by Fifi Flowers
“It is apricots today. Rhett Scarlett only uses seasonal fruits in her shampoos and conditioners,” the shampoo girl said.
“Scarlett is that way about all of her products. If you like something buy it up.” Vivienne was quick to promote her friend who owned the small company that was trying to keep up with demand. It was also a possible future client if the salon program did well. Fingers crossed, I headed to Vivienne’s chair to hear the pros and cons—hopefully more pros—while getting my hair done.
Waiting for her, I leaned forward to a shelf below a large mirror and lifted a pretty polished marble square. “Marble quote blocks. A company makes them with famous quotes or ones you create,” Vivienne announced as I silently read each one.
To err is human. To accept and move on is divine.
I’m a beauty engineer not a magician
Don’t be left to flourish on your own. Instead, seek the unruly and unthinkable solution.
There was something about the last one that spoke volumes to me on so many different levels. Vivienne stalled my thoughts with her mind-reading words. “I think you need to take the last one with you and live by it, and I think you know who I mean.” I stared at her through the mirror with a lifted eyebrow. “Yes, I said who.”
I skipped over her mention of who and turned it around to my business venture which included her salon. “I was thinking it was a definite sign of great things to come with your computer system along with me taking risks.”
“Oh, you definitely need to take some ooh la la risks,” she replied with a laugh and then she focused on finishing my hair and telling me what she thought of the program that had been customized just for her business.
To my delight, very few things needed to be modified and it appeared that once those little glitches were fixed, she wanted my total program package. Not only that, but she had details about Rhett Scarlett’s operation too based on a questionnaire that I had presented to Vivienne. I couldn’t wait to tell my computer partner in crime and get started on our next potential client. First, I had to go work a short shift at the café since Vixen needed to leave early and Pansie needed to come in late. I was always happy to lend a hand and I loved that my other endeavor was worked out on my own time.
Practically dancing through the front door of the café mid-morning with my blond ponytail swinging side to side, high on life with my good news, I greeted Vixen at the counter and Marzi stocking the baked goods cabinet. Then I pulled my apron over my head, secured it around my waist, logged in on the computer—with my computer system—and got to work filling orders that were piling up. “Sorry, I was a bit late. As soon as we get through this rush, you can head out,” I told Vixen.
“No rush, my son’s appointment was just cancelled.” I heard disappointment in her voice and assumed it probably had something to do with the paternity of her kid. Her idiot ex needed to give up and leave her alone, but it appeared that wasn’t happening any time soon.
“Well, you’re welcome to leave or take a break. I’ll even wait on you.” I smiled and delivered several to-go-cups to their rightful owners and some regular cups to be served by the new girl that somehow rubbed me the wrong way. Thankfully, a certain person that was always trying to get to me had not materialized in a few days…
“What the hell happened to you?” I heard Vixen ask with true concern in her voice as I was bent down, retrieving some napkins to restock the coffee condiment bar.
“Mind your own fucking business,” a familiar gruff voice replied abruptly, “and what is with all of the crazy names around here? Do you have to have a weird name to work in this place?” I was quick to lift my head and see him walking away toward a table with what looked like an awkward step in his stride. Then sitting down slowly, he slumped forward with his elbows resting on the table, and his chin fell down to his chest.
Disregarding his movements, I was hot on his tail. “Hey! You do not fucking treat people like that! And what is it with you always badgering people about their fucking names? I wasn’t enough for you, you have to attack a totally nice woman that, by the way, is not really Vixen. Her name is Veronica and we gave her that badge with that nickname because we like her and her love of how everything brings out her sexy side, Asshole! Asshole—that is officially my permanent nickname for you! I will have a badge made up for you to wear.”
And just as I was about to storm off in a direction far from him, he finally looked up at me, and uttered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”
“…holy shit!” I gasped and my dark brown eyes widened. “What happened to you?”
His gorgeous face was marred with bruises and abrasions—no wonder Vixen was concerned. It got worse as I studied his injuries; a black eye on the left side of his face along with a swollen cheekbone, a cut above his right eye, and one on the bridge of his nose. It didn’t look like his nose had been broken or if it had, he must’ve pulled on it and straightened it. His lips appeared to be the only things that didn’t take a beating.
I could tell by the way he sat down gingerly that he was hurting in other places—some things were visible. Wearing his usual flip flops, I noted the tape wrapped around toes on his right foot that matched his last two fingers on his left hand. He winced and grabbed his left side as he moved his chair closer to the table. I had a feeling that his groans might constitute broken ribs or just aches and pains from punches or kicks or both.
“A fight last night.” He started to reach his good hand or non-bandaged hand up toward me, but brought it back almost immediately as he grunted. “Sorry about snapping at the girl. I’ll make sure to apologize before I leave. I promise. Can I get a strong cup of coffee, bold, rich… something strong and a breakfast sandwich? Please. I need to take some aspirin on a full stomach.”
Had he gotten into a fight because of his loud mouth, saying whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted? And what the hell was he even doing in the café? He needed to be in a hospital or at least home resting.
