Page 65 of Ruthless Wars

“Rain check,” I say, staring in disbelief at the screen.

“Of course. What is it?”

“It’s Alli,” I say, pulling Margot back into the elevator and stabbing the button for the ground floor until the door finally closes. “She’s been attacked.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Coop

There’s no way I can look at Allison, lying in a hospital bed with a saline drip pumping pain meds through her small, lifeless body, and not place the blame on myself.

I should have been there.

The attack happened at my office, way past when even Allison usually leaves for home. Gabe has been just the distraction she’s needed to get the hell out of there at a reasonable hour recently, so I have to wonder—why the hell was she there so late?

With hospital visitors restricted to family, I sent Margot home last night. Having her stick around a hospital waiting room—eating vending-machine food and drinking the worst coffee next to airline brew—would have been pointless. And cruel.

Even so, Margot had enough clout to sneak up to Allison’s room an hour later with supplies for me—some decent food, cans of Starbucks double-shot espresso, a change of clothes, and a toothbrush and toothpaste, thank God. Proudly, I sported her pair of puffy pink earplugs to get a few hours’ sleep because there was no way I was leaving Allison’s side until she woke up.

Margot understood, but I hated it, knowing she’d be stuck giving the press conference alone to address the allegations about our deal. Well, not exactly alone. Evie, Jean, and even Everett are all right there with her as I watch. But she doesn’t have me.

From my phone, I pick it all up with my Bluetooth earbuds, not disturbing Allison as she rests. But there’s nothing I hate more than watching from the sidelines—and it’s about a million times worse as I watch Margot get pummeled with a barrage of both on-topic and outrageous questions alike.

“Why did you fabricate the deal?”

“What was going on in the elevator?”

“Will you retain your title ...” which I think is about her acting-CEO position until they finish with ... “as countess?”

Even some bullshit about, “Is it true you and the count are still married?”

I run a hand over my face. Damn, these vultures will reach for anything.

As reporters throw one cheap shot her way after another, I watch in awe. Margot is the epitome of poise and class, unworried about their questions and unhurried in her responses.

What can I say? My girl’s a pro.

I’m only half listening—Margot’s saying something about stepping down as acting CEO—when Allison starts coming to.

“Uncle Coop,” she says weakly, and I take her hand, giving it a tender squeeze as I reach out to caress her cheek.

Before Allison can wriggle around too much, I press the call button for the nurse and wrap my hands firmly around my niece’s shoulders, keeping her calm and still.

Confused, she scans the room.

“Shh ... easy. I’m here. You’re in a hospital. You’ve been out about twenty hours, mostly from the meds. Your mom’s flying in and will be here soon. Gabe just left, but he’ll be back.” I lean in, whispering the next bit. “If anyone asks, he’s your fiancé.”

Allison’s weak chuckle warms my heart, and I drop a quick kiss on her head. “But don’t get any ideas. No need to get tied down for, oh, I don’t know, six or seven years.”

Again, she giggles, and relief pours from me in a long breath. As a nurse comes in to check Allison’s vitals, her eyes stay on me.

“Alli, what do you remember?”

Her words come out a little slurred as she fights to recall. “Simone. She was in your office ... messing with something under your desk. I thought maybe she was leaving you some paperwork and dropped something, so I ducked down to help her look. That’s all I remember, except Gabe’s voice ...”

“Gabe found you and called the cops. Simone’s in custody, determined to represent herself. Like a dumbass.”

Allison gently rubs the back of her head, wincing as she finds the spot, when I give her the answer.

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