The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) (8 page)

Miranda thought her heart might swell right out of her chest. She put her arm around Theo’s thin shoulders and hugged him against her side. “And you are the most awesome nephew in the whole world.”

“She’s the most awesome sister in the whole world, too,” Dennis chimed in, throwing Miranda a laughing glance over his shoulder.

“And sister-in-law,” Patty added.

But it was Luke Archer who was truly awesome. He had provided the tickets and the collectibles. He had made a point to meet a small boy, an encounter Theo would probably talk about for the rest of his life.

Unlike many of the wealthy, privileged clients she worked with, he had done his best to make up for the problem his brother had caused. She felt a squeeze of regret that she wouldn’t have any further dealings with him. It had been a surprise to find a streak of genuine decency behind the polished facade.

Not to mention experiencing the full force of that famous dimple up close and in person. As the memory of her breasts crushed against the muscled wall of his chest lit up her insides, she decided it was fortunate that she wouldn’t see him again. She was a struggling assistant concierge from Smalltown, New York, and Luke Archer was a superstar as well as a client.

But none of that mattered anyway. Luke would go back to his penthouse far above her little office and never think of her again.

She just prayed Orin never found out about the VIP box.

Chapter 6

By the time the PR director released him from the meet and greet, Luke was sweating from the agony in his side. In case someone was watching, he strode down the hall to the trainers’ office with his usual smooth stride, but it took all his willpower to do it. Reaching the door, he swung it open, stepped through, and slammed it behind him before he sagged against it.

“Jesus, it hurts like a son of a bitch,” he said as Stan hurried around the desk to help Luke to a chair.

“It could be a cracked rib,” Stan said. “Where’s the worst of the pain?”

Luke pointed to the place where D’Olaway had connected with his rib cage. “I can’t have a cracked rib. Not now.”

Stan gently prodded at the spot, making Luke wince at what felt like daggers slashing into his flesh. The trainer shook his head. “You have to get an X-ray for this. If there’s a broken bone in there, it could slice through a blood vessel or puncture a lung. You don’t want to die for football.”

“Maybe I do,” Luke said, trying to get comfortable in the chair. “Go out in a blaze of glory.”

Concern clouded Stan’s eyes. “What’s going on, son? Why are you talking crazy?”

Luke scrubbed his palms over his face, sending another bolt of agony into his side and making him hiss. “I’m not crazy. Just tired and pissed off that I let Rodney get to me. Davis was out of position, and I was so focused on making the pass that I forgot to check my blind side.” In fact, he’d been coddling his shoulder so he didn’t tweak it again with a misthrow, and that’s why he’d neglected to keep an eye on his opponents. That pissed him off even more.

“If you don’t get an X-ray, I’m going to sic Doc Tyler on you, and then Junius will know about your injury.” Stan lifted a hand when Luke opened his mouth to object. “The X-ray is nonnegotiable. We’ll find a private doctor who won’t rat on you.”

“Where do we find a doctor like that on short notice?” Luke asked. “Your closemouthed buddy Colangelo retired, and I’m not exactly hard to recognize.”

“Let me think. I used to know another guy who would keep his mouth shut for cash, but I think he moved to Florida.”

Luke started to lean back in the chair, but his side spasmed again. He gritted his teeth. Then he remembered Miranda Tate. Concierges had connections everywhere, so she might know a doctor who could keep secrets. Furthermore, discretion was her religion.

Except today was her day off, and she was with her family. Not to mention that he had no idea how to reach her. Maybe Doug would know, since he often worked out of the condo at the Pinnacle. Luke gingerly eased his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and hit Doug’s speed dial.

His assistant answered instantly. “That was a major pass, Boss Ice. You are the man.”

A smile tugged at Luke’s mouth. “Thanks, buddy. I had to make up for losing to the Patriots.”

“Ha! The Pats caught a lucky break with that one.”

“You’re not biased or anything,” Luke said. “Listen, I need to get in touch with Miranda Tate at the Pinnacle. You have any idea how I can do that?”

