It occurred to Jamie, with just a bit of shock, that maybe it wasn’t all about her. That maybe he felt a need to protect himself from this small-town girl and the things she could coax out of him without half trying.
She sniffed. “I don’t even have a tissue.”
He wasn’t sure if she wanted the tissue for her little red nose, or to try to repair the damage to his shirt.
“I don’t even have a tissue,” she repeated. The issue of the tissue as a sign of her complete destitution seemed as if it might push her over the edge again, so Jamie hurriedly pulled the pocket square from his suit and handed it to her.
Thankfully, she dabbed delicately at her nose and left the front of his shirt alone. She had a very cute nose, small and a little turned up at the end. Her bottom lip was trembling a bit, and it was more than cute. Full and plump. Jamie gave himself an annoyed mental shake.
Even though he was determined she would never work for him, a little propriety was in order. Which meant not trying to guess what those lips would taste like.
She was vulnerable. He did not take advantage of the vulnerable. Or sweet girls from small towns.
Embracing her had been a mistake—visions of lavender fields proof of that—but it was one he now intended to quickly rectify.
“Let’s get you settled,” he said, his voice a touch on the curt side, more to remind himself than her of the nature of their relationship. “I have a car outside.”
She stepped out the doors with him, and flinched as they were plunged into even more madness; horns honking, tires squealing, the smell of hot engines on a summer night.
“It’s dark already,” she said.
He glanced at his phone. “Ten p.m.”
She nodded. “I’d forgotten. A three-hour time difference.”
JHA had several cars and drivers at their disposal, but when the uniformed driver held open the door of the Bentley for Jessica, she took in the well-appointed opulence inside the vehicle with little pleasure. In fact, she seemed to sink even a little more into herself. By the time he got in the other door, she was squished up against her own door and staring straight ahead. She looked very pale. And fragile. She was clutching his pocket square as if it was a lifeline.
The car pulled away from the curb, and headed for the Grand Central Parkway, Jamie realized he needed to take charge of this situation.
“We’ve got a forty-minute drive into Manhattan. Let’s make use of it and get you started on canceling credit cards and your phone,” he suggested, and pulled his tablet from a pouch in the door. “Maybe contact your bank about emergency funds. You can use this, and I’ll make some calls to see what the procedure is to have your passport reported missing and then replaced.”
He quickly put in his password and handed her the open tablet. He was entering his comfort zone—take action—but she was staring numbly at the computer on her lap.
“Bring up your credit card company,” he directed her, and then plunged into his own calls. He covered the phone with his hand for a moment. “Maybe try the chat feature if they have one.”
When he disconnected from his calls, she had closed the computer.
“The bank’s website had a number I can call tomorrow about emergency funds. Meanwhile, the cards are canceled,” she reported, “and my phone. Thank you for realizing how important that was. I think I’m so shaken, I would have overlooked that and had a billion-dollar phone bill to who knows where on top of everything else.”
“Great.” He ticked off their accomplishments on his fingers. “Credit cards canceled. Phone canceled. We’ll work on your bank and the passport tomorrow. The Canadian Consulate isn’t open right now, but we’ll go see them first thing in the morning. From what I could tell, it looks as though there is a procedure for issuing emergency travel documents or a temporary passport.”
“Thank you, again, for taking charge.”
He smiled at her, the kind of reassuring smile, he hoped, that said, See? No more tears are necessary. “I’m in the zone. Solving problems is my specialty. So moving on, are you up to tackling the police report?”
“I’m sorry, no.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. A more sophisticated companion would have gotten it: I’m trying to take your mind off things. Play along. Don’t make it any more awkward than it already is.
But she shook her head. “I’m exhausted. I’ve been traveling for two days. Timber Falls is not close to a major airport. You have to drive for a day to get to one. And then I chose a hotel close to the airport, and couldn’t sleep for planes and sirens and noise. And then, this.”
See? It was going to get awkward. That luscious bottom lip was trembling again.
“I should have never let go of my suitcase handle. What was I thinking? What kind of idiot lets their guard down in New York City?”
He wanted to tell her the crime rate in the city had been dropping since the 1990s and it was now considered one of the safest large cities in the United States, but it seemed she might not appreciate that insight at the moment.
“Would it be a mugging, would you say?” she asked. “I mean, I guess I would assume some violence in a mugging. It felt violent. He did push me.”
“Are you hurt?” The hospital! Good grief, here he was looking after all the business details, solving problems, and she was in need of medical assistance. It made Jamie realize, surprised, that he might be feeling a little more off balance than he was prepared to let on. To her, and even more, to himself.
“Oh, no, I’m not hurt physically. Just shaken. Badly.”
She held
