Page 17 of Claiming Genevieve

But I’ve built a life on not thinking about anything very hard for more than a second, and since coming home to fulfill my father’s wishes, changing that has proved to be difficult.

The receptionist looks up at me, her blue eyes brightening a little as she takes me in, and I see the flutter of her lashes that tells me she’s not immune to my looks or my charm. I smile at her, turning up the Irish brogue a bit. “I’m not sure if she’s made it here yet. She was taken away by ambulance. Can you help me at all, lass?”

Her cheeks pinken immediately, and she glances back down at the computer, quickly typing. “What’s your relationship to the patient?”

“A friend,” I say, and immediately regret not lying. Likely, I could have slipped a lie past her. She’s distracted enough right now—I can tell by the flush making its way down her throat. But while I’ve always been good at charming women, I’ve never been much of a liar. It doesn’t come naturally to me the way it does to others.

Her lips press together. “I’m afraid I can’t give you that information then, sir.”

“She’s adearfriend,” I emphasize. “I just want to check in on her, make sure she’s alright. If you could just?—”

The receptionist’s color heightens, the roses in her cheeks in full bloom now, and her teeth sink into her lower lip. But she shakes her head quickly. “I can’t,” she repeats, more firmly this time. “I’m sorry.”

I open my mouth, on the verge of saying the dreadedDo you know who I am,and invoking the Gallagher name, when a harsh male voice behind me cuts me off.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

I turn slowly, almost sure that I know who it is. When I see Genevieve’s asshole boyfriend standing behind me, I know that, unfortunately, I’m right.

“I don’t think I have to answer that,” I say coolly, and his eyes narrow.

“If you’re here to see Genevieve, you can fuck right off,” he snaps. “She’s got no interest in you. Or didn’t her throwing away your flowers give you enough of a fucking hint?”

My stomach clenches. Logically, I know I’ve got no claim on her, and logically I know that must have been where he was going when I passed him in the back hall of the theater—but the thought of him in her dressing room after I left, seeing the flowers I brought thrown in the trash and no doubt laughing about it, makes me feel vaguely sick.

It makes me want to punch him right in his sneering fucking face.

“I was concerned for her.” I manage to keep my voice even. “I saw the same thing you did, man. I saw her fall on that stage, and I’ve got some idea of what kind of a blow that must be for her?—”

“She fell because ofyou.” Chris points a finger at me, stepping closer—too close for comfort—and I grimace at him, holding my ground.

“I’d watch yourself,” I warn quietly. “I’ve been in a fair few bar fights in my time. I wouldn’t bet on you being able to lay me out before I get a few solid punches in, at least—and that nose looks like it’d cost a fine penny to put back the way it is now.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Chris growls. “You stay the fuck away from my woman, you understand me?”

I chuckle darkly. “Yourwoman, is it? I’d say if you asked Genevieve, she’d say she doesn’t fucking belong to anyone.”

Chris snorts. “Of course she’d say that. But I’m her patron.” He pulls himself up to his full height, looking me directly in the eye, and I canfeelthe arrogance oozing out of him like slime out of his pores. It’s an unearned arrogance—the kind that comes from being able to open his wallet for an expensive suit and having a board of executives to kiss his feet and tell him what a big man he is, but one that comes without any real weight. Strip away the fine suit and the office and the portfolio of accounts, and he’d wither down to nothing.

“Idoown her,” he continues. “The check I wrote to her fucking manager should say as much. I should have written it in that fucking blank line.Renting Genevieve Fournier for another six months.”He laughs, as if he’s made a particularly funny joke, and it takes everything in me not to swing at him. My hand flexes so hard that I half expect to pop a fucking tendon.

The only thing that stops me is that I know what happens if I swing at a man in a fucking public emergency room. There’s no real winning that fight—we’ll be separated before much of anything happens, and security will separate us both and drag me off. A quick mention of my family name and a call to my father to figure out if the police chief is in our pocket—which he almost certainly is—and I’d be out of hot water. The endless lecture I’d be subject to when I got back to the estate isalmostworth the pleasure of decking the asshole in front of me… but the knowledge that it will only add stress to Genevieve isn’t. I’ll make things worse by hitting him, I feel fairly certain of that.

And the last fucking thing I want is to make things worse for her.

“It’s your lucky day,” I growl. “I’m going to let that go, only because it defeats the purpose of defending her honor if it makes things harder for her right now. But if I hear that bullshit again—” I crack my knuckles to make a point, but Chris only smirks.

“Don’t worry, Gallagher,” he calls back over his shoulder as he starts to walk away. “I’ll make sure there’s plenty ofhardfor her to focus on, as soon as she can take it. After all, I’m sure she’ll be bedridden for quite a bit.” He stops at the elevator, still smirking, and I can’t help myself. My blood heats, burning through my veins at the way he’s talking about Genevieve, and I start to stalk towards him just as the elevator chime sounds.

“I’ll keep her so busy she won’t even have time to think about you.” He winks at me—fuckingwinks—and I just manage, as he steps into the elevator, to catch sight of the button he pushes before the doors close.

Six.Her room must be on floor six. I smash the button for the elevator to come down again, nervous energy with nowhere to go pulsing through me as I wait for the doors to open up again. Visions of breaking his face flit through my mind—of what he’d look like with a broken nose, a split lip. I’ve been a playboy for over fourteen years, allergic to commitment and rarely sleeping with the same woman more than two or three times, but I’ve never spoken about even the most casual of flings the way he just spoke about Genevieve.

It makes me want to make sure he can never talk again. And I could fucking do it. “He has no fucking idea who he’s pissing off,” I mutter under my breath as I step into the elevator, curling my hands into fists as I tap my foot against the hard floor. I could make the remainder of his life short—and all of it miserable. He’s playing in an arena too dangerous for him, and I don’t even think he fucking realizes it.

The only thing stopping me from following through on that thought is Genevieve. She’d be furious with me, I know that. I have no idea what kind of moral compass she has, but I’m willing to bet that in this scenario, she’d think the punishment wouldn’t fit the crime.Although… she wouldn’t necessarily have to know,I think as I step off the elevator and into the cool, antiseptic hospital hallway of the sixth floor, enjoying my fantasy of Chris’s demise a little longer. I could make him disappear, and she’d never know why.

It’s nice to imagine, at least.

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