Rhodium

by Elise Noble

  The elevator code, the numbers I’d punched in to make my desperate escape…

  Zero two zero seven.

  The seventh of February.

  My birthday.

  CHAPTER 20

  I REALISED TOO late that I’d run out of Oliver’s building with no phone and no money. Either the police had them, or they were in the shambolic remains of a glass-and-steel edifice in Rybridge. I could add cancelling my credit card to the list of things to do today, although if someone found it, they were welcome to my bills.

  Without the means to contact anyone, I stopped a lady walking a chihuahua and asked where I was. She gave me an odd look but helped with directions back to my apartment. Sick to my stomach from the events of the last twenty-four hours, I set off on the two-mile walk home.

  Imogen answered the entry phone almost immediately, sounding breathless.

  “Stef?”

  “Can you let me in? I don’t have my bag.”

  The buzzer sounded, and with the elevator out of order, I climbed up to the fourth floor wearily. All I wanted to do was go back to bed, even though I’d just got up. As I exited the stairwell, Imogen rushed out the door and threw her arms around me, pressing her face into the crook of my neck as she stood on tiptoes.

  “He said you were okay, but I wasn’t sure I believed him until you got here.”

  I hugged her back, grateful at least one person in the world was happy to see me.

  “He?”

  “A guy came to Jamie’s and told me he knew you and I needed to leave, that the police were on their way to search the apartment. I wasn’t sure about going, but he was really hot.”

  I didn’t know whether to be happy she got out or gnash my teeth at her.

  “Imogen, you understand that just because a guy’s hot, it doesn’t always mean he’s safe, right?”

  Oliver wrote the rule book on that one.

  She pulled back and rolled her eyes. “Duh, I totally get that. But he had an ID badge for some security firm. And a Camaro.”

  Oh, Imogen. “What security firm?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure. Black-something?”

  Blackwood. It had to be. “Promise me you’ll be more careful next time.”

  “Okay, okay, I will. So do you know him? Can I get his number? I was so busy worrying last night I forgot to ask.”

  “I don’t know who he was. He must have been a friend of a friend.”

  “Malachi, that was his name. So, can you ask your friend?”

  “We had a bit of an argument this morning.” She opened her mouth, and I could feel questions coming, so I cut her off. “Anyway, what about Jamie? You seem to have got over him really quickly.”

  “Malachi said he was dealing drugs, so I figure it’s not a good idea to hang out with him anymore. I don’t want to get caught up in any trouble. What exactly happened to you last night, anyway?”

  “Can we discuss it later? I need to lie down first.”

  I stayed in bed until Sunday. Cocooned under the comforter where no monsters, ghouls, or lawyers could get me. Although I kept yawning, every time I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, I ended up back at Friday night’s party, and once I’d relived my arrest for the sixth time, I gave up and planned what to say to Imogen instead.

  I still hadn’t entirely decided when she knocked on my door.

  “I brought coffee.”

  Those words would usually be the equivalent of “open sesame,” but this morning, I barely contained my groan. “Thanks.”

  She pushed the door open and peered around the edge. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I got run over by a truck.”

  And it didn’t help when Imogen sat down on the end of the bed with a bump. The ripples made me queasy.

  “So what happened? You can’t keep me in the dark any longer.”

  I recounted the whole sorry chain of events at the party, from the moment Landon picked me up until I got thrown in jail. When I got to the bit about Jamie stumbling out with a half-naked girl in tow, Imogen’s eyes narrowed.

  “That’s it! I’m gonna cut his balls off with a pair of nail clippers.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out. Or a potato peeler? What do you think of a potato peeler?”

  “I think it’s a good thing Jamie got put in jail.”

  “I hope they lock him up for good, the asshole. Still, I can’t believe it took them almost a whole day to let you go.”

  “Well…” If that was what she thought, who was I to correct her? At least that would avoid awkward questions about where I’d stayed for the remains of Friday night. “The cops were really busy. I guess they had a lot of people to interview.”

  “Malachi said your lawyer had things under control.”

  “Yeah, he did. He did most of the talking, and then they let me go.”

  She took the coffee out of my hand and gave me a hug. “I’m so glad you’re back. Next time, I promise I’ll vet our dates better. No cheaters, no dealers. Perhaps I should go scouting at the library or something.”

  Fun though it might be to see Imogen skulking through the stacks of books, I needed to let her know where I stood.

  “I’ve decided I’m going celibate. In fact, if you even see me near a man, shoot me.”

  “No way.”

  “I’ll join a convent. It’s the only option. Men are rats.”

  Except for Oliver. Oliver was more of a lion but with the ethics of a mosquito.

  “But celibacy? That’s a bit drastic.”

  “I still have fingers.”

  “Fingers don’t wine you and dine you first.”

  “I’m not drinking again either. It only gets me into trouble.”

  “Well, aren’t you gonna be the funnest person on earth.”

  “Maybe I’ll take up a new hobby?”

  “Like what? Needlepoint?”

  Imogen left for her shift at Rhodium at four, which gave me the evening with ice cream and a movie. They didn’t have the same effect they used to. Instead, I thought back to all the times I’d snuggled up with Chrissie as we drowned our sorrows in a pint of double chocolate chip. If only I could turn the clock back a year, knowing what I knew now… How different things would be.

