Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(8)

The nurse stares wide-eyed at the cash and then quickly nods. She goes to grab it, but I don’t let go. I give her a hard look. “I mean it. Tell me you understand me.”

“I understand,” she says.

“And I want to see a doctor right away,” I tell her, letting go. She quickly takes the money and tucks it in her uniform. Now she’s all smiles.

“Of course,” she says. “Let me see what I can do.”

She gets up and leaves her position, passing through the waiting room full of sick and miserable-looking people.

“What was that all about?” Sadie asks.

“I just made sure we could see a doctor as soon as possible,” I tell her, giving her an easy smile.

“You handed her like five hundred euros!” she exclaims softly.

I shrug. “You get what you pay for.”

Sadie frowns, seeming to sink back in her chair, and I can tell she’s extremely uncomfortable with all this. Too bad. Once I decide to do something, it’s hard for me not to see it through. It’s the only reason why I’ve gotten as far as I have in life.

But money does talk, and it’s not long before we’re being ushered into an examination room, where the doctor does a thorough once-over, complete with X-rays. I stay outside for most of it, checking emails on my phone, because even though it’s Friday night, the work never really stops. A proper vacation should be in order, just a few days without having to do any business, but I always think that when I come down to the Riviera, and it never happens.

Then, just as Sadie is being bandaged up for her sprained ankle and prescribed meds for the pain, the police show up, and the two of us have to give statements.

Naturally, the police are more interested that it’s Olivier Dumont who saved the American stranger than anything. But in this case, it works in our favor, because now they have more reason to track down this man, and, with my penchant for remembering faces, I give a pretty good description of him. If I had to spot him in a lineup, I could with ease.

“Did the police think I was faking the whole thing?” Sadie asks me afterward as I wheel her out to the car. She’s just taken the painkillers, but they haven’t kicked in yet, and I’m carrying her crutches under my arm.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. They were acting weird.”

“It’s probably because you don’t speak French.”

“They were wary of you.”

I cock my brow. “Is that so? I hadn’t noticed. Come on.” I open the car door and bend over to help her out of the chair.

“They were. The doctor was too. And the nurse. They treated you differently.”

“Maybe they’re not used to seeing someone as handsome as me.”

She bursts out laughing, and I try not to feel insulted. It’s not that I doubt my looks for a minute, but it wouldn’t hurt if this pretty little girl thought of me in such a way.

“Maybe,” she says with a wry smile, and she slowly eases into the seat.

While she buckles in, I toss the crutches in the back seat. Then I leave the wheelchair just outside the hospital doors and get in the car. As I start it, I glance over to her and say, “Where to?”

She blinks at me. “I guess it’s too late to catch a train.”

“It is.”

She nods, determination setting over her face. “Well, okay. I guess you can take me back to the hostel. No one took over my bed all day, so it should still be available. Ryan might even let me stay for free.”

For some reason my chest feels hot at that. “Who is Ryan?”

“Oh, no one. He just works the front desk at the hostel.”

“So you want me to drop you off at a hostel?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” she says, fixing her big blue eyes on me. Merde. She’s serious. As if I would drive her back to a fucking hostel, of all places, so she can fend for herself with a bunch of dirty backpackers.

“I am not taking you to a hostel,” I tell her. “Not even if you weren’t in this condition.”

She snorts loudly. I’m not sure if she meant it to come out that way or if it’s the drugs kicking in, but it’s rather adorable. “Please, I’m used to it. Believe me, I have no problems with slumming it. Been doing it all my life.”

“I’ll put you up in a nice hotel.”

She shakes her head, pressing her lips together for a moment. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“And I’d rather I did, lapin.”

She rolls her eyes and reaches into her purse for her phone. “Okay, I need to know what the hell lapin means.”

I reach over and put my hand over her phone, holding it. “It means you remind me of something good.”

I want to say that it means she’s cute, but I have a feeling she hears that a lot, and in my experience, girls don’t seem to like that word. I also want to say she’s unbelievably sexy, but I know at some point she’s going to figure out I’m calling her a bunny, and she’s probably going to think I’ve got a few screws loose.

A flicker of something dances in her eyes, making them seem lighter. “As long as it’s a good thing,” she says softly. Then she clears her throat. “Who the hell knows what I’ve been called so far on this trip. Men yell at me in French, Italian, German. I doubt any of it’s something good. Probably always to do with my knockers.”