The Billionaire's Club: Secret Billionaire’s Club Book Six

by Tracey Pedersen

  A folder hangs on the bar at the foot of his bed so I creep forward and pick it up, sliding the plastic carefully to avoid making a noise. My eyes run over the notes and settle on his date of birth. I frown and glance at my patient and almost gasp out loud when I find him staring at me.

  “You are so not the nurse.” His voice is deep, gravelly even, like a lifetime of whisky has sand-papered his vocal cords. He must have started early, though, since his chart says he’s just thirty years old. I didn’t think to ask how old the patient was, though I was expecting someone older, larger, and minus the intelligent, light brown eyes that regard me now.

  “Umm. How can you tell?” No point pretending I’m not sprung. I didn’t even get out more than a hello and he’s onto me. Mental note—practice dishonest faces in front of the mirror before trying to trick anyone else into believing I’m something I’m not.

  “Because my mother chose the nurse, and she would never employ someone who looks like you to be my live-in help.”

  I shrug and replace the chart, hoping my face hasn’t turned red. Might as well be friendly and see if that keeps me out of prison. “That's a bit, shallow, isn't it? Employing someone for their looks?”

  “My mother is the mistress of shallow.” His voice holds humour and the edge of his mouth quirks up. Maybe I won’t be hauled out of here by the police but be allowed to drive off as a free woman.

  The silence is awkward in the giant room, so I move to the chair beside his bed and perch on the edge, being careful to keep my knees together. I’d normally wear work pants for something like this, but I packed for a writing holiday by the pool, not for a nursing assignment. All I have are flouncy skirts that end just above the knee.

  His eyes flick to my bare legs, then he asks, “So, what did you do with the nurse?”

  Be honest. Just tell the truth. Keep Kate out of trouble.

  “She had a family emergency. She had to leave the country and we don’t know when she’ll be back. So, she sent me.”

  He laughs and I frown at him, unsure what the right response is. Laughter is my normal go-to, but this situation could change very quickly if I let down my guard.

  “Holy shit.” He laughs, again. “You're really not the nurse? I was joking.”

  “Well, I'm not, so if you want to call the agency and get me fired, now’s the time. Actually, you’ll get my friend fired. You can't get me fired because I don't really work for you.”

  “She must be a good friend for you to agree to this. What did you plan to do if I needed actual care?” It’s his turn to frown, like he’s just realised he has an uninvited stranger in his house.

  I shrug and stand, moving closer to the bed. “I can care for you. I did a year of a nursing degree before I decided I wasn’t cut out for bedpans and old men squeezing my butt.”

  He grins, then forces the grin from his face. “What’s your normal job? How did you get time off at short notice to sneak into my house?” One of my eyes narrows as I examine him. His voice is still pleasant, and he’s not glaring at me, which is a good start. His eyes meet mine as he waits, his challenging look telling me he’s thinking hard about the situation we find ourselves in.

  “I didn’t sneak in. I was left a key.”

  “Where is Bernie, anyway?” He looks around, like the missing woman might show up to rescue him. “Did you do away with her?” He looks back to me. “Is this like Misery, or something? You hold me captive, until I do what you want?”

  I finally laugh. I can’t help it. I expected to be ordered out the moment I was discovered, but he’s making jokes about killer nurses without even a flutter of his eyelashes.

  “Bernie left a note that she was called away.” I hand him the paper, but he holds up his plaster with a grimace. “Oh, sorry. She left me vague instructions on where to find you, but that’s it. To answer your other questions, I’m a writer. I had a hotel booked not far from here, but it turns out they’re about to tear the place apart and bring in the bulldozers. As my peaceful writing time evaporated before my eyes, Kate called to beg me to look after you. She said this was a live-in position and the brief was that you would most likely demand to be left alone. I agreed because she’s my best friend, but also, I need a quiet place to get my words down. Here or prison seems to be the extent of my choices, right now.” The grin I planned, turns into a grimace and I’m shocked when my patient laughs again.