  I fell asleep before Imogen came home, but she still got up before me on Monday morning. I tried to match her smile as we walked to Java.

  Not easy, as she was positively beaming.

  “Guess what? One of the other waitresses at Rhodium is having her appendix out this week. Louis sent her home yesterday in agony, right before the Ghost came in. She was really pissed.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back.”

  The Ghost—also known as Ethan White—was another celebrity, a DJ and music producer who’d adopted a spooky stage name, and Oliver probably gave him a discount seeing as they were friends. He’d also gotten tangled up in the Carter mess through no fault of his own.

  “I hope so. He’s hot. Anyway, she’s off for at least a week, so I’ve got all her extra shifts. Isn’t that great? Louis wants to know if you’d be interested in the ones I’m already working?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure…”

  “Consider it. I don’t have to get back to him until this afternoon.”

  “Okay.”

  My answer would be no, but I knew Imogen would try to convince me otherwise, and it was too early for me to think of a response. I needed at least two cups of coffee in me to come up with something plausible.

  But I’d only had one before Monday morning got a whole lot worse. I was taking a rare turn at the coffee machine when Imogen nudged me and hissed in my ear. “Hot stuff alert. Your go.”

  And then I felt him. Before I even began to turn.

  After everything I’d said to him on Saturday, Oliver still showed up for a plain black Colombian as if nothing had happened. Not that I remembered his order or anything. Anyway, the man must have the hide of a rhino. And if the contents of hi
s guest bathroom were anything to go by, he probably treated it with three-hundred-dollar moisturiser morning, noon, and night.

  I forced myself to unclench my jaw and walked up to the counter. “What can I get you?”

  “Grande Colombian. Black.”

  “I’m on it,” Imogen called out.

  There was an awkward silence for a few seconds before Oliver lowered his voice. “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  A pause. “I’ll call the police this morning and see what’s going on with the Bishop case.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And you’re still coming this afternoon?”

  I’d been trying to block the visit to his office from my mind.

  “I wasn’t aware there was a choice?”

  “There isn’t.”

  Imogen handed me his coffee, I slammed it onto the counter, and he dropped a hundred-dollar bill next to it. Prick. Was I supposed to be impressed by that? It would eat half our change. I fished out his ninety-six dollars and fifteen cents, only when I went to give it to him, I saw the back of his hand-tailored suit disappearing out the door.

  Oh no. No way. He didn’t get to dump all that change on me like some bribe for my services later.

  “Back in a sec,” I muttered to a startled Imogen, then took off after him.

  He’d abandoned his Porsche in a tow-away zone across the street—no surprises there—and he bleeped the locks as I burst out of Java.

  “Wait!”

  He looked across at me, then shook his head and opened the door. Red mist clouded my vision as I pushed into a run, hand outstretched. If he wouldn’t accept the money, I’d throw it into his damn car.

  The first indication I got that something was wrong was a slight widening of Oliver’s eyes as he glanced to my right. The second was a streak of blue, and the third was the searing pain in my left ankle as the truck hit me. The driver didn’t even stop, just squealed his tyres as I rolled into the gutter. Asshole. And kind of ironic. Someone had attempted to run me over on purpose a few months back, and I’d escaped, but now I’d gotten hurt through my own stupidity.

  “Fuck!” Oliver was beside me in an instant.

  Great. As if being hit by a truck wasn’t bad enough.

  “Where does it hurt?”

  “My ankle.” I tried rolling to one side to get up, only to rethink that as a white-hot dagger of pain stabbed my left wrist. “And my wrist. Could you help me up? I need to go and sit down.”

  “The only place you’re going is the hospital.”

  Visions of past medical bills swam through my mind—the main reason I’d ended up in this mess in the first place. “I’ll be fine. I just need a couple of painkillers and a rest.”

  “No chance. Your ankle’s swelling already.”

  I made another attempt to get to my feet, and the world went blurry as another wave of agony shot through my leg. “I’m not going to the hospital.”

  “Yes, you are.” He already had his phone in his hand.

  “No, I’m not. I can’t afford it, okay? I don’t have insurance.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “No, you won’t. I’m not being indebted to you.”

  “So you’d rather not be able to walk?”

  A scream sounded from the other side of the road, and Imogen ran across. Thankfully there was no more traffic, because she didn’t look both ways either.

  “What happened?”

  “I had an accident.”

  “A car hit her,” Oliver said helpfully.

  “Holy Stromboli. Have you called an ambulance?”

  “I’m trying, but Stefanie here doesn’t want to see a doctor.”

  Imogen grabbed the phone out of his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course she does.”

  Oliver smiled triumphantly while Imogen made the call, although he soon stopped looking so smug when I leaned to the side and threw up on his leather wingtips. Freaking hell, I hurt. The pain was so bad I didn’t even get a chance to feel mortified, although as this was the second time I’d puked in front of him, he should have been used to it by now.

  The ambulance must have been close, because the siren sounded a minute later. I closed my eyes and prayed for drugs as a pair of medics jostled me onto a stretcher.

