Izzie made a face. “Four,” she sighed. “And I’m not seeing double...no halos, nothing...”
“Any dizziness?” he asked patiently.
“No.”
“Okay, I think you’re fine.” He started packing up his kit. “But you should be watched for the next twenty-four hours to make sure you haven’t suffered any kind of internal issues.”
Izzie nodded. “No problem. I’m going to rebook myself on another flight to the States tonight so there’ll be a whole planeload full of people ready to catch me if I keel over.”
The medic frowned. “Flying isn’t the best idea after an injury like that.”
She shrugged. “I have no choice.”
He gave her a long look. “Do you have someone in London you can stay with if that flight doesn’t happen? Otherwise we can admit you to the hospital overnight for observation.”
She blanched. Spending the night in the hospital wasn’t an option. She had to get a flight. “I do,” she lied. “Thanks so much for your help.”
Alex was still on the phone when she picked up her bag and walked over to him. He held the phone to one side. “We can’t get a flight to the States tonight. Give me your ticket and I’ll have my assistant rebook you on something tomorrow morning.”
Tomorrow? “There must be a flight tonight...a red-eye? I’ll take a red-eye...”
He scowled. “By no flights, I mean no flights, Isabel.”
Oh. She bit her lip, frantically sifting through the alternatives, but coming up with none. “Can you see if she can make it as early as possible tomorrow?” she asked, dragging her ticket out of her purse and handing it to him. “I have that interview in the morning.”
He nodded, took the ticket and started rattling off the information into the phone. She left him to it, collapsing into one of the sterile-looking leather lobby chairs. If she caught a super early flight tomorrow she had a shot at making the interview, given the time difference. But she wasn’t even sure overseas flights left that early in the morning. In fact she was pretty sure they didn’t.
She swallowed hard and removed her fingernail from her mouth before she mangled it. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. What she’d been obsessively working toward for the past four years, coming into the studio at eight when most reporters didn’t amble in until their 10:00 a.m. editorial meeting and working well past when most had left. She, a single girl in New York, had no personal life. Her job was her life. Which was fine, because dating was like some type of ancient torture for her, and in ten years she’d have a flourishing career to point to rather than a series of America’s worst matchmaking stories.
Her stomach dropped. She just hadn’t expected to be taking her big leap now.
An audition for an anchor job in the most high-pressure media market in the country was a daunting task for even the most experienced reporter. Ten times so for someone like Izzie, who tended to burn out like the brightest star when the stakes were the highest.
Been there, done that. She squeezed her eyes shut. She was not that Izzie anymore—the terrified, unsure eighteen-year-old who’d walked into that audition and blown the biggest opportunity of her life. She would not go back there. Ever. Particularly not when today, facing her mortality, she’d suddenly had a crystal-clear vision of how short life could be.
A shaky sigh escaped her as she leaned back into the smooth leather. What was she doing, anyway? If those emergency brakes hadn’t deployed, she and Alex would have been smashed to smithereens. Worrying about a job was just nuts! But to be fair, she’d spent her whole life worrying. On a low, chronic level that couldn’t be good for a person. About keeping her job. About how she looked. About what the future held. And right now, that seemed like a very, very stupid way to live.
Alex dropped down in the chair beside her. “You okay?”
She nodded, her brain settling into an oddly lucid state. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I am.”
He gave her a long look as if he was trying to decide if she’d lost it. Then handed her ticket back with some scribbles on it. “The best Grace could do was an eleven-thirty tomorrow morning.”
She did the calculation in her head. If she left here at eleven-thirty, she’d land in New York around one-thirty. Maybe, just maybe, James could get the execs to stay later.
“Thank you,” she murmured, sliding the ticket into her purse.
“No problem.” His gaze sharpened on her face. “What did the paramedic say?”
“He says I’m fine...just to keep an eye on my head.”
“You mean have someone keep an eye on you,” he corrected. “For at least twenty-four hours probably. Any of those girlfriends of yours live in London?”
She shook her head. “I’m sure I’m fine. I’ll just book a hotel, get a good night’s sleep and it’ll all be good.”
His dark brows slanted together. “You don’t fool around with a head injury, Isabel. It’s serious stuff.”
“I don’t have a head injury. I have a bump on my head.”
He gave her a dark look and raked his hand through his hair. “Give me a second. I’m going to see if I can find a nurse or someone who can keep an eye on you.”
“No way I—dammit—” she cursed as he turned on his heel and strode off, already talking into his phone. She didn’t need a nurse. She needed to get back to New York.
He came back five minutes later, his frown deeper. “My assistant couldn’t find someone on such short notice.”
“Well, that’s it, then,” she said, trying not to look relieved. “I’ll make sure I keep an eye on myself and if I feel the slightest bit strange, I’ll go to the hospital.”
“No, you won’t.” His eyes darkened to a forbidding cobalt-blue. “I have plenty of space at my place in Canary Wharf. You can stay with me.”
Her jaw dropped open. Her stay with him at his place? Umm...no. “That’s very nice of you,” she said, “but I can’t impose like that.”
“You need to be watched.” He reached down and picked up her bag. “I don’t know about you but I need a hot shower and something to eat. Let’s go.”
She shook her head. “Alex, I—”
“Isabel. I had a friend suffer a massive hemorrhage after he hit his head. We all thought he was fine. He died that night, at home alone.”
“Oh.” She stared at him, scared silly.
“Exactly. You’ve had a brutally traumatic day, you look like you’re going to pass out, and I’m the one responsible for you whacking your head. So do me a favor and stay at my place so I don’t have to spend the night worrying about you expiring in a hotel room.”
And what was she supposed to say to that? Suddenly, staying alone in a hotel room seemed the height of stupidity. The thing was...despite how she knew instinctively she could trust him, despite how he’d taken care of her in that elevator, she didn’t know him. He could be an ax murderer for all she knew. On the other hand, she knew that was ridiculous. As a reporter she lived by her instincts, and her instincts told her she could trust Alex.
“Just say yes,” he muttered. “I’m out of patience.”
She chewed on her lip. “All right. If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble...”