They stretched out not only on the desk but now across half the study floor. The pattern that had seemingly been the answer on the first day was clearly not how the thief had operated on day ten. She dropped her head down on the desk and groaned. This was no longer exciting and fun, but irritating and hard. Getting paid a thousand dollars a day to figure this out didn't warrant whining, though.
"That bad?" Two large hands kneaded her shoulders.
"How did you even realize there's embezzeling?" She didn't move, his hands doing a marvelous job of working out the tension in her neck.
His hands inched their way down her back. "It was a hunch. I authorized reimbursement for a twenty-two dollar maintenance material receipt but happened to find it entered in the books as twenty-two dollars and seventy-five cents."
She shot up, shooting the chair backwards into him. "Sorry." Then she darted across the room to a file. Flipping it open, she spread out the receipts. Darting around the room, she collected several paint receipts. "Oh my god," she gasped. "It's so obvious!" She grabbed grocery receipts and spread them out on the carpet. "Oh, you're a genius!"
He laughed as his eye followed her darting around. "Okay, I'll take the compliment, although I have no idea what you're talking about."
Dropping into the chair, she banged out numbers on the keyboard. "Look at this." She pointed to the screen. "I arranged these by day, but they should be by category. Each maintenance item has an extra few cents, most of them around a dollar. Groceries are an extra five dollars, but only every other month. Look. Look at this one." She punched in a formula. "This furniture purchase was for an extra hundred." Then she froze. "Oh my god."
"What?"
She twisted around in the chair to look up at him. "Where are the taxes?"
His eye widened and he cursed under his breath. He turned and started to pull boxes aside to get to the ones underneath the stack.
She got up and caught his arm. "You probably aren't supposed to lift things for a few weeks after surgery."
"I can lift a box." He threw her a look and started to bend down.
"I know you can, but are you supposed to?" She grabbed his sleeve.
"It's twenty pounds at most." His eyelid shifted a bit like he cocked an eyebrow.
She slid between him and the boxes, a bit of a tight fit. "What weight limit did the doctor give?" Tucking her hands behind her back to keep the box from biting in, she leaned back to look up at him.
He scowled. "Are you my mother?"
"I hope not because that's sick if you kiss your mom's neck like that. What's the weight limit?"
He blinked. And then burst out laughing. "Ow," he whimpered and held his eye. "Stop making me laugh," he chuckled.
She couldn't help but smile. "Then stop being stubborn. You lift nothing if you aren't going to behave. Sit."
He frowned. "I'm the boss."
"Not when you're acting like a child." She turned him around and pushed him toward the chair. "Sit and behave."
The man sat, looking none too pleased.
She hefted aside file boxes, working up a bit of a sweat.
"Well this is chivalry at its finest," he grumbled.
Pulling up the sleeves of her sweater, she bent down to grab another box. "The Feminist Movement already happened a hundred years ago," she grunted. She tried to lift a particularly heavy box that wouldn't budge.
"If you want, I can take you to the graveyard in town to prove my point."
"What?" she panted and turned to look at him.
He propped his elbow on the armrest and rested his chin in his palm. "The Feminist Movement women. They're all dead. From lifting boxes."
He said it so straightfaced that she snorted a laugh. That made both of them start laughing.
Holding his face, he whimpered, "Would you stop?" His shoulders still shook with laughter.
"I'm not the one cracking jokes," she smiled and wiped her eyes. "Besides, I'm supposed to be working. Why are you in here?" She gave up and sat on top of the box.
"I got bored. I'm sick of being in bed. I don't feel bad enough to be in bed, but the thought of working today makes my head hurt."
She smiled. "So you're gonna pester me so I don't get any work done?"
"I'm the one paying your salary."
"You know your business taxes are probably screwed up from the last few years. The IRS is probably on their way here right now."
He leaned back in the chair, stretched his legs out, and crossed his ankles. He seemed to be more and more comfortable letting his guard down. "They can arrest me. I'll tell them my pretty little accountant is working the books." He winked, revealing he wouldn't really.
She blushed over the fact that he'd called her 'pretty.' "Why would you drag me into it?"
"To have company in the jail cell," he smiled.
"Oh, so I'm back to being your entertainment." She rolled her eyes with a smile. "Well, Mr. Bored, I have a question for you." Pulling out the unopened envelope from the desk, she handed it to him and pointed to 'Dr.' Then she leaned against the desk and folded her arms, waiting for an answer.
He tossed it on the desk and looked at her. "What do you think it is?" When she frowned, he said, "You're intelligent. I'm curious what your theory is." He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands over his flat stomach.
"Alright. You seem to be a business man. You went to the military to be a SEAL in return for free college. You have a PhD in business or something."
He raised an eyebrow. "Hm. Interesting theory, and not too far off. But no PhD."
Her eyebrows rose. "A doctor?"
"I haven't practiced in years, obviously, but I keep my license up."
She sat on the desk, ready to listen.
He cracked a smile. "I did some time in the military, and they paid for med school. I couldn't afford it myself otherwise, and I was an arrogant shit and quite the ladies man. I needed the reality check." Then a bitter laugh escaped him. "Be careful because karama's a bitch."
She winced. He must've been an attractive man. Plenty of attractive teenage guys were arrogant, but some of them outgrew it. Clearly he had in the military. But the cruel irony to then become so disfigured that people labeled him a beast...
"Anyways, a fellowship in cardiology, and now I'm here."
