Fast Burn (Body Armor #4)(53)

Sahara denied any judgment with a shake of her head. “You said he got nothing from his father, so I assumed—”

Lifting her chin, Becky stated, “You said it yourself, he looks like me.” Under her breath, she muttered, “Though he probably wishes he didn’t.”

“He has to be pleased with his looks. After all, he’s gorgeous.”

“The smug bastard knows it.”

Sahara stiffened, and now her smile felt sharp. “Bastard is such an old-fashioned insult for a child who had no choice in the decisions his mother made.”

“Don’t you—”

“And smug? Please. Brand is generous, obviously.” She gestured around the apartment. “And also kind.” She looked pointedly at Becky. “In fact, I’d call him damn near perfect.”

“You want to marry him, don’t you? You’re after his money!”

Sahara laughed. When Becky’s face turned red, she laughed even more, but managed to say around her amusement, “Better! At least now you have some color in your cheeks.”

“Shut up!”

Unperturbed, she said, “You know what, Becky? You’re a pretty woman. Even looking wretched from your illness, I can see it.”

She sank into the bedding, the sheet to her chin. “I can’t help looking wretched, as you put it. I almost died.”

“Yes, there is that.” Sahara studied her. “Would you like me to arrange for a personal stylist to visit you here? Someone to do your hair, your nails, maybe give you a pedi and a facial? Wouldn’t that be lovely? Of course it would. Every woman likes to look her best, and nothing improves a woman’s outlook like being pampered. After all you’ve been through, it would be refreshing, right?”

Becky eyed her, wanting to complain, but also interested. “I can’t afford anything like that and Brand would never—”

“It will be my treat.” She beamed, waiting for a response.

Suspicion narrowed Becky’s eyes. “Why would you do that for me?”

Choosing honesty, Sahara said, “You’re miserable, and that makes it more difficult on Brand.” She shrugged. “It’s as simple as that.”

“So you do want to marry him.”

Leaning forward, touching Becky’s arm, Sahara said, “If you tried for a year, you’d never be able to understand me or my motives, so please don’t tax yourself.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I’d rather not.” She stood, looking around the space again. “This would be so much nicer without the hospital bed in here. I mean...it’s a hospital bed. That’s enough to depress the hardiest spirit.” Becky was not hardy. Indulgent, yes. Filled with self-pity, definitely.

“I’m sick,” Becky growled.

“Yes, I know.” Sahara surveyed the room, mentally taking measurements. It was a small space, made smaller by the bed. “Perhaps a soft padded love seat and a pretty lounge chair in a fresh, feminine pattern. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yes,” Becky admitted, unsure where Sahara was going with the conversation, and afraid of giving up another freebie. “But this is what Brand gave me.”

Brand had given her an expensive hospital bed? So remarkable. “You asked for it, I presume?”

“Because I’m sick,” Becky reiterated again.

“Yes, I know,” Sahara said for what felt like the tenth time, “but you can surely walk from the sofa to the bedroom, right?”

More confusion clouded Becky’s face. “Why bother to get out of the bed when I don’t feel like doing anything?”

“Nothing at all? That’s too bad. I thought to offer a shopping trip also, perhaps to get some clothes that better fit you until you regain the weight you’ve lost. But if you can’t even get from this room to that one—”

“You would take me shopping?”

“Yes.” Pleased that Becky had taken the bait, she continued. “I noticed some nice trendy places local to here. We could find you some flattering yet comfortable outfits for when you go out to the patio. Perhaps some long flowing skirts and soft sweaters.” She looked out the sliding doors and saw a man by the pond playing with a dog. “The neighbors would be so shocked with your new appearance...especially any men.”

Becky sat up in the bed, her thin shoulders a little straighter. Trying to be shrewd, but without adequate ability, she said, “It would maybe help me to make the effort if I had something fun like that to do.”

“Then I’ll endeavor to create some fun.”

Becky looked like a child, hopeful yet wary. “What will Brand say about—”

“Brand doesn’t tell me what to do.” Well, maybe he did...when she wasn’t at work, although he hadn’t really pushed that agreement yet. She shrugged. “If you’re concerned, don’t tell him.”

“Hair and makeup he might miss. Even some different clothes. But he’ll notice if I have new furniture.”

“Eventually.” She grinned. “But by then, you’ll already have it, won’t you?”

Still skeptical, Becky said, “Okay. Not that I really think you’ll do it. But I’ll play along.”

“Excellent.” Sahara pulled a pen and two business cards from her purse. She slid one under the notepad on Becky’s side table. “That’s in case you need to contact me.” Then she asked, “What’s your number?” After she’d written it on the back of the card, she returned it to her purse. “I’ll be in touch shortly.”