  “Just suppose for a moment that my accident has injured my brain in some way the doctors missed and I’m considering letting you stay. How would this work?”

  “She said you needed help to move around, someone to check your vitals, insist you take your medication and possibly someone to keep you company. And to be your gopher, so you’d stay off that leg. I have to admit she described a much older man who would probably sleep all day.”

  I blush deep crimson as he looks up at me. Me and my big mouth strike again.

  “I hardly need someone to keep me company and personally I’m not convinced I need a nurse.” His groan as he shifts in his bed makes a mockery of those words. “I have a housekeeper who will make sure I’m fed, and in a day or two I should be able to manage getting myself in and out of a chair.” A laugh squeezes through my lips without me meaning it to and he frowns directly at me. “What?”

  “In a day or two? Don’t you have broken ribs, a fractured wrist, three broken fingers, and a broken leg?” He nods. “Those injuries don’t heal in a day or two.”

  “I didn’t say I’d be healed. I said I’d be able to get around.”

  I glance at his room, needing a moment to clear my head. The space is cavernous, way too big for a normal bedroom. Behind me stands a custom walk through wardrobe complete with centre island. There’s a doorway behind it and I’m pretty sure where it leads. I point at the wheelchair that’s parked a little way from the bed.

  “From where I’m standing, that chair won’t fit through the wardrobe for you to reach the toilet, so unless your housekeeper agrees to hold your hand every time you need to pee, I think you’re stuck with someone helping you.” He opens his mouth and I hold up my hand. “At least for a week or two.”

  “Bathroom visits.” He glances at the wardrobe, a new look of distaste on his face. “I don’t think you need to be concerned with those.”

  “No? How are you planning on taking care of that? Is the housekeeper really going to take you?”

  His look of horror is everything I’d hoped for. His brown eyes darken, and he stares at the ceiling, his fingers clasping and unclasping. Then he grinds out, “I’m not three years old. I can take myself.”

  “Well, I hope I’m still here when you get the first chance to try. Sit up.” I use my commanding nurse voice—I learned something useful in nursing school— and he automatically moves forward, groaning with the effort. I fluff his pillows then rest my hand on his shoulder so he settles back. “I’ll remind you of this conversation when you call my name.”

  Chapter Six - Merek

  Call her name?

  Those words conjure unexpected images and I shake my head, leading to a shooting pain in my side and a wheezing gasp. Between her long legs doing their best to hide under the short, sexy skirt, her perfume that has just enough spice to catch my attention, and the almost-glimpse of her breasts just now when she leaned forward to fix my pillows, the thought of calling her name takes on a whole new meaning.

  I should send her home right now and get the agency to send me a sensible, and safe, nurse. Someone I can complain to, and generally ignore. No way will I be able to ignore this woman.

  “You okay?” She’s staring at me and I’m tongue tied. Like a teenager—lost for words, trying to work out how I got here. One day I’m pointing out where the new crane should be situated when it arrives on site, the next I’m waking up in hospital battered and bruised, and in the next blink I’m stuck at home with a carer.

  A fake carer, I might add.

  I should send her away; should probably report her to s
omeone, actually. But she’s been honest from the first moment she spoke, and besides, who doesn’t want to get one over on their mother occasionally?

  If I let her stay, I’ll call the shots. I can get her to leave me alone a lot more than a real nurse would, and she’ll be happy because she wants to write. We could be the perfect partnership, and no one needs to know. Do they?

  “Why didn’t you go home once the holiday didn’t work out?”

  “I don’t have a fixed address these days.” She laughs at whatever she sees on my face and holds her hands out as though she’s pleading for understanding. “That’s not what it sounds like. I’m not homeless. I’m a house sitter and I don’t have anywhere booked because I’m supposed to be staying at the hotel.”

  “So, you don’t have your own place?”

