One Month with the Magnate by Michelle Celmer Page B

down.
    Tonight he found two pots boiling over on the stove—one with spaghetti sauce and the other noodles—and a cutting board with partially chopped vegetables on the counter. Izzie was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she didn’t grasp the concept that food could not cook itself. It required supervision.
    Grumbling to himself, he jerked the burner knobs into the Off position, noting the sauce splattered all over the stove. Shedding his suit jacket, he checked her room and the laundry room, but she wasn’t there, either. Then he heard a sound from upstairs and headed up.
    As soon as he reached the top and saw that his bedroom door was open, his hackles rose. She knew damned well his room was off-limits.
    He charged toward the door, just as she emerged. Her eyes flew open wide when she saw him. He started to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, when he noticed the blood-soaked paper towel she was holding on her left hand.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I was looking for a first-aid kit. I thought it might be in your bathroom.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œI slipped with the knife. It’s not a big deal. I just need a bandage.”
    A cut that bled enough to soak through a paper towel would require more than a bandage. He reached for her hand. “Let me see.”
    She pulled out of his reach. “I told you, it’s not a big deal. It’s a small cut.”
    â€œThen it won’t hurt to let me look at it.” Before she could move away again, he grabbed her arm.
    He lifted away the paper towels and blood oozed from a wound in the fleshy part between the second and third knuckle of her index finger. He wiped it away to get a better look. The cut may have been small, but it was deep.
    So much for a relaxing night at home. He sighed and said, “Get your jacket. I’ll drive you to the E.R.”
    She jerked her hand free. “No! I just need a bandage.”
    â€œA bandage is not going to stop the bleeding. You need stitches.”
    â€œI’ll butterfly it.”
    â€œEven if that did work, you still should see a doctor. You could get an infection.”
    She shook her head. “I’ll wash it out and use antibiotic ointment. It’ll be fine.”
    He didn’t get why she was making such a big deal about this. “This is ridiculous. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
    â€œ No, you’re not.”
    â€œIzzie, for God sakes, you need to see a doctor.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause I have no way to pay for it, okay? I don’t have health insurance and I don’t have money.”
    The rush of color to her cheeks, the way she lowered her eyes, said that admitting it to him mortified her.He assumed she had money stashed somewhere for emergencies, but maybe that wasn’t the case. Was she really that destitute?
    â€œSince it was a work-related accident, I’ll pay for it,” he said.
    â€œI’m not asking for a handout.”
    â€œYou didn’t ask, I offered. You hurt yourself in my home. I consider it my responsibility.”
    She shook her head. “No.”
    â€œIsabelle—”
    â€œI am not going to the doctor. I just need a first-aid kit.”
    â€œObstinado,” he muttered, shaking his head. The woman completely baffled him. Why wouldn’t she just accept his help? She’d had no problem sponging off her rich husband for all those years. Emilio would have expected her to jump at his offer. Had she suddenly grown a conscience? A sense of pride?
    Well, he wasn’t going to sit and argue while she bled all over the place. He finally threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine! But I’m wrapping it for you.”
    For a second he thought she might argue about that too, but she seemed to sense that his patience was wearing thin. “Fine,” she replied, then grumbled under her