Can't Buy Me Love Read online

  I sniffed. “It’s not going to be okay. My boss is going to kill me. I spilled her c..c..c…coffee. I’m late for work. Again. And I think I lost my shoe.”

  “I’ll find your shoe, and I’ll let your boss know what happened.”

  “She won’t care. She’s mean. And that was the last decent pair of shoes I owned. I’ll have to walk around barefoot. Or in flats.”

  I was full out sobbing now. Dark Hottie stayed with me, murmuring soothing words as I wept. When the ambulance arrived, he climbed in, his hand never leaving my bottom.

  “We can take it from here, sir,” said the EMT.

  “Oh. Right,” he said, looking a bit embarrassed as he took his hand off my bum, but he stayed in the ambulance, holding my hand. I was glad. I didn’t want to be alone.

  “I’m sorry I was cranky,” I said. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

  His lips twitched. “You earned the right to be cranky. You were shot.”

  “In the ass. It figures,” I said, feeling woozy. “And I’m always cranky without coffee. And on Mondays. It’s kind of a thing with me. I think I’m rambling. Am I rambling? And I don’t even know your name.”

  He gave me a little smile. “Nicolai Mercia. But most people call me Nico.”

  “Oh.” He looked like a Nicolai, or maybe a Maximilian. Something exotic, and yet powerful and sexy at the same time.

  The EMT gave me something in an IV that took the edge off the pain and made me feel a whole lot better. “I’m Chloe Burkhart,” I said. “Why would anyone shoot me? It doesn’t make sense. I’m nothing. I’m…nobody.”

  Things began to get a little fuzzy, and suddenly I could barely keep my eyes open. I didn’t feel the least bit concerned when the EMT lifted my skirt to get a better look at my wound. Nico glanced away, too much of a gentlemen to stare at my undies.

  “They weren’t shooting at you. They were shooting at the prince.”

  “Prince? What prince?”

  The words came out slurred, and if Nico answered I was too out of it to understand his response. I couldn’t afford to be shot. I couldn’t afford to miss work. Knowing Patricia, she’d fire me, and I’d have to scrub toilets for a living to keep my sister from starving. Ella, a teenager, was perpetually hungry. It would take a lot of toilets to earn enough money to feed her.

  “I hate my life,” I said. “I want a redo.”

  As the sirens wailed and the ambulance carried me though the crowded streets of New York, I sank into a blissful darkness. I’d been right about one thing. This was officially the worst Monday morning ever.

  ~

  I woke to find Ella’s sweet worried face hovering over mine. “Chloe? Are you okay?”

  I nodded, still groggy. “Yes, but I got shot in the butt. I guess I’ll have to skip the thong bikini when we go to St. Tropez this summer.”

  I said it to cheer her up, and it had the desired effect. We both knew we couldn’t afford a trip to the Jersey Shore, let along St. Tropez. She gave me a wobbly smile, but I could tell she’d been crying.

  “You were never much of a thong girl anyway,” she said. “No great loss.”

  I glanced around the room. It was filled with giant bouquets of gorgeous flowers. “Did someone die?”

  She laughed. “No…thanks to you. You’re a hero, Chloe. You saved Prince Alexander of Latovia today. He would have died if it weren’t for you. The flowers are from the prince. And the Mayor of New York. And the president.”

  “The president?”

  “Of the United States,” she said, pointing to a large bouquet in the corner of the room, her eyes huge in her face. “He called you a national treasure.”

  I frowned, perplexed, as the events of this morning rushed back to me. “Oh, God. What time is it? Patricia is going to fire me. For real, this time.”

  I tried to get up from the bed, but Ella held me down. “Stay still. You just had surgery. You aren’t going to work, and Patricia won’t fire you.”

  “Did you call her to let her know what happened?”

  Ella bit her lip, obviously trying not to grin. “I didn’t have to.” She turned on the television hanging on the wall at the foot of my bed. As she flipped through the channels, I stared in shock. On each channel, the lead story was about one topic. Me.

