Muscle for Hire(63)

“Thank you.” Rowan was surprised by how calm her voice sounded considering how unsettled she was at Tilly’s words.

That Rowan had woken this morning to find Aslin missing may have something to do with her unease. That she’d felt lost when he wasn’t there flustered her as well. At least she knew where he was now.

“He’s very scary when he wants to be, isn’t he?”

She blinked, Tilly’s statement jarring her. “Who?”

“Mr. Rhodes,” Tilly answered. “He wasn’t very happy to leave you alone, but when I told him Chris would be an open target on the beach for any crazed fans, particularly that red-headed woman who keeps stalking him, he agreed to go.” She reached forward and patted Rowan’s hand. “And no need to thank me. I’m just doing my job, Ms. Hemsworth. I’ve been doing it now for over five years. I’m very good at it.”

Shifting on her chair, Rowan bit back a soft hiss. Her ribs still hurt more than she wanted them to. “Is there anything else?”

“No. Chris told me to tell you to take it easy and get better as soon as you can. Oh, he’s attending a party tonight thrown in his honour by a local night club. Ross said he’ll go with him so Mr. Rhodes can come back here to you.”

Rowan frowned. “A party? Where?”

“Somewhere near the water. He’s quite excited about it. Said he hasn’t been to a good party for a long while. I know Warren is keen to spend some time with him like they used to. I told Warren to call me when they are done and I’ll arrange for Jeff to collect them and bring them back to Chris’s suite. I’ll make sure I’m there to get him into bed alone. I know how you don’t like him bringing his sexual partners back to his room when he’s on location.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t either. So much hassle to deal with the next morning.” She rose to her feet, scooping up a croissant from the platter of food on the coffee table. “I better go. Chris asked me to organize lunch for him and the boys. He wants to book out the revolving restaurant at the top of the Sydney Tower so they can relax before climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge. I reserved all the allocated times for today so they can do it without being mauled by fans.” Taking a bite of the pastry, she gave Rowan a flakey smile. “Oh, I almost forgot. He told me to tell you not to worry about him at all. He’s being well cared for.”

And with that, Tilly vacated Aslin’s hotel room. Leaving Rowan alone and unsettled.

Parties, booking out restaurants, throwing his money around. It was like the second she was out of the way, Chris had leapt back into the extravagant, excessive lifestyle she’d worked so hard to educate him away from. What did that mean?

That he never wanted you taking charge in the first place? That he preferred his personal assistant’s care? Christ, the woman was positively glowing with joyful pride.

She pushed herself from the chair, grinding her teeth against the dull pain pulling at her ribs. The ringing in her ears had been gone this morning when she woke, as was the ache in her head and extremities, but her ribs still felt like shit.

It had something to do with the chunk of Aslin’s trailer that had slammed into her as she’d been flung backward. The doctor had informed her she was lucky to not have her lung pierced by splintered rib bones.

Rowan didn’t feel lucky. She felt pissed. How many side kicks, back kicks, spinning kicks and fists had she taken to the ribs in her life without this kind of residual pain? And yet here she was, hissing like a freaking kettle whenever she moved?

Thank God Rhodes wasn’t here to witness it. He’d call her a big girl’s blouse again, whatever the hell that meant. Something about the glint in his eyes told her she’d want to thump him if she knew.

Refusing to limp, she walked to the window and glared out at the city beyond the glass. She was edgy.

Maybe because she’d woken up alone when she’d expected to wake up beside Aslin. Maybe because she was feeling displaced from her brother.

Maybe because she felt…defeated.

Biting back a growl, she crossed the room to her backpack, withdrew a clean set of underwear and then walked—without limping, dammit—to the bathroom. Perhaps a shower would clear her head? Wash away the self-doubt trying to eat her up?

Forty minutes later, she killed the water, stepped out onto the plush white mat, wiped her hand over the steam-fogged mirror and stared at her reflection in the streaky glass.

She let out a long breath.

The shower hadn’t washed away anything it seemed, except the slight crust of dry blood above her eyebrow.

She ran her gaze over her body, for the first time since leaving the hospital truly aware of the damage the explosion had caused her. Small bruises and grazes marred her flesh, most on the side she’d landed on after being propelled backward by the blast. There was a nasty bruise on her hip, about the size of a golf ball, and another on her arm that ran from elbow to shoulder. All spoke of a serious blow, none more so than the one that covered her ribcage.