  “Not for the last few months. My things are in storage and I just move from place to place caring for pets and looking after homes while the owners are away. It’s an excellent way to meet people, get the fun of a pet without the lifelong commitment, and it saves me lots of money, which means I can afford to write full time.”

  “Hmm. I didn’t know that was a thing. Is impersonating a nurse an offence?”

  Her head jerks up and she takes a deep breath. “I checked online at four this morning, and yes, it is. So, I’m your medical assistant.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Kate.” She blurts out the name, then looks away to stare out the window, her fingers fidgeting by her side.

  I’m intrigued. Until now she’s made direct eye contact. I take a guess at the situation and say, “And your real name?”

  She turns pained eyes back to me. “You don’t believe me?”

  “You don’t believe yourself. Do you have a problem telling lies? Even white lies?”

  “Maybe.” She smirks and sighs. “My name is Mindy. Mindy Cox. You can search me on the internet if you like. My friend who should be here is Kate. You don’t need to check up on her because I’m going to kill her when she gets home. I should never have agreed to this. I’m so sorry, Mr. Rummer.”

  “Eww. Mr. Rummer is my dad. You can call me Merek.”

  “I shouldn’t call you anything. I should go. I really am sorry.” She turns toward the door, her skirt twirling around her thighs.

  “I kind of like the idea that my mother didn’t get her way,” I call. “You can never underestimate the fun of that.”

  She stops with her hand on the doorknob. The room is semi-lit so I can’t see her face, but I can tell by her stance this is my last chance to keep her here. To avoid the imposition of a by-the-book nurse who’ll nag me at every turn.

  “I’ll make you a deal, but you have to agree to two things.” She shifts, so her back is to me, but she doesn’t leave. “Come back here so I can tell you how it can still work.”

  “Why would you want it to work?”

  I shrug. “I have my reasons. When you hear my conditions, you’ll see how I’m about to get something in return for my generosity.”

  She turns but her smile is gone, replaced by a scowl. Fair enough, since she was almost out of the room and done with me. She approaches the bed, her eyes narrowed, and I almost laugh when I realise our roles have shifted. Now I’m the one she’s not sure she should trust. “What are the conditions? Anything outrageous is an instant no.”

  Oh, if you only knew the outrageous thoughts running through my head.

  “First, I want a background check.”

  “That makes perfect sense and I’d be worried about you if that wasn’t number one on your list. Best to make sure I’m not a serial killer, or a con artist, or any number of other things, yes?”

  “You got it. I think that's only fair, don't you? The agency would have done their checks on any staff they sent.”

  “Fine. The other thing?”

  “The other thing is something personal that I need help with. I have a visitor coming soon and she kind of has my other mobile.”

  “You have two mobile phones?”

  “Well, I have two now. But only because she somehow got mine when I had the accident. Before that I only had one. She thinks we're dating, and I need that phone back before I break up with her.”

  I laugh. “Wow. That's so romantic. Will you ask for the ring back, too?”

  “There’s no ring. It’s not remotely serious and never was.” I’m aware I’m about to sound like a dick but I have to explain. Like her, I’m reluctant for a half-truth to be out there. “She stole my phone. I didn't give it to her. So, she should give it back.”

  “Let me guess. She has your password, right?”

  “Worse than that. She has access to my social media. And she’s using it.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Luckily I don’t have many Facebook friends, since we’re now apparently in a relationship.” I try to make quote marks, forgetting I’m injured and both hands are unable to perform that particular action.

  “You want help to get your phone back?”

  “Yep. Be warned though, she might not give it up easily. You may have to literally rip it out of her hand when she's not paying attention.”

  “That sounds like a shit thing to do.”

  “If that’s what it takes, that’s what I want you to do. She's probably not going to get close enough for me to take it and I can't exactly chase her around the room, although that's what she had in mind when we first met. It's my own fault. I lead her on before I realised we weren't compatible. So, she thinks there's more happening between us than there is.”

