RUSH (City Lights, #3)(17)

But it was his eyes that seemed to defy nature. Was that color real or some kind of crazy Photoshop trick? Hazel was the precise color: brown with flecks of green and gold, like brown velvet strewn with crushed emeralds and gold flakes. I’ve never seen anything like them before or since.

And to think, those astounding eyes are now useless.

Almost reluctantly, I kept scrolling past that picture to others, photos of him walking European city streets with his arm slung casually over some stunningly gorgeous woman or another. Just before the accident, he was seen with one more than any other. A French model; tall, blonde, stunning. I realized I was clenching my jaw.

“Don’t be stupid,” I scolded myself, still scrolling, and then gave a little cry, flinching away from my screen. Below all the pics of Noah on some ski slope, or hanging from a rock (with taut, lean muscles straining with exertion) there were three photos, illicit ones judging by the crappy quality. Cell phone pics taken quickly in a hospital room.

Two were of Noah apparently before he’d had any surgeries for the damage done to his back. He was lying face down, his head all but completely swathed in white bandages. Tubes and lines ran from all parts of his body, as if he were bionic. But his back…I’d never seen anything so horrific in my life.

On the right side, three jagged gouges—as if some lion had scratched him—ran down his neck to mid-shoulder blade. On the left, I honestly couldn’t understand what I was seeing: a striated mess of blood and torn flesh and pools of white liquid…or maybe that was bone? I couldn’t tell, but it was repulsive. I quickly averted my eyes. The third pic was of his leg, his inner thigh, where a long, rough rectangle of skin had been removed. The skin graft.

I quickly scrolled back up to the Planet X promo shot, marveling that this beautiful man had endured so much horror and pain…and that Lucien had inflicted a fraction of it on me so I’d feel sorry for him. Tears welled in my eyes for what I had seen; for what Noah had been and all that he had lost. I couldn’t help it. “A big softy” my brother had always teased me, especially when he caught me wiping my eyes over a sentimental commercial.

I thought about calling Lucien and giving him an earful, when a knock came at the door.

“Char? It’s Em.”

“Yeah?” I called, glad my voice sounded mostly normal.

“Um, you know what today is, right?”

I tugged a lock of hair, glancing between my phone, the pic of Noah, and the bedroom door where Emily was waiting on the other side.

“Give me a minute, Emily,” I called. “I’ve got to make a phone call, then we’ll talk.”

Emily muttered something I didn’t quite catch, and I guessed she walked away. The sound of voices was filling the living room. Another impromptu get-together that I knew was going to last well into the night. Another night of no sleep. Not even an hour’s worth of peace of mind to make a very important decision that could be the best thing I’ve ever done, or the worst mistake of my life.

I grabbed a notebook, pen, and calculator. Trying my hardest to not let the grim circumstances of Noah’s accident influence me, I crafted my answer to Lucien.

Ten minutes later, with music going full blast in the living area, I stuffed pillows in the crack under the door to help muffle the sound, heaved a breath, and dialed the number off the card I’d received earlier that afternoon.

He picked up after two rings. “All??”

“Lucien, it’s Charlotte Conroy.”

“Ah, Charlotte, ma chere.” He sounded warm but wary. “I had not expected to hear from you so soon…and I fear that is not a good thing.”

“Depends. I have some questions, some conditions. I Google’d Noah’s accident. God, the pictures…”

“I do apologize if they were too disturbing, but I wanted you to see why—”

“You wanted to me to feel sorry for him so I’d take the job,” I said. “Didn’t you?”

“Not so that you would take it, my dear,” Lucien said, his tone turning grave. “But so that if you took the job, you would feel empathy towards your charge.”

“Especially when he’s a raving * to me?” I shook my head and gentled my voice. Lucien could be my new boss, after all. “You talk about all this empathy for him, but what is going to happen to me? Am I going to be subjected to verbal abuse and insults every day, all day? Because if that’s the case, then I can see why those other professionals quit.”

“Noah will not abuse you, verbally or otherwise.”

“I believe you used the words ‘bully and torment.’”

“A poor choice of words on my part.”

“I’m just trying to protect myself, Lucien.”

“And you have every right,” he replied. “Noah is angry, bitter, and ill-tempered, and he will make no attempt to hide that from you. But he is also a good man, deep down. It will not be easy to work with him, Charlotte. That I guarantee. But I would not put you in harm’s way—not even for him—if I thought he was dangerous, emotionally or otherwise.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. Nerves jangled in my gut but determination conquered them. “When I made that food delivery last week, I saw that the first floor of Noah’s house looks vacant.”

“It is.”