by Cat Johnson
He moved across the apartment and toward the sofa in the living room.
She followed, flipping on the lights as she walked. As he lowered himself slowly onto the sofa she said, “Wouldn't you rather lay down in the bedroom?”
“No.” His tone left no room for negotiation.
She pressed her lips tight and held in further comment on that matter.
At least he was sitting and resting. That was better than nothing and probably the best she could expect.
“I'm going to the kitchen to see about dinner. Can I get you something to drink or eat?” She'd chosen the words very carefully to make it sound like it was just a polite offer and not her trying to care for him.
When he nodded she realized her ploy had worked. She'd have to remember that in future.
“Water, please?”
“Sure.” On her way through the doorway, she saw the place settings still out on the dining table from a week ago.
Memories of that night, that phone call, assaulted her.
Swallowing hard, she pushed the horror away and reminded herself that he was okay. Well enough to be a crabby brat sitting up on the sofa.
She delivered a cold bottle of water to him. “Want me to get you a pain pill?”
He lifted the bottle. “Thanks for the water. And no on the pain pill.”
Silly, stubborn man. She compressed her lips and didn't say what she was thinking. Instead, she changed the subject. “Oh, by the way. There's chocolate lava cake for dessert.”
Maybe she'd grind up a pill and hide it in his dessert. If he was going to act like a child, she'd have to start treating him as one.
His eyebrows rose. “Like the ones we got at that restaurant in Alexandria?”
“Yes.”
“How did you manage that?” He frowned. “Did you buy them frozen or something?”
She planted her hands on her hips. “No, I did not. I made them. From scratch. They were going to be a surprise for you after dinner Saturday but instead you went and got shot so . . .”
“Sorry. If I'd known about the chocolate cake I would have tried harder to not get shot.” His lips twitched.
What was this? Her being annoyed and bitchy amused him? Hell, since she hadn't seen him smile in days, she'd take any semblance of a good mood from Zane any way she could get it.
“What’s the occasion for the special dessert?” he asked. “Did you finally decide to marry me?”
“No.”
Jeez he was in an odd mood. Joking about marriage? That wasn’t him. It must be the painkillers. She was going to have to Google and see the side effects.
But in the meantime, since her new bold honesty seemed to be working to knock him out of his self-pitying funk, she decided to continue. No more coddling. The cold hard truth from now on.
“Actually, when I made them I was trying to butter you up. Put you in a chocolate haze to soften the blow before I told you that Amelia not only asked me to be in the wedding party as one of her attendants, but that she expects you to be in it too, as a groomsman. And you're going to hate it but since she's family I really can't see any way out of it. You're just going to have to suck it up and do it. Okay?” Hands on her hips, she challenged him to argue.
His expression changed from wide eyed surprise, to a frown, to cool calm acceptance. “Okay.”
Her own eyes popped wide. “Okay?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yup. I agree. She's family. There's no way to get out of it so I'll just do it.” He lifted his one shoulder—the one on the good side without the bullet holes in it.
“Okay then.” Missy pivoted on her heel and went to hide in the kitchen and regroup.
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The relief over having told him about the wedding and his accepting it so easily was overwhelming. As was the fact Zane was being so compliant.
It was odd. Disconcerting to say the least. As if the shooting—or at least the recovery—had broken his spirit. He would have never agreed to be in a wedding party so easily before the shooting.
His total one-eighty when it came to his hatred of all things wedding was more proof of what she'd first suspected in the hospital. He was suffering from some sort of post-traumatic stress.
She wasn't sure how she felt about the new Zane.
It was probably temporary and she should be grateful for the reprieve at the perfect time—when she really needed him to be compliant when it came to Amelia's wedding functions.
If it proved permanent, then she was going to have get used to this new him.
Either way, she still had to see about dinner.
CHAPTER 21
A week in the hospital—too long in his opinion—had been enough torture for Zane.
Thank God that was done. No more hospital for him.
He'd love to say no more doctors either but there would be follow up visits. More poking and prodding and pills. So many pills.
Zane knew infections could kill a person just as well as a bullet could so yeah, he'd take the damn antibiotics for however long the docs wanted him to. When and if he took the pain pills, however, was going to be at his own discretion.
The docs were probably going to want him to do some physical therapy too later on. If so, he'd put in the work for that. No questions asked. He needed to get back to one hundred percent so he could get back to his life.
But until then he'd be damned if he'd sit around like a couch potato resting for weeks, possibly months, just because he'd taken a bullet in the side.
To hell with that.
Who had time to rest? He had shit he needed to get done. The new office to set up. Office staff to hire. And most importantly, a girlfriend he needed to convince that he really did want to marry her because for some inexplicable reason she didn't believe him.
Now, after days of her being home, anticipating and tending to his every imagined need since his release from the hospital, he'd finally been able to convince Missy she could go back to work. That he didn't need tending twenty-four seven. That he could survive being alone from nine-to-five and manage to not die or injure himself. So maybe there was hope he'd be able to convince her to marry him.
