International Player(34)

“Are any of the Harbury Foundation appointments cancelable?” George asked. “It’s been difficult to fit in your flying lessons and your skydiving course.”

“No. None of them are cancelable. In fact, I’d like to set up a meeting with the clinical head at the rehab center. He or she is bound to have contacts and know a lot about what’s going on in the industry.” George nodded vigorously and noted down what I’d said. “Did you research epidural stimulation and other treatments?”

Since my accident and recovery, I’d built a wall around what had happened, relegating the memories to the depths of my mind. I hadn’t wanted to lurk down there, feeling sorry for myself. I’d wanted to move on, get the most out of life—relish the things that I’d nearly lost. But after visiting the rehab center with Abigail, seeing the state of the facilities and hearing about their fundraising goals, I found myself willing to go there again. Perhaps knowing I could help other people get through the suffering I’d endured made the experience more bearable.

George set three memos in front of me. “I’ve emailed this to you as well. The first one is just on the epidural stimulation. There’s background research, how it was developed, and the outcomes data you requested. I also included information on when and why it’s used, as well as when it’s not used.”

I flicked through the pages.

“The second report is on other cutting-edge treatments—and the third is about alternative, non-medical therapies.”

“Great,” I said flipping open the page. I’d been fascinated by the use of kung fu I’d seen at the center and wanted to see if there’d been studies about it.

George winced. “There’s actually not much scientific data in terms of outcomes and results . . . but there’s a lot of anecdotal data from people who’ve had great experiences. And it’s not just the kung fu. It’s mindfulness, visualization. Even some stuff in there about essential oils.”

“Research just hasn’t been done?”

“There’s no material benefit if the results turn out to be good. Big pharma or even medical device companies aren’t going to increase profits by figuring out martial arts help with spinal injuries. And like it or not, those are the people who have money to fund the research—or employ lobbyists to ensure government money goes into researching treatments they can make a profit on.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Yeah, that makes sense. Perhaps that’s something we can work on. I’m not sure if we can run a study on alternative treatments or fund kung fu classes more widely for these types of injuries.”

“Are you thinking you’ll set up a charity?”

I blew out a breath. That wasn’t the direction I’d thought I’d be heading, but I was keeping my options open. “Maybe. I want to look at what the impact might be of all these options.”

My phone buzzed on my desk beside me.

I have a proposition for you, Truly messaged.

I grinned. She couldn’t know the dirty things that ran through my head at that suggestion. Every time I thought about her, I tasted tequila on my tongue and felt her heat under my fingers. But we hadn’t kissed again. We hadn’t talked about it. Really, we’d barely talked about anything but the foundation. I knew I wanted more of her time, attention, and touch. But Rob was right, there were serious consequences if anything more happened between us. She wasn’t a girl that would float out of my life when I moved on after a few months. She was in my world and I liked her there. I liked being able to talk to her about anything. Enjoyed the way she would put me straight if I got things wrong. I liked that she seemed completely unselfconscious around me. I didn’t want to lose any of it. But where did that leave me? Did we change gears and go back to strictly friends, and was that even possible?

“Excuse me,” I said, my eyes locked on the screen of my phone as I typed back.

Sounds intriguing.

“I’ll come up with some ways in which you might be able to look at the impact of these other therapies.”

“Sounds good.” My phone pinged again, drawing my attention away from George.

Be at my place at eight.

No invitation to the Harbury Foundation’s offices or Rob and Abigail’s. I’d not been into her flat since I’d left for New York. My jaw tightened. Was I about to walk into questions I couldn’t answer? Was this about our kiss . . . and would it lead to another? Perhaps she’d made a decision about what she wanted. Maybe I’d walk in there and she’d say how she regretted kissing me. I swallowed at the thought of not touching her again.

“Anything else?” George asked.

I shook my head, distracted. If she said she wanted more from me, would I be able to resist, or would I give in to her shy smile and captivating honesty?

I blew out a breath. Truly was probably just freaking out about a meeting she thought she fucked up or wanted some advice on what to wear for her next lunch. I’d just take the evening as it came, pick up a bottle of wine on my way around, and fucking relax. We were friends, right? Friends spent time together over a bottle of wine. We might be teetering on the brink of something else, but right now I was looking forward to seeing her, whatever we were to each other.





Nineteen





Truly