  On NBC, a perky blond reporter stood in front of the coffee shop I’d visited this morning. “Socialite Chloe Burkhart saved the life of Prince Alexander of Latovia today. The crown prince, in New York on a diplomatic mission, was the target of an assassination attempt. Brave Ms. Burkhart, took the bullet for him.” The reporter’s eyes filled with tears. “It makes me proud to be a New Yorker.”

  “Oh, my,” I said.

  “There’s more.” Ella switched to CBS. A photo of me in an evening gown flashed on the screen. It had been taken at a charity event several years ago, right before Mom died.

  I cringed. “Why did they have to choose that photo? I hate it. My butt looks so enormous. It may even have its own gravitational pull.”

  Ella snorted. “Maybe that’s why the bullet hit you there. Kind of hard to miss.”

  I smacked her arm and listened to another perky reporter, this time a brunette, talk about what had happened this morning. “Chloe Burkhart, of the Burkhart Books Publishing House, leapt into action early today to save the life of visiting royalty.”

  “Ugh. Did she have to mention Burkhart Books?” I asked. It had been our family business for generations, but it didn’t belong to us anymore. A few years ago my father sold it, very foolishly, for much less than it was worth.

  It didn’t bother him. The book gene had skipped his generation somehow. He only cared about having fun and maintaining the lifestyle my mother had grown accustomed to. When he lost her in the same car accident that left him permanently disabled, he’d stopped caring about anything at all.

  “Maybe they don’t know what happened,” said Ella. “To our family, I mean.”

  “It’s possible,” I said, hoping it might be the case.

  I’d discovered soon after my mother’s death my father had trusted the wrong people, invested in the wrong things, and ended up practically losing everything. We’d only kept the apartment and the money put aside by my grandfather to pay for Ella’s education. The stipend covered the cost of the exclusive private school she attended and would pay for college as well, but it didn’t meet the cost of other things, like her uniforms. Field trips. School projects. Food. Basic necessities.

  I could have sent her to the public school down the street, but she’d suffered enough already. Taking her away from all her friends and the only school she’d ever known would have been even more of a trauma.

  Being a teenager was hard enough. Being different from other kids made it even more arduous. While the other children at her school went to St. Barts or skiing over vacation, she made excuses and stayed at home. She never complained, but it was hard being the only poor kid in school full of wealthy socialites and people who came from old money.

  Thankfully, she only had one year left before college. And, I had one year left until I turned twenty-five and could dip into my own trust fund. It wasn’t enough to solve all my problems, but I’d be able to help Ella get through the university and keep the heat on in our apartment.

  Thinking about the apartment made my stomach tighten in knots. The only thing we still owned, it was a giant, drafty noose around my neck. We’d sold the cars, the artwork, my mother’s furs, and almost all of the furniture, but I couldn’t force my dad to get rid of the apartment. It had become his world, the only thing he had left of her. An empty shell of a home for an empty shell of a man.

  I let out a frustrated sigh. He needed therapy, but we couldn’t afford it. We couldn’t afford much of anything. Thank goodness Ella didn’t have a nut allergy, because half of her meals were now made from peanut butter and white bread.

  The words Chloe Burkhart, an American Hero flashed across the bottom of the screen.

  “This is rid
iculous…” I began, but Ella shushed me, her eyes raptly glued to the television.

  “Joe McNulty of Queens saw it happen,” said the reporter as she handed the microphone to a dark haired man with an impressive mustache.

  “That redhead in the dirty white coat flew way up in the air to block the bullet,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “She saved his life, for sure. She deserves a medal or something. She’s a true hero in my book.”

  I stared at the TV screen, stunned. “I’m now a ‘redhead in a dirty white coat’? Are you kidding me?”

  “At least, he didn’t mention seeing your undies. Another guy went on and on about them in an earlier interview. He called you ‘the purple panties lady.’ Hey, are you going to eat that?” she asked, nodding toward the lunch provided to me by the hospital, an unappetizing assortment of dry toast, Jell-O, and ginger ale. I passed it over to her, and she munched on the bread enthusiastically. “But like Joe McNulty of Queens said, you’re a hero, Chloe,” she said between bites. “That’s the important part. You’re famous. And, guess what? We’ve had ten calls already asking for interviews. Someone is even talking about a potential book offer. People are willing to give us a whole lot of money just for the chance to speak with you.”

