IN BED WITH THE BOSS

No, he wasn’t Bruce-could never deliberately deceive and devastate someone, then walk away from a child he’d created-but he’d also blackmailed, hurt, used Jennifer, then turned his back on Vivian… the woman he loved.

God. He loved her.

The force of the revelation struck him with the blow of a mallet to the chest. He sank to his chair, staring blindly ahead.

He loved Vivian .

Somehow, despite every wall, every barrier and shield he’d thrown up, she’d wedged herself into his heart, his soul. No wonder he’d felt so empty these past days. The one who’d given him life again was gone.

Because, yes, she’d resuscitated him, jolting his heart so it beat. She’d given him more than work to be excited about-she’d given him her quiet humor, her defiance, her wit, her loyalty, her body…her love. And what had he done? Thrown it back at her like it meant nothing.

“I realize now that you don’t even respect me enough to give me answers to questions like this… because I’m nothing but a hook up to you”

Pain, razor sharp and searing hot, razed his chest. He gasped at the agony of it. Nothing-absolutely nothing-could be further from the truth. She wasn’t a hook up. She was more than enough for him. She was everything. But he’d been willing to throw away a future with herBelongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

“Scott,” Bruce snapped, hauling Scott out of the hell he’d plummeted into.

He jerked his head up, blinking. God, he’d forgotten all about this man standing in his office. And now he didn’t have time for him or the vendetta that had brought both of them low. Urgency spiraling through him, Scott shot to his feet and strode across the room.

Removing a large picture from the wall, he revealed the safe behind it and quickly punched in the code to open it. He withdrew the thick, brown file inside, then slammed the safe door shut, not bothering to replace the painting.

“Here.” He marched over to Bruce and shoved the dossier containing all his damning information into the other man’s chest. “Take it. There aren’t any more copies other than the one I gave your sister.”

“What?” Bruce gasped. He clutched the folder, glancing at it before his gaze whipped back to Scott.

“What’s your angle now? You can’t seriously just hand this over to me without wanting something in return.”

Scott stepped back, shaking his head. “No angle. No ulterior motive. But you’re right. I do want something in return. Or rather, someone. Because nothing means anything to me right now…. Nothing means more to me than her.

“What the fuck are you babbling about?” Bruce asked.

Scott didn’t reply. He had to get Vivian back. How he’d go about doing that, he had no clue. Hell, by all rights, she shouldn’t forgive him. But he needed her. He loved her. And he’d fight to have her. Harder than he’d ever done. Harder than he’d ever fought to pay back Bruce for hurting his sister. Because winning Vivian back was more important than any battle he’d ever faced.

________

By the time Scott got into his car, he had a splitting headache. To cap it all, it was raining-a driving, relentless rain and he felt full of a pent-up kind of anger. He got into his car, and as the powerful engine roared into life immediately, he thought about driving back to his house, to an empty house and an empty bed.

And then he thought about Vivian and his body responded as instantly as the car had done. He’d been so harsh with her. He’d been an asshole for not reaching out to her this whole time. What would she do if he drove down to see her-surprised her- gave her the perfume he’d bought her before they broke up? He’d been carrying it in his car for days… And then maybe if she let him, he’d spent the rest of the weekend lost in her arms?

Maybe he should call her first, he thought, pulling out his phone. He dialed her number, then hung up immediately. He couldn’t do this over the phone. He had to see her.

He put his phone away. Anticipation caused his face to tighten as he indicated left, instead of right. The drive was one of the worst of his life. After driving for about fifteen minutes, the narrow lanes were clogged with mud and the hedgerows seemed to be closing in on him. The radio was playing some loud and intense choral piece which seemed to darken his mood even more and Adam automatically clicked it off, so that for a moment there was silence.

Only a moment….

A car came suddenly in the other direction, hidden until that moment by a sharp bend. Scott’s powerful headlights illuminated the vehicle and for just a moment he saw a man driving, one hand on the wheel, the other holding a mobile phone to his ear.

The car was coming towards him. Scott slammed on his brakes and jammed his fist on the horn and his car slowed right down, but it was too late, because the other just kept on coming.

As if in slow motion, Scott saw a frightened, startled face staring at him through the windscreen of the other car and then a loud crash, a jolt of pain.

And then, thankfully, nothing.

———

Vivian’s phone rang at midnight, waking her from a deep and troubled sleep, and she sat up with a start, glancing at the bedside clock in alarm and wondering who would be calling at this time of the night, and why. Was it Megan?

She snatched the phone. “Hello?”

It was a man’s voice, a voice she did not recognise, a low, husky voice. “Is this Vivian Sanchez?”

“That’s me. Who is this, please?”

“This is the police.”

Vivian began to shake. The police?

“Are you a friend of Mr Scott McCall?”

Something in the way he asked the question alerted every fearful instinct in Vivian’s body. It was as though someone had constricted her throat with a tight metal band.

“I’m his… yes,” she struggled the words out. “He’s a friend of mine. Something’s happened to him, hasn’t it?” she managed to get out.

“Yes. I’m afraid that he’s been involved in a car crash. He’s been badly hurt.”

Vivian gave a little moan of distress, her fingers gripping onto the phone as if it were a lifeline.

“Yours was the last number he had dialed on his mobile and-”

“Scott!” It sounded like the keening wail of a wounded animal. Vivian hands began to shake.

“Where is he?”

“In hospital. The Mary Grace Hospital-it’s near you-do you know it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you all right to drive, or would you rather we send a car round for you?”

“No. No-I can manage. Th-thank you.” Vivian slammed the phone down and jumped out of bed, grabbing a pair of old jeans and the warmest sweater she could find, her fingers shaking so much that she could barely do her bra up.

Calm down, she told herself. For God’s sake, calm down, or you’ll end up crashing your own car. A jolt of pain ripped through her. Just how badly hurt was he?

She forced herself to drive at an exaggeratedly slow pace all the way to Mary Grace Hospital, but she left her car skewed in the hospital forecourt and ran into the reception as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her ankles.

“Can you tell me where Scott McCall is, please?” she almost yelled.

“When was he admitted?”

“I don’t know!”

“Just a moment.” The woman ran her eyes down a list and then looked up, her face folded into a deliberately calm expression. “He’s in the intensive care unit, he-”

But Vivian had already gone, taking the stairs instead of the lift, running all the way to the isolated and sterile unit right at the very top of the hospital wing.

A nurse in a white uniform looked up from the desk.

“May I help you?” She felt like crying that it wasn’t her that needed help, but Scott-but she took a deep breath. Hysteria would help no one. She must be strong. “I’ve come to see Scott McCall”

“Are you a relative?”

“No.” She wanted to say, I’m all he’s got, but that wasn’t true, not in the real sense. “I’m his girlfriend. I’m not sure his family has been contacted, but I’m family to him”

“I see.” The nurse got to her feet. “If you’d like to wait here for a moment.” The moment felt like eternity but eventually the nurse came back with a colleague.

“My name is Sandy,” she said gently. “And I am Scott’s nurse. Won’t you sit down for a moment and I’ll tell you what is happening with him?”

Another moment. Another eternity. Vivian forced herself to concentrate.

He was concussed. He was in a coma. There didn’t appear to be any major internal injuries and he had just undergone a brain scan. The good news was that he hadn’t broken any limbs.

That was the good news?