  “So, after I commit common assault on a stranger in your home,” I hold up my hand. “Stop me if I'm getting the details wrong. After I do that, you're happy for me to look after you as much, or as little, as you need, and in return I can work on my book at the times you don't need me. Is that it?”

  “Yes, but I’ll sweeten the deal for you. Get me that phone back and you can stay here as long as you need to get that book finished. I don't know how books work but I'm guessing you need more than three weeks to get it done, right?”

  “Usually.”

  “Well, I have more than enough room here, and while I don’t have a dog, you’re welcome to stay until you’re done.”

  Mindy’s face doesn’t reflect the pure genius I feel right now. I’ve managed to outsmart my mother, organise a break-up with Becky and the return of my phone, as well as guarantee no nurse is around to annoy me over the next few weeks.

  I’ve also guaranteed myself a quirky woman to annoy over the same period. Maybe being stuck in bed won’t be so bad.

  “You should choose yourself a room and get settled. Becky is due after lunch.”

  “Where do you want me?”

  Oh no. More saucy thoughts that aren’t allowed.

  “When you leave this room, turn left and there are three spare bedrooms on the far wall. They’re all different so have a look and choose the one you like. There are more upstairs, but downstairs is probably easiest if I need you.”

  “You’re very trusting, Merek.” She frowns at me. “I almost feel compelled to counsel you about it.”

  I snort. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” Mindy nods and leaves the room. Once she’s out of earshot I mutter to myself, “The only threat you pose to me is those teensy skirts that hug your legs whenever you move.”

  Chapter Seven - Merek

  When Becky arrives, things quickly get interesting. She’s on high alert from the moment Mindy shows her into the house, her eyes flicking between us and narrowing as she stares.

  Mindy rests her hand on the door handle for the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a bit. Can I get you something to drink, Becky?”

  “Just water, thanks.” Becky’s stiff back relaxes and it’s clear she’s just sorted Mindy into the ‘help’ category. The change in her is so obvious, I’m immediately annoyed.

  Mindy leaves before I can call her back. I don’t want to be alone with Becky, but now I’ll ha
ve to make the best of it.

  “Becky. Nice to see you.”

  My plan for this visit is to be polite, but firm. I want her to understand that we aren’t ever going to be a couple, no matter what crazy stuff she’s posted on my Facebook. I’ve kept away from it on purpose, in case she’s added more and I get angry. Calm and fair, that’s the way I want to approach Becky.

  “You too, Merek. I’m so sorry I couldn’t see you sooner.” She’s speaking to me, but her eyes skate around the room, taking in the surroundings and, I suspect, cataloguing the house she might only have dreamed I lived in. She’s probably sizing up locations for an Instagram shot or two. Those won’t be happening in my lounge room. “Your mother banned me from the hospital. I was so hurt.”

  She turns back to me, her eyes suitably anguished, but I feel nothing. When we first met at a party in the city, she was fun. She said all the right things, probably flattered me a little, as well as touched my hand now and again. For a fleeting moment I thought we might explore something, but it passed quickly and then the accident happened. I resolve right now not to get involved with anyone about whom I don’t know more than their name, hair colour and Insta handle.

  Becky’s phone is in her hand, the bright pink case confirming that it’s not mine. She moves to the side of my bed and leans down near my head, holding up her arm for a selfie.

  “No.” I put my hand over the phone, and she straightens and pouts.

  “Aww, no fair, Merek. That would have been an awesome shot.”

  “You’re not using me to up your social media game. Could I get my phone back while you’re here, please?”

  “Sure.” She nods but doesn’t make a move to retrieve it. “Why is your bed out here? Why aren’t you in your bedroom?”

  “It’s stuffy in there. I thought it would be nicer to visit with you out here.” You will never get near my bedroom. Mindy and I had a good laugh as I sat in my wheelchair and she rolled the bed into the sitting room. Getting in and out of the chair is a skill I’ve yet to master and I can’t manoeuvre smoothly around the room with my screaming ribs.