  “But…” I wanted to tell her the truth. I wasn’t a hero. I hadn’t saved anyone’s life, not on purpose anyway. Ella stopped the words in my throat when she looked at me, her eyes filling with tears.

  “We’ll be able to pay off some of Dad’s medical bills, and we might even be able to get him into therapy. I’m sorry you got hurt, Sissy, but this might be the best thing to happen to us in a long time.”

  Little Ella. My mini-me. Some people called her my clone. We had the same red hair, an inheritance from our mother, and the same cat-like green eyes, a gift from our father. We were both a little on the tall side, and while Ella was still a lanky teenager, soon she’d have my curvy figure as well. But there the similarities ended. Ella was a million times more sensible and mature than I’d been at her age. She had to be. She didn’t have a choice.

  My heart squeezed in my chest as I stared at her. She’d outgrown her school uniform again. The blouse stretched tight across her bosom, and the skirt hovered above the acceptable length on her thighs. She was growing like a weed, and I knew I’d be getting a call soon. The people at the school thought she was being rebellious, wearing short skirts on purpose. They’d even given her detention once. They had no idea we couldn’t afford to buy new uniforms, and we’d never tell them. We may have lost the Burkhart fortune, but we still had the Burkhart pride. It was the only thing keeping us going sometimes.

  I knew I should tell the truth. I hadn’t saved anyone’s life on purpose. It had been a complete and utter accident. But when I saw the hope shining in Ella’s eyes, something I hadn’t seen there in a long time, I made my decision.

  “How much money are we talking about exactly?”

  ~

  Later that afternoon, after Ella had gone home to make Dad dinner, Nico showed up at my room. I’d been napping, and woke with a start to find him hovering awkwardly in my doorway, like a six and a half foot tall, muscular puppy. He carried a bouquet of lilacs tied with a purple velvet ribbon. Simple, elegant, and perfect.

  “Hey,” I said, struggling to get myself in a seated position and wincing at the twinge of pain the small motion brought. Both the local anesthetic and the painkiller had worn off. I thought about calling the nurse and asking for more, but decided to tough it out. The last thing I needed at this point was an addiction to painkillers. It would be the icing on the cake of my messed up life.

  Nico moved toward me, his face concerned. “Shall I call for a nurse? You look pale.”

  “It’s my natural shade.” I leaned back on the pillow as gingerly as I could. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

  “You lost of lot of blood.”

  “The doctors tell me it would have been much worse if you hadn’t stopped the bleeding,” I said. “Thank you.”

  His lips twitched in what looked like the barest hint of a smile. “You are most welcome.” He put the lilacs on the tray next to my bed, and pulled a box with a big bow on it from behind his back. “For you.”

  “What is this?” I asked, tearing open the wrapping paper on the box and recognizing the contents immediately. Manolo Blahniks. To replace the shoes I’d been wearing. Except these were the newest style, not from many seasons ago like mine. “You didn’t have to do this,” I said. I almost hugged them, but thought it would have been kind of weird.

  He stuck his hand into the pocket of his coat and pulled out the shoe I’d lost before I’d gotten shot. Filthy and twisted, the heel jutted out at an odd angle. Kind of a pitiful metaphor for my life, if a person looked into those sort of things, and I definitely did.

  Nico shook his head apologetically, the bedraggled shoe balanced in one massive hand. “I doubt very much this one could be repaired. I do apologize.”

  “In all honesty, they weren’t in the best condition even before the accident.” I frowned. Calling it that didn’t seem right, but it was all I could come up with. I lifted the lilacs and took a whiff. “These are my favorite flowers. Thank you so much. How did you know, and where did you get them? They certainly aren’t in season right now.”

  He blushed, which took me a bit by surprise. “Lucky guess,” he said. “And you can find anything in New York, if you look hard enough.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Chloe, I need to talk with you about what happened. Can you give me a description of the man who shot Prince Alexander? How did you know what was going on?”

  Now it was my turn to blush. I stuck my face in the lilacs again. “It all happened so quickly. I can’t remember, to be honest, and I didn’t know he was a prince. I saw the gun, and simply reacted.”