He glanced at the coffee table and shook his head.
Before she’d left for work, she'd set him up with anything and everything he could possibly need so he wouldn't have to get up. The cell phone. The remote control. Snacks. An extra blanket. A book to read.
Eyeing the four bottles of water she'd left for him, he had to laugh even though it hurt to do so.
Apparently she didn't consider that if he drank all that water she so conveniently provided he'd have to get up to go to the bathroom, which would defeat her plan to have him not move while she was gone. She’d meant well though.
The doorbell rang and he snorted out another short laugh. Another thing Missy hadn't considered in her quest to keep him couch-bound—visitors.
He braced on the upholstered arm and hoisted himself off the sofa. He was sore. He wouldn't be running any marathons or doing sit-ups in the near future, but he could stand and he could walk. Something Missy tried her best to keep him from doing.
Moving around and starting to use his muscles again had to be good for his recovery so he didn't mind having an excuse to get up now. But he could probably do without having visitors for a while. There'd been enough sympathetic well wishers in and out of his hospital room to last him a lifetime.
Maybe this visitor came bearing gifts. A pizza would be good. Beer would be better but Missy would really flip over that and the docs wouldn't be any happier.
Zane used his right hand to flip the lock and reach for the doorknob. Eventually, he'd have to stop babying his left side, suck it up and use it. Maybe later.
He pulled open the door and was surprised to see Amelia. “Zane. Oh my God. Are you supposed to be up?”
Great. Someone else to yell at him.
“Yeah. I'm fine.” He noticed the two shopping bags in her hands and took a step back. �
�Come on in. Missy isn't here. She went to work.”
She followed him in, put one bag down on the floor and closed the door behind herself. “I know. She told me she was going back today. That's why I'm here actually. I wanted to drop off these.”
He had to admit he was interested in what those two big heavily laden bags contained. He eyed them. “What have you got there?”
“Dinner and dessert. Since she's back to work today I thought I'd help out and drop off a home cooked meal for you both. Two days worth actually. Some chili and cornbread. And stuffed shells with garlic bread and salad. And cookies and brownies.”
“Wow. Sounds good. Thank you.” He moved to reach for one bag and she swooped in.
“Nope. You will not pick up those bags. I'm going to go put it all away in the kitchen and you just leave it there until Missy gets home and can heat it up.” She glared a warning at him. “All right?”
Zane rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma'am.”
He'd agree but he had every intention of rifling through and finding those brownies the minute Amelia left.
She rushed the bags off to the kitchen.
Zane followed at a slower pace, leaning on the doorframe as he watched her bustle around the room. “I'm glad you're here actually. I wanted to ask your opinion about something.”
“Oh?” She glanced over her shoulder as she pulled open the fridge door. “On what?”
“On how to propose to Missy so she'll actually say yes.”
Amelia spun away from the open fridge to face him, eyes wide, plastic container still in her hand. “You're proposing?”
“I already did. In the hospital. She said no.”
“She didn't tell me that.” Amelia stashed the container on a shelf and closed the door. “I'm surprised she didn't tell me, but I'm not surprised she said no.”
“You're not?” He sure as hell was surprised. Why wasn't Amelia?
“Nope.”
“Mind telling me why not?”
“You'd just been shot. You were all drugged up. You weren't thinking clearly.”
He was getting pretty tired of people saying that. “That's where you're wrong. I decided to propose long before I got shot.”
Amelia screwed up her mouth with a doubt-filled expression.
“You don't believe me?”
“Well . . .” She wobbled her head from side to side.
Zane laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. “Meli. When I was shot I had the engagement ring on me. I was there meeting with Missy's father to ask for her hand in marriage. I was on my way home to ask her that night.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. You can ask her father if you don't believe me.”
“I believe you. But why didn't you tell Missy all this?”
“I don't know. Because I'm pissed she said no? Because after all this time and all that's happened just handing over proof that I'm not asking because of some sort of PTSD doesn't seem like enough?”
“So you're looking for some grand gesture?” she asked.
“I guess.” He lifted his right shoulder in a shrug.
Amelia nodded. “All right. Then let's think of one.”
He snorted. “I've been trying. It seems this isn't exactly my wheelhouse.”
“Lucky for you it's mine.” She smiled. She pulled another plastic container out of a bag and glanced at him. “Can you sit down please? I don't want you collapsing on my watch.”
“I'm not going to collapse.” He grumbled the complaint, but moved forward and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat. Mostly because it was closer to the container of cookies she'd just taken out of the bag and put on the table.
“So, we need something big and romantic. Something she'll never forget.”
He let out a short laugh. “I'm pretty sure she'll never forget my getting shot, but yeah, that's the general idea.”
“She can be stubborn once she's gotten an idea in her mind so I see your problem.”
“Exactly.” Zane nodded. “I mean, what I'd like to do is ignore that she said no, drag her to the alter and get this thing done. Not at all romantic, I know.”