“Was there a problem with the works? Sheldon swore he delivered everything to her personally.”

“No problem at all. She brought her nephew to the game today. The kid had a blast.”

“That’s cool.” He could hear the relief in Doug’s voice before his assistant said, “I think you could reach her through the main concierge desk. Let me check out the listing online . . . yeah, here it is. I’ll text you the number and her extension. The website says it forwards to her cell phone if she’s not in the office.”

“Thanks, buddy. You deserve a raise,” Luke said, amused by the young man’s cheerful energy, even as it made him feel ancient.

His assistant laughed.

“I’m serious, Doug. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to do that. It’s an honor to work for you.”

“Never tell your boss that. It undermines your negotiating power.”

Luke disconnected and swiped to the text screen. Should he ruin the rest of Miranda’s day? He looked at Stan’s expression of implacable resolve and dialed the number.

Lulled by the rocking motion of the train carrying her home to Jersey City, Miranda drowsed in her seat while images of her amazing afternoon spun through her mind. Of course, most of them involved a broad-shouldered, blue-eyed quarterback with a dimple that sent waves of desire surging through her.

When her cell phone rang with the tune that indicated it was a concierge call, she sighed. Sofia was on duty today, and she wouldn’t bother Miranda unless it was either a problem or a special request.

“Miranda Tate. How may I help you?” It was hard to inject her usual warmth and enthusiasm into her voice because she wanted to go back to daydreaming about Luke Archer.

“Hey, it’s Luke Archer.”

Miranda gasped and sat bolt upright on the bench seat. “H-hello.”

“Look, I’m sorry to bother you when you’re with your family, but I have a problem that I think you might be able to solve for me.”

He was laying the Texas drawl on thick and slow, which made her want to fix everything that was wrong in his life. Not that there could be much that needed fixing. “I’ll do all I can to help,” she said with total sincerity.

“I got hit at the end of the game, and my overanxious trainer thinks I might have a cracked rib.” She heard a squawk of protest in the background before Luke continued. “I need to get an X-ray on the QT. Since discretion is your middle name, I’m hoping you can help me with that.” His voice held a smile, and she could easily picture the dimple that went with it.

Luckily, this was an easy assignment. Clients often needed to keep health issues confidential, so she had a trustworthy concierge doctor on call at all times. He had an office outfitted with the latest in medical technology, charged astronomical prices, and kept his mouth firmly shut. “Not a problem. Dr. Cavill’s office is in the city.”

There was a short silence. “I just want to be one hundred percent clear on this. Dr. Cavill will not tell anyone, not even his wife, that he saw me.” Steel laced his words.

“The doctor has a clear understanding of privacy issues. He expects payment commensurate with that.”

When Luke spoke, there was admiration in his voice. “Where do you keep your magic wand?”

Pleasure washed through Miranda. She’d impressed a man who had people waving magic wands for him all the time. “In my purse. It’s safer than in my pocket, where it sometimes would go off accidentally and burn a hole in my clothes.”

He gave a low, rumbling chuckle that made tingles of delight dance over her skin. “Give me two hours to get to Cavill’s office.”

“I’ll confirm with the doctor and call you back.”

She disconnected and hit Cavill’s speed dial, arranging the meeting and stressing the need for secrecy. The doctor whistled when he heard who his visitor was. He had many wealthy, prominent patients, but Luke Archer’s name impressed even him.

When Miranda dialed Luke back, he answered on the first ring. “Can Cavill do an MRI, too? My worrywart trainer wants to be sure there’s no danger of further damage.”

“He has a fully equipped office, and he’s a very skilled doctor. He’ll take excellent care of you.”

“If you recommend him, I have no doubt of that.” His tone turned serious. “I owe you, Miranda.”

She thought of how she’d like to collect on that debt before she pushed away her fantasy of Luke’s bare chest under her hands. “No, you don’t. You’re a resident of the Pinnacle, and the concierge service comes with the building. Frankly, this was easy.”

“You have an interesting job,” he said with a dry note in his voice.