  To my chagrin, my hands shook. Nico eyed me with a concerned frown. “I’m sorry. You’ve been through so much. I shouldn’t trouble you with this right now.”

  He came closer to the bed and took my shaking hands in his. As soon as he touched me, I felt a zap of something, almost like electricity, shoot across my skin.

  Lust. Pure and simple. Holy guacamole. I was lusting after Nico.

  My eyes widened in surprise as I pulled my hand away. He looked a bit thrown off as well. Could he have felt the same thing? It seemed improbable someone like sexy and sophisticated Nicolai Mercia could have a lust-zap for someone as pathetic as poor, shot-in-the-ass Chloe Burkhart. But maybe he had felt something.

  He cleared his throat and backed away from me slightly. “You saw it happen and reacted? Incredible. Those are amazing reflexes. I know men who’ve trained for years who don’t possess that kind of speed, or instinct.”

  I shrugged. “Right place, right time?”

  He looked less than convinced, but a commotion at the door drew his attention. My best friend, Norah Knowles, stood in the doorway, her arms filled with balloons, flowers, and what looked like the world’s largest box of Godiva chocolate. She threw everything at Nico and pulled me into her arms.

  “Chloe. You almost died. I can’t believe it.” She blinked away tears as she cupped my face in her hands. “God. You need blush. You’re as pale as a ghost.”

  As she dug in her purse for blusher, I introduced her. “Norah, this is Nico. He took care of me today when I got shot.” It felt weird saying that. Normal people did not get shot crossing the street on their way to work. “Nico, this is Norah, my co-worker and my oldest and dearest friend.”

  They shook hands, and Norah gave him a long look, taking in the silky dark hair, the sexy stubble on his chin, and his eyes so brown, they almost seemed black. “Well, hello there.”

  She tucked one of her blond locks behind her ear and adjusted her tortoise shell glasses. Naturally flirtatious, Norah appreciated a fine-looking man. And Nico fit the bill.

  He shifted, a bit uncomfortable, and moved toward the door, towering over the diminutive Norah.
“Well, I shall leave you to spend time with your friend. I’ll be in touch soon, Ms. Burkhart. The prince would like to meet with you in order to thank you personally.”

  He nodded, then left the room. Norah watched him go, staring at his butt. I kind of stared at it, too. I couldn’t help it.

  “Uh, wow,” said Norah. “You go, girl.”

  I swatted her arm. “Shut up. It’s not like that. He works for the prince…or something.” I’d never asked Nico about what he did exactly. “I think he’s a bodyguard.”

  Norah sighed. “He can guard my body anytime, but I have a feeling he’s not my type. Way too gloomy. And serious. And smart. I only date idiots. It’s kind of my thing.” She picked up the lilacs and looked for a vase to put them in. When she couldn’t find one, she considered using either the bedpan or the water pitcher. Fortunately, she decided on the pitcher, plunking them inside. “Did Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous bring you these? How did he know you liked lilacs?”

  I frowned, puzzled, and a thought occurred to me. “Oh, gosh. I had on lilac colored undies. Do you think…?”

  Norah lifted one well-penciled eyebrow. “If so it’s a message, but let’s back up a bit. He saw your undies?”

  “Yes. When I got shot. He applied pressure.”

  “To your ass?” She stared at me in disbelief. “Oh, man. Some people have all the luck.”

  “How was work today? As terrible as usual?”

  Norah snuggled up next to me on my bed. I put my head on her shoulder, happy she was there. I’d been hired by Wilson Publishing based on my Ivy League education and my name. My boss, Patricia, had resented me from the moment we’d met. She’d clawed her way up to the top, and considered me undeserving. She thought I worked at Wilson for fun and had no idea I needed this job to survive.

  “Well, let me say, it’s a good thing you got shot in the butt today. It was more pleasant than dealing with Patricia.”

  “She was on a rampage?”

  “Oh, yes. She made three secretaries cry. It was ugly. And she came within seconds of firing you, but she changed her tune when she found out what happened. Now, guess what? You’re Patricia Little’s new bestie. She loves you. She nearly organized a candlelight vigil in your honor. I had to remind her you weren’t dead, which put a stop to the whole idea.”