“It could be though.”
He frowned. “How?”
“Plan the wedding. Do all the work, just as she would have. Surprise her with it.”
“A surprise wedding?” He laughed at that notion.
“Yes.” Amelia nodded, looking excited about what he considered a monumentally bad idea.
“And that's romantic?”
“Yes. Oh my God. I'd swoon if a man did that for me.”
Apparently he didn't know how women thought. This was exactly why he'd asked Amelia's opinion in the first place. The question was did he trust it?
He considered that. The more he thought, the more he realized it was doable. “I saw this scrap book of hers. It's filled with pictures of wedding dresses and flowers and table decorations and stuff.”
“Oh my God, I'd forgotten about that. Her wedding book. Of course. That's perfect. I can't believe she still has that.”
He nodded. “I saw it on the dresser in her room at her parents' house a couple of weeks ago. I'm not sure if it's still there but she had it then.”
“I'll go right over and look for it. That was her dream book. We can use that as a guide to plan the perfect surprise wedding. And invite all your friends and family.”
Zane drew in a breath. All their friends and family were a lot of people to witness his downfall if this was as bad of an idea as he feared. “I don't know. Are you sure about this?”
“Yes. Completely.” She nodded with vigor.
“And if she hates it and says no? What then?” He cringed at the thought.
“She won't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I wouldn't. And she and I have been as close as sisters for as long as I can remember. Trust me.”
He pressed his lips together. He wanted to trust her. He really did.
Pushing doubt aside, he finally nodded. This might be the dumbest thing he'd ever done—and he was doing it anyway. “All right. Let's do this.”
“Yay!” Amelia actually clapped her hands together.
Zane laughed. “I'm assuming you'd be willing to help me?”
She grinned. “Just try and stop me.”
CHAPTER 22
Zane opened the door and walked into the GAPS D.C. office. Closing the door behind him, he stopped and took it all in.
A lot had happened since that day he signed the lease two months ago. He'd been shot. He'd recovered. He'd hired an office manager, then gotten back to work, taking on assignments.
And most importantly, during the time that had passed he'd lost his mind and planned a damned surprise wedding, which happened to be scheduled for this very weekend.
He blew out a breath, trying to wrap his head around that.
“You all right?” Chelsea asked, glancing up from her desk.
“Yeah. Just still amazed at how great it looks in here.” He admitted to a partial truth rather than admit he was scared shit Missy would say no.
The pretty blonde office manager laughed. “Zane, it's been furnished for weeks. You're not used to it yet?”
“Getting there. But even when I'm used to it, it won't mean I'll stop being impressed with all the work you did to get it into shape on your own.”
Chelsea shrugged. “It was fun. I enjoyed spending your money.” She grinned. “But seriously, I'm glad you like it.”
“I love it.” He noticed the time on the old wooden schoolhouse clock on the wall. The newest addition to the décor had appeared a couple of days ago. Apparently the interior design was a work in progress. Chelsea wasn't joking when she said she enjoyed doing it. “It's after five. What are you still doing here?”
“I had to work with one of the new West Coast operatives. Help him fill out his expense report. I was just finishing up.”
Jon and his reports. For a man who hated all the red tape in the Navy, he sure e
mbraced the concept of the expense report just fine in their company.
Zane nodded his head. “Gotcha.”
“But I'm done so if there's nothing else . . .”
“Nope. You can take off.”
“All right then.” She smiled, stood and grabbed her bag and jacket. “See you Monday.”
Chelsea opened the door just as Brent's bulk filled the opening. “Oh, excuse me.” She shot Zane a questioning glance.
“You can go. He’s a friend.”
She nodded and with a little wave was gone.
“Wow. Who was that?” Brent's eyes widened as his gaze followed the path she'd taken across the street before he finally closed the door.
“That's my office manager, so hands off.” Zane made sure he imbued his tone with exactly how serious he was about the matter, just in case his words didn't make it through his friend's lust-filled head.
He frowned. “What? Why?”
“Why?” Zane laughed. “Because I don't want you doing your infamous date-and-dump and make her quit on me. She’s good and I don't want to have to replace her.”
“Fine.” Brent scowled. “And for your information, I don't date and dump anymore.”
Zane laughed. “And for your information, I don't believe you.”
“Fine. But you'll see. I’ll prove it to you.”
“How? You going to be around here more often?”
“Good chance. We're acquiring a small publishing house in the area and we're thinking about keeping the location open. And if we do that, we'll need someone here to run it.”
“And that someone might be you?” Zane asked.
Brent tipped his head. “Very likely.”
“So you'd move here?”
“Probably. If it all works out. Yeah. At least part time.”
“I'd like having an old friend nearby.”
“Yeah, I wouldn't mind it either. Even if the old friend is you.” Brent grinned.
“Hey.” Zane delivered a punch to Brent's shoulder.
He frowned and rubbed the spot. “Hey, yourself. And no fair punching me when I can't punch back.”
“Who says?”