“You need a doctor! Did you go to urgent care or to an emergency room?”
“No. Too many questions.” He grabbed his side.
“Well, you need to be seen. I’ll get you an appointment with my father. He happens to be an orthopedic guy and it looks like that’s what you may need.” Not waiting for him to object, I pulled out my phone and held my hand up to his handsome face even with all of the cuts and bruises. “Aud, I have a friend who needs x-rays and maybe a few stitches. Clear a space today, this afternoon, please.” And when she told me a time, I replied, “Great, thanks. We’ll be there.”
“We?” He cocked his head to the side, looking up at me with his turquoise eyes—they were still stunning. Something about the way they gleamed in my direction had me wanting to take care of him, feeling sorry for him.
“Yes, we. I can leave as soon as Pansie and the afternoon girl arrives. I plan to make sure that you keep your emergency appointment. And besides, you don’t know where his office is… you need me…” I was being sincere and he had to be his usual self.
“So he’s not a Navy man after all? Was he ever?” He smirked at me.
“No and no. Let me get your order.” I walked away, wondering why I even bothered to help him. I shouldn’t have cared that someone messed him up.
What was I going to tell my father? He was probably used to seeing cases like him, but usually at the hospital when he was on call. I didn’t want him to worry about me hanging out with shady characters that evaded the ER because they were involved in something that could involve a crime. Oh shit! What was he doing to sustain such injuries? He said a fight. What did that mean an altercation as in a squabble? Or did he mean a fight as in organized and possibly underground? That could be why he didn’t seek medical help as well.
“What has you so deep in thought?” Vin’s voice rattled me as I put in an order for a breakfast sandwich with the works; ham, bacon, cheese, and a fried egg on a freshly baked by Marzi croissant.
I couldn’t say much to him since Deaco
n is his friend and I was sure that he would not answer any questions I had regarding his injuries. “I was just thinking about the computer program. Someone’s messing with it.” That was true, but not what I was thinking about at that moment.
Back to Deacon’s table, I delivered his breakfast along with a cup of coffee to his liking. To my surprise, he didn’t have any comments to give me and just ate his food. I took the extra time to make up a few more java orders and then talked to Pansie and Vixen about leaving to help the injured beast. I’m pretty sure that I shocked the hell out of both of them, since they, too, were not very verbal about my plan of action. It was strange. I was strange or out of my mind to take him under my wing, but I couldn’t turn back at that point. Everything was lined up and, truthfully, something told me that he was kind of happy that I was making him see a doctor. So when he was finished and ready to go, I clocked out, and led him out the door.
Chapter Five…
Walking the hobbling patient to the parking lot where my car was parked, of course, he had to get his digs in about me even while I was helping him out—starting with my vehicle.
“I was right to peg you for a rich, convertible-driving-girl,” he said climbing into my treasured navy blue, hard-top, convertible BMW that was a present from my parents.
They had been so proud of me receiving a big promotion at my new job—a year before they let me go—that they wanted to give me a congratulatory gift. One that they had recently offered to replace since it was three years old. My parents always leased their cars so they could have a shiny brand new ride every two to three years. And even though they knew that I could buy one of my own, they wanted to treat me to a newer model or something altogether different if I wanted. Oh how they were wrong, I was definitely not in the financial position of purchasing a new car. Of course, they knew nothing about their daughter’s lack of corporate funds to provide for her lifestyle, and I wasn’t ready to tell them until I had my new endeavor all sussed out. Nor did my passenger need to know about my background or relationship with my parents.
“Don’t start with the insults… remember I’m the one trying to help you out. Now, what is your name again? I don’t want to introduce you to the doctor’s office staff incorrectly.”
“Deacon. You’ve written it on to-go cups many times.” I could only imagine the look on his face but I stared straight ahead, concentrating on my driving. I was also surprised that he hadn’t made a smart remark about me screaming his name.
“Oh, yes… that’s right but as I recall I usually use other names for you.” I almost giggled and he remained uncharacteristically quiet. It could be that he was in more pain than he had let on—I noticed him wincing quite a bit getting into and out of my tiny car, in comparison to his large muscular build.
After making our way through the parking lot, we entered into a small waiting area that had a large glass window that looked out to an enclosed garden area complete with a koi pond, Sega palm trees, and other tropical plants. I always loved the area furnished with seasonal cushioned patio furniture compliments of my mother, the ever consummate super decorator. Stepping up to a glass partition before taking a seat, Audrey, the receptionist, smiled checking out the hunk following behind me. Who could blame her? He turned women’s heads every time he walked in the café—and I imagined that happened for him everywhere he went.
“Fill out these forms, please. Do you have an insurance card?” She was actually an interesting shade of red as she asked—a side I had never seen to her before.
Producing one, I was surprised. He must do something other than hanging out at the gym and fighting. I had never asked him more than the basics about how he took his coffee, not to call me names, and whether he wanted food—I never asked, “Can I get you anything else?” I was sure I would get an earful of sexual favors.