He needed something to lift his spirits. "Hm. I suppose that's impressive." She suppressed a smile. "The rich doctor thing and all."
A good-natured smile tugged at his lips. "Yes well, it's not enough to make women bang down the door."
Nope, going down that road would lead to him feeling self-conscious. Time for a different route. "You seem like the gastroenterologist type."
"Why?"
"Because you're so full of crap, Mr. Port," she smiled.
He burst out laughing and held the side of his face. "I see you caught me."
Her smiled faded. "Trudy slipped the first morning I was here. Why did you have them stop calling you 'doctor'?"
The gleam of teeth disappeared, and he seemed suddenly serious. His eye looked away. "Because I didn't want you scared if you had heard about the accident in the paper. Maybe you wouldn't put the pieces together that way."
She frowned. "I don't remember hearing about any fire and a doctor." He looked incredibly uncomfortable, so she changed the topic. "Even a cardiologist doesn't make this much money." Her hand swept the room.
"If you live off cardio patents and wise investments, it does."
Cocking her head, she searched his face to see if he was serious. "Is that why you travel? To go work on patents?"
He nodded. "I have a business associate who stands in my stead for in-person meetings and relays information to me."
She pointed at the boxes under her. "Not this one, I hope."
"No, someone completely separate."
A bit of a vague response, but he was also a bit of a private man. She let it drop with a glance at her watch and hopped up. "Your med is due." She held out her hand to him.
Taking her hand, he pushed himself up. "I can handle getting it myself, you know."
"It never hurt anyone to get a little babying." He didn't let go of her hand, so she kept hold and pulled him along.
"I'm not sure why I was so anxious to get home to a bossy nurse," he teased.
"Yes, you have it so rough having someone make sure you're taking pain meds on time." He didn't say anything, so she glanced back at him when they entered the foyer. He'd shut down; she felt it. Somehow she'd tripped over a sore spot. Then it dawned that something had happened at the hospital either this time or at the time of the accident. She stopped and wrapped an arm around his. "Jason?" she said softly and laid a hand on his chest to get his attention. His eye shifted to her and focused, as if he'd been lost in memories. "If you'd let me do more to help, I will. Scars are simply skin; they do not make up the man."
He squared his shoulders, as if trying to hide the hurt. "The nurse was nervous doing bandage changes. She tried not to show it, but she hated it."
The past probably made him hypersensitive to reactions, but people were also cruel when perhaps they didn't mean to be. "Jason-"
He let go of her hand and walked toward the kitchen.
She watched his back. His physique certainly excelled, and the little of his face she had seen was attractive. Why could people see no farther than skin deep? In time, everyone's looks faded; his had simply been taken prematurely and to a greater extent. But, what if people saw only the heart? Then he'd be known as the most beautiful creature alive. She'd barely scratched the surface with him and knew there were so many more wonderful things yet to discover.
She went into the kitchen to see him leaning a hand down on the counter near the sink and holding his face. "Does it hurt?" She hurried over and set a hand on his back. His eye was closed in pain.
"This incessant headache flares up."
"Is it alright for you to be wearing this mask? It's probably keeping the surgical site too warm and migh lead to infection." She got a glass of water and dumped out two pills in her hand.
He looked at her from the corner of his eye.
"What?" She held out the pills
"Are you done smothering?" He took one of the pills and the glass of water.
"No. Don't you want two?" She frowned and held it out to him again.
"I'm supposed to be down to one."
She rolled he eyes. "But it says two if needed. Don't be stubborn."
"One is fine." He didn't move.
She sighed. "Really? You won't even drink when I'm around?"
His eye shot daggars.
"Jason," she said patiently. "This is building up in your head to be a huge monster. There are hundreds of burn victims..." She bit off her words and closed her eyes for a moment to calm down. She shouldn't push. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to undermine what you're feeling." She searched his eye so full of anger and betrayal, and set a hand on his arm. "I just wish I knew how to earn your trust. You're so alone in this, but you don't need to be."
"And what good does it do for you to see?!" he exploded, making her jump. "So you know what horrors hide under this mask? So you can have nightmares and be revolted when I touch you?!" he shouted, the pain as palpable as if it was her own.
Tears welled in her eyes to hear how much he disgusted even himself. "Jason, it wouldn't be like that-"
He slammed his hand down on the counter, making the dishes in the sink clatter. "What?" he hissed. "You want to know I'm so deformed I can't drink from a glass without dribbling like a baby? That I have to eat like an animal?"
"Stop it!" Tears ran down her face and she reached for him so he'd stop cutting himself like this.
He stepped back out of reach and roared, "Then what do you want?!"
"For you to let me love you!" She froze. That was the wrong thing to say. Not now when he was so hurt and angry.
"Jesus," he said in disgust and closed his eyes as he turned away. Leaning his hands on the edge of the sink, he bowed his head. "I'm not a goddamn puppy that needs rescuing," he said quietly.
"Jason," she sniffled and set a hand on his arm.
He jerked his arm away.
Letting her hand fall, she didn't even try to stop the tears. "I've never seen you as something that needs rescuing. I've been the one leaning on you, learning to trust men again because of you," she whispered. He didn't move. So she silently walked out and stopped at the door to look back at him, wishing he'd turn around instead of push her away.
He snatched the glass in front of him and flung it into the sink. It shattered with a loud crash. Then he leaned his hands down on the counter and bowed his head again. That image of him shattered her heart in as many pieces as the glass.