“We should tell the police about it.”
“No,” he snapped.
I blanched, feeling that ugly suspicion that I’d felt on Saturday night coil in my stomach. “Why not?”
“Just … trust me. Please.” He stared me down until I nodded my uncertain agreement. “I’m doing everything in my power to find out what was behind your attack, whether it was random or has something to do with me. I won’t stop until I uncover the truth. You can believe that.”
“So you’re taking care of me out of guilt?”
“I’m taking care of you because it’s the right thing to do.”
I narrowed my gaze on him. He’d gone all “preknifed Alexa” on me. “Wow, that makes me feel so special.”
Caine sighed. “The smart-ass is back,” he muttered. “Someone’s