Figuring that he might want some privacy, I stepped back and let him interact with Aud while I grabbed a handful of magazines, imagining that we would be there a while, and sat down. Once he joined me on a sofa, I stole glances at him miserably filling out the paperwork, but when I offered to write for him he declined. So be it, I turned away to allow his privacy, and continued to flip through the top magazine on my lap. I don’t think I really paid attention to anything on the glossy pages as I turned them. I don’t even remember the names of any of them. Deacon did something to me… to my body… to my mind, I hated it.
Just finishing up his questionnaire sheet, he was called back to a room, and I stood up to follow him. He stopped instantly, turning his body to look at me, and I nearly ran straight into his massive chest. “Where do you think you’re going? I’m a big boy.” I bet he was! I could only imagine if his hands matched his…
“I’m making sure that you show him all of your pain areas and, besides, he’s my father.” I pushed past him and followed behind a giggling Aud to an examination room.
“Don’t mess with her,” Aud said with a smile and a wagging finger as she closed the door, leaving us alone. Suddenly, I felt a bit of unease not that I thought he would try anything with my father near… and he was injured, but it was intimate.
“You’re safe at the moment with my injuries.” He must have read my mind.
And before it could wander off to places that were inappropriate, the door opened again and in walked Babs, Barbara really. She is the x-ray girl and assistant to my father at times. “What do we have here? Hmmm. Saylor, did you take a weapon to this one?” she asked with a laugh as she scanned his obvious wounds, making me sound like I had a slew of men—which unfortunately, I did not. I just smiled and then she took the big hunk away to be x-rayed.
I went back to nervously skimming magazine pages while sitting in a chair tucked in the corner. Deacon returned guided by Babs who had my father following closely behind with his face in a chart. Once inside of the exam room, he acted as though I was a stranger, concentrating on the battered patient on the table in front of him. I smiled at his bedside manner, people always like my father.
“I hope the other guy looks worse.” Not an original line, but it made Deacon laugh.
“He definitely does.” Deacon proudly answered.
“So it looks like you have bruised ribs, a hairline fracture in your left pinky and right ankle. That cut above your right eyebrow needs a few stitches, your left cheek is fine. You need to layoff fighting and any other workout you do for a few weeks. Try to stay off the ankle, I’m going to put it in an air-walking-cast but that doesn’t mean that you can resume daily activity. You can remove it to shower.”
“No more fighting…” He laughed lightly and moved his hand to his ribs where my father had been pushing on. “I started and retired last night—it was a one-time stupid thing to try.” He shook his head. “And work, I can do things off my feet. I have a shit-load of paperwork I could catch up on in the office.”
“No office for a few days would be best since it won’t be easy to drive with that cast on and I do not recommend removing it to drive. If you have someone to drive you that might be helpful.” I noticed him look at me, briefly and then went back to making notes on Deacon’s chart. “I want to see you back in a couple of weeks.” I thought for certain I was in the clear and silently thanked my father for not mentioning me—I spoke too soon. “What are your intentions with regards to my daughter? I’m assuming there’s something going on here because she has never brought a man… or boy around to see me since high school.”
Oh God, please do not let him bring up the boy I hit with my car and brought in for my father to fix up. And to insure that he didn’t tell any of my teenage stories, I found my voice. “Dad! There’s noth…” Only I was not able to finish my sentence as Deacon took over.
“…I intend to marry her and give you lots of grandchildren.” What?!
My dad and I both turned and stared at him. Was he out of his fucking mind? I didn’t even like him enough to date him—not that he asked—let alone marry him and have babies with him. Apparently, he had tak
en pain killers or we were living in two completely different worlds in our heads. Mine said I hate your crudeness and his said I was his baby. I had no idea how he could have gotten my signals crossed. And I wasn’t letting him give my father anymore ideas as I changed the subject quickly by asking about my mother. Which probably wasn’t smart either because that had him bringing up quitting my job and joining my mother’s business—both in accounting and assisting her in design. They both never understood why I didn’t want to use my creative side.
Thankfully, all conversation was put to a halt as Babs began dropping a pair of scissors outside of the exam room. I knew from years of popping in, that was her code for wrap it up and move on to the next patient. So changing gears, my father splinted Deacon’s pinky, stitched him up, put him in an air-cast, and supplied some crutches. Then with a few more instructions along with a prescription for pain in case he needed it, we were out the door, and heading for my car.
Strapped into the passenger seat, crutches tossed carefully into the back, Deacon seemed reinvigorated and ready to interrogate me.
“I noticed that your father asked you about the accounting job? I take it he doesn’t know that you pour coffee to make rent?” Why was it that his words made my job sound so bad? I loved my barista position more than I loved the extra work I was doing.
“Neither of my parents know my main roll at the café. But I’m not lying, I do the books for Pansie. Don’t look at me like that!” He looked like my father when he caught me in a half-truth about how the bumper of his car kind of got ripped off. “So they think I work full-time in a corporate office that is their belief. I’m not asking them for money and I pay my own mortgage.”
“With the help of roommates your parents know nothing about. I take it that was why you won’t allow your parents to come over to your condo. It’s not that you don’t want your stylish-mother redecorating it?”
