The Heir's Unexpected Return

His reasoning was sound, even if it meant his pain was left unmanaged.

The two men who’d accompanied Kellen strode into the apartment then. The driver was hauling a pair of suitcases that were large enough to hold Brigit’s entire wardrobe. The younger man pushed the wheelchair. A smaller piece of luggage was balanced on its seat with a garment bag draped over top of it. Brigit’s stomach dropped. Kellen had brought a lot of baggage—in more ways than one. And none of it boded well for how long she would be displaced from her home.

“Where do you want your things, boss?” the driver asked.

Without opening his eyes, Kellen motioned with one hand in the direction of the hall. “Put them in the master bedroom, Lou.”

“And mine?” the guy pushing the wheelchair asked.

Kellen did open his eyes now and he straightened in his seat. “Change of plans, Joe. Miss Wright will be bunking in the spare room. You’ll be out here on the couch.”

Brigit’s mouth fell open. Just like that, he’d turned them all into roommates.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_c7657efc-4c89-50f1-8af2-148b0e5f4392)

AGAIN, BRIGIT TRIED to protest. “That’s not necessary. As I said, I can sleep on a cot in the office.”

“And I say it is necessary.” Kellen waved a hand. Then, “Not to be rude, but if you could move your belongings out of your room into the spare and be on your way, I’d appreciate it. I need to lie down.”

He didn’t wait for Brigit to respond. Rather, he returned his head to the cushion and closed his eyes once again.

She’d been dismissed like the hired help she was. Well, hired help or not, his dismissal made her blood boil. It took an effort, but she managed to swallow the pithy reply that likely would have seen her fired. Instead, as she followed the pair of burly men down the hall, she muttered half under her breath, “Sure, Mr. Faust. No problem, Mr. Faust. Happy to oblige.”

Brigit kept a tidy home, even in the rooms that casual visitors normally didn’t see. She was grateful for that fact now that strangers were invading her privacy.

Although the rooms were neat, she would have to change the sheets on her bed before Kellen used it. She’d planned to handle that chore in the morning, as well as gather up her clothes and toiletries in anticipation of his arrival. By showing up a day and a half early, and bringing another overnight guest, he’d left her scrambling and feeling...inadequate.

She swallowed the bile that threatened to inch up the back of her throat. The sentiment didn’t sit well.

While the driver continued down the hall, Brigit stopped at the first doorway. Glancing around the spare room, she tapped a finger to her lips. The treadmill would need to be moved to the corner to make room to open the futon, which would need fresh linens. Ditto for the living room’s pullout couch, where Kellen had assigned Joe to bunk.

As if reading her mind, Joe said from behind her, “Sorry for all of the inconvenience our stay is causing you.”

She turned, taking in his sheepish smile. She guessed him to be a few years her junior, which would put him in his late twenties. Despite a hairline that was already receding halfway across his crown, his face was almost boyish. If he had to shave once a week, she would be surprised.

“It’s no problem,” she lied.

“I’m Joe Bosley, your other uninvited guest.” He let go of one of the wheelchair handles so he could shake her hand. “I’m Mr. Faust’s physical therapist.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Brigit Wright. As you probably guessed, I manage Faust Haven.”

Joe nodded. Then, “Hey, would it be okay if I stowed my stuff in here?”

Better in the spare room with her than taking up space in the main living area. Brigit nodded and then pointed across the room. “The drawers in that dresser are mostly empty. If you’d like, you can have a couple of them.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ll take the bottom two.”

That left her with the top three. “And there’s plenty of room in the closet if you have anything you want to hang up.”

“Nah.” Joe wrinkled his pug-like nose and motioned to his hulking frame. “I’m a wash-and-wear kind of guy. Shorts, T-shirts and sweats mostly, although I do keep a pair of khaki pants and a few polo shirts on hand for anything that requires me to dress up.”

She nearly smiled. Khakis and collared shirts were Joe’s formal wear. Meanwhile, if all of the photographs she’d seen of Kellen over the years were any indication, the guy probably owned stock in Armani. Not that Kellen didn’t wear a tux well, a traitorous voice whispered. She silenced it.

Joe’s simple wardrobe explained why he had only one medium-size suitcase while his boss had brought a pair of ginormous ones as well as a garment bag. Whatever designer-label duds were stuffed inside of them really wasn’t the issue. The sheer amount said he was planning a far more extended stay than she’d first assumed. Just her luck.

“This is a nightmare,” she muttered, momentarily forgetting about her audience.

Not surprisingly, Joe misunderstood what she meant. “You’ll hardly know we’re here.”

“I’m sorry. That was rude. I’m not usually rude,” she said.

Uptight, unimaginative and colossally boring both in the bedroom and out, according to her ex, but even that jerk had never called Brigit’s manners into question.

“It’s okay.” Joe sent her a reassuring smile. Then, motioning over his shoulder with one thumb, he added, “He’s not so bad, you know.”

“I’m sure.” Her attempt at sounding convincing fell far short.

“Really,” Joe insisted. “Mr. F is in a lot of pain right now.”

She nodded. “He said he’s not taking the meds the doctor prescribed. Said they give him brain fog.”

She decided to keep to herself the part about him worrying about becoming addicted.

“They’d give an elephant brain fog.” Joe leaned closer then and dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. “His pain isn’t all physical, although I doubt he’d admit to that.”

So, the accident had taken an emotional toll as well. Brigit supposed she shouldn’t find that surprising. Even strong people could succumb to depression. God knew, she’d hovered at its dark door for a time just before finally calling it quits on her marriage.

“Mr. Faust’s injury...how bad is it?”

“To be honest, it’s one of the worst I’ve ever seen. His wrist and shoulder have healed pretty well, but his leg...he mangled it but good. Major tendon and ligament damage in addition to the bone fractures.” Joe shook his head and exhaled. “You know, the doctors initially advised amputating just above the knee.”

“My God!” Brigit gasped. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, he managed to keep that much from being leaked to the press. His friends...” Joe snorted, as if finding the word laughable. “They forwarded all sorts of information and even a few photographs snapped in Mr. F’s hospital room to the tabloids. He wasn’t happy about it.”

“I’d say he needs a better class of friends.”

Joe grunted at her assessment. “I can’t say I was sorry when he announced we would be heading back to the States. Some of them probably haven’t noticed he’s gone, although they’ll get the idea once the chalet sells.”

Brigit’s stomach dropped. “Sells?”

“He said he doesn’t want to go back there. Of course, it might just be the depression talking.”

One could hope. Because if he didn’t go back there, she had the sickening feeling she knew where he might next call home.

“How’s his therapy going?” she asked, hoping for good news.

That wasn’t what she got.