  “Would you like something for the pain?” the female medic asked.

  I managed to nod, teeth clenched together.

  She inserted an IV line into my hand and patted me on the shoulder. “That’ll start to work in a minute, lovely.” She looked out at the crowd. “Who’s coming to the hospital with this girl?”

  Imogen stepped forwards. “I will, but I’ll need to get rid of the customers and lock the shop. Can I catch up?”

  Then Oliver’s voice sounded from the side. “Take your time. I’ll go with her.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  I tried to speak, but it came out as a croak. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  Imogen shook her head. “Oh, Stef. The drugs have sent you silly already.” She glanced over my shoulder, then looked back. “And he’s hot,” she mouthed.

  Hot? Oliver was the second circle of hell.

  CHAPTER 21

  A BIZARRE SENSE of déjà vu overcame me as I lay in a hospital cubicle waiting for the results of my X-rays. Had I broken something this time? I had a horrible feeling the answer would be yes.

  At least today I didn’t have to wait so long to get seen. When I damaged my wrist before, I’d sat on one of those hard plastic chairs for hours before someone came to help.

  Today, Oliver had made a phone call and a doctor materialised almost immediately. At least the asshole was good for something other than sex and, well, lawyering.

  Not that he hung around. When Dr. Beech wheeled me back to a cubicle after my X-rays, Oliver was nowhere in sight, but Imogen had arrived and somehow convinced the staff to let her through.

  She leapt up the instant she saw me. “Are you okay? Did you break any bones?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  The white-coated cutie hovering near Imogen squeezed her arm. “I’m sure your sister will be just fine. I need to go check on some patients, but call if you need anything.” He gave her a grin that spoke of years at the orthodontist. “Like, anything.”

  She gave him a little wave, watching until he rounded the corner out of sight.

  “Fast work, Imogen.”

  “Practice makes perfect. Anyhow, you can’t talk—your hottie’s still hanging around outside on the phone. Getting hit by a car? Genius. I’ve never thought of that one before.”

  “I didn’t plan it.”

  “So why did you go running after Oliver Rhodes?”

  “He forgot his change.”

  Imogen rolled her eyes. “You should have put it in the tip jar. I bet your subconscious told you he was some kind of white knight. And did you see his car? That thing’s top of the line.”

  “I might have broken bones here. Trust me, my subconscious didn’t ask him to save me.”

  She settled into the chair beside the bed. “So, how long until you get the test results?”

  “Who knows? Ages, probably.”

  At least the nurse had given me more painkillers now. Before, just breathing made my limbs hurt.

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  I turned my head and followed her gaze. Dr. Beech approached, chatting to Oliver as though they were old buddies. The pair of them stopped next to the bed, and Dr. Beech consulted my chart. I tried to read his expression, but his frown mixed with a lopsided smile didn’t give much away.

  “Well, Miss Amor, you’ve been quite lucky. A hairline fracture of your ankle and a grade-two sprain of your wrist. Six weeks, and you’ll be well on the way to recovery.”

  “Six weeks?” I groaned and sank back into the pillow.

  Another six weeks of not earning any money would put me on the breadline, but there was no way I could serve customers fast enough
with one hand. I’d probably spill coffee everywhere. And this time, I didn’t even have any savings.

  “Give or take. The nurse will organise a cast for your ankle and strap your wrist up. You’ll need to put plenty of ice on it for the next couple of days to take the swelling down.”

  My last stint in a cast had been hell, and I’d needed Chrissie’s help with everything from washing my hair to cooking dinner. I hadn’t known Imogen anywhere near as long, and she’d barely be around next week anyway.

  “I’ll have to go home,” I mumbled.

  Except I couldn’t go back to Georgia, could I? Not when I was on bail and banned from leaving the state. Shit.

  “Oh no, not back to Georgia?” Imogen perched on the side of the bed and held my good hand.

  “I can’t do everything by myself for six weeks, not with a cast and bandages.”

  My eyes prickled, and I blinked back the tears. After the experience with Randy, not one little bit of me wanted to return to Hartscross, even if I was allowed to go.

  “But you don’t have to leave. I’ll cover next month’s rent, and I’ll see if I can get time off work to help you. Louis’ll just have to find someone else to cover Katie’s shifts. I’ll tell him it’s an emergency.”

  “That’s not fair. You’ll lose money.”

  “Don’t worry; I’ve got some savings, and you’re more important.”

  “But if you take time off work, that’ll cost you even more money. Maybe if I explain the situation to the police, they’ll understand and let me take the bus home.”

  “Stef, you can’t go on the bus with a broken leg and a bad arm. How long does it take? Eight hours? Nine?”

  “About ten, but I’ll have painkillers.”

  Dr. Beech cut in. “You’ll also need to have a check-up on those injuries in two weeks, Miss Amor. It’s already been paid for here.”

  “What? By who?”

  He didn’t answer, but cut his eyes to my dark-haired nemesis.

  Imogen smiled triumphantly. “See? You have to stay in Richmond now.”

  “Stefanie can stay in my apartment.”

  Three heads swivelled to look at Oliver, who looked as surprised as anyone by the words that had just left his mouth.