“Interesting doesn’t begin to describe it,” she said with equal dryness. “But it has its perks, like introducing my nephew to the football player he idolizes.”

“He’s a cute kid. Nice manners, too.” A pause. “The young fans are my favorites. They don’t critique my on-field decisions.” The smile was back in his voice, evoking a heart-fluttering vision of the dimple.

The train entered a tunnel with a whoosh of changing air pressure, and regret thickened in Miranda’s chest. She was flattered that Luke seemed to want to prolong their conversation. “My train is about to pull into the station, so I’d better go.”

“And I have to get to the doc. See you at the Pinnacle.”

Since she’d only caught brief glimpses of him before the meeting with Orin, that seemed unlikely. However, a girl could dream.

“You can put your shirt on,” the doctor said, stepping back from the examining table where Luke sat. Cavill had run three different kinds of imaging machines over and around Luke’s torso, as well as doing a manual examination that had the quarterback clenching his jaw in order not to groan. The man was nothing if not thorough.

“The good news is that no ribs are cracked. The bad news is that you have inflammation of the cartilage, as well as periosteal and intramuscular bruising. It’s going to hurt like hell for a week or so, and that’s if you rest it. Which I understand may not be an option.” The doctor’s eyes held a hint of ironic humor. “So it’s going to be pain meds and ice for you.”

“How deep’s the bruising, Doc?” Stan’s forehead was creased with concern.

“Deep. What hit you? A Mack truck?”

“Rodney D’Olaway, which is about the same thing,” Luke said, wincing as he gingerly slid his left arm into the shirtsleeve. He was stiffening up. “I guess you don’t watch football.”

The doctor shook his head. “All I can think about is the damage being done to the bodies on the field, which makes it unpleasant.” He walked over to a standing desk and started typing on the computer there. “I’m going to give you a prescription for the pain, instructions on icing, and a thorough write-up on your condition with all the medical jargon. I will also recommend that you stay away from the field for ten days, but I imagine you will ignore that.”

Stan snorted in agreement.

Inserting his right arm in the shirtsleeve was slightly less painful, but Luke decided to leave off his jacket. As he buttoned his shirt, he scanned the doctor’s office. The room itself was decorated more like the Bellwether Club than a medical facility, while the extensive array of equipment was cutting-edge. Cavill must do all right with his practice.

The doctor himself was about Luke’s age, which initially had been a concern, but Cavill wore his crisp white lab coat with the kind of confidence that arises only from skill, knowledge, and experience. Not to mention that Miranda had recommended him. Luke had come to trust her so completely that it surprised him.

The doctor stopped typing, and a printer began to spit out pages.

“You don’t have a sign outside, so how do patients find you?” Luke asked, buttoning his cuffs.

“My business is all word-of-mouth,” Cavill said, picking up the printed pages and inserting them in an electric stapler. “And it keeps the paparazzi away if they don’t know where to stalk me.”

“So does Miranda Tate send you a lot of patients?” Luke planted his feet on the floor and eased off the examining table.

Cavill slanted Luke a look. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Okay, so can you tell me about Miranda Tate?”

“She’s very discreet and very good at her job. And a nice lady.”

“You have a mutual admiration society.” For some reason, that annoyed Luke. “What about her boss?”

“Her boss?”

“Spindle.”

The doctor’s expression altered subtly. “I don’t deal with him.”

“Don’t or won’t?”

Cavill gave Luke another of those assessing looks before he said, “Both.” He held out the printed papers.

Luke’s feeling about Spindle had just been confirmed. The man was a weasel. Luke took the sheets from the doctor and folded them in half.

Cavill raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to review the instructions?”

“Stan knows more about this than I do.” Luke handed his trainer the papers. “Bottom line is pain meds and on-field decision making don’t mix.”

“Let me emphasize one point,” the doctor said as he pulled his stethoscope off and stuffed it in his coat pocket. “Severe pain can cloud your judgment almost as much as the meds do. If you don’t stress the muscles for a few days, the pain will be less when you start playing again. So you might want to give it a rest in order to play better.”