Not that I didn’t want to go to the hospital with Ziggy, but I wasn’t really given the option. Sam firmly told me that my presence there would not be a good idea. Understandable. Calls and text messages were blowing up my phone all evening and well into the night. (Apart from letting Mom know I was okay, I ignored them.) If I’d gone with him to the hospital then there’d have been a media storm there which would not have been cool. The man needed his arm stitched up, not to have the spotlight thrust on him yet again.
So I’d gone home, taken off my make-up, and changed into some sweat pants and a battered “The Cure” T-shirt that hadn’t seen better days since the previous century. It was my comfort clothing.
By this time, I felt reasonably mentally fortified enough to check out the situation on my cell. And what a clusterfuck it was. Video of the attack and Ziggy taking down the asshole had already gone viral. The thought of how close he’d come to being seriously injured kind of made me want to hurl.
“Interesting use of a head butt,” said Sam, sitting on the couch opposite me with a cup of coffee in one hand and his cell in the other. God knows how many times he’d watched the footage.
Adelaide had remained downstairs in the lobby keeping an eye on the paparazzi out by the front door.
“Best get this to our lawyer in case the idiot tries for excessive force,” he muttered, more to himself than me.
“Does that happen often?”
He gave me a small smile. “No, not often. And not when there’s so much clear footage of the incident. He clearly came at you with a knife. There’s no way a judge would fall for it.”
“I don’t want Ziggy getting into trouble because of me.” I cradled my bottle of beer in two hands, huddled in the corner of the couch. “He’s already been hurt.”
“Miss Cooper, you didn’t bring any of this on yourself. Ziggy did his job and did it well,” said Sam. “Once the threat was dealt with, he waited calmly for the police to arrive and take charge of the scene. Nothing more.”
I nodded.
“It’ll be fine.”
“Sure,” I said, but I didn’t really believe it.
No idea when I fell asleep exactly. I’d told Sam I’d be fine if he wanted to head home, but he’d stayed. Turned out he was into old black and white movies. Or maybe that was just his sneaky bodyguard trick to distract shocked clients with something safe and familiar. If so, it worked. Half way through Casablanca or so was about the last thing I remembered. Now there were voices, neither of which belonged to Bogart or Bergman.
“…injured, but also you’re off the clock. Sure you should be here?” asked Sam.
“I’m fine,” answered Ziggy.
“Not talking about your arm. I saw how you were looking at her last night and today.”
Nothing from Ziggy.
“Figured you’d be coming by. That’s why I waited around, to have a word with you.”
“Regarding what?” asked Ziggy.
“You know it never works out, getting involved with a client. You’ve seen that before. We both have.”
Oh, boy.
For a moment, no one said anything. Then Ziggy cleared his throat. “You should go. Martha will be wondering where you are.”
“She knows where I am. That’s the thing about relationships…making them work is complicated. Takes a lot of effort,” said Sam. “And if you’re not committed to putting in serious effort, don’t go there at all. Especially for someone you’ve known for what…a couple of days? Easy enough for a guy like you to find some company for the night without doing potential damage to my business and your reputation.”
Ziggy sighed.
“She seems like a good woman.”
“She is and I hear what you’re saying, all right?”
“Right then,” said Sam. “Good work today.”
The front door clicked quietly closed.
Footsteps moved toward me, the couch shifting slightly with his weight as he sat. “You should be in bed.” His voice was quiet, contemplative. “You’re not going to get a decent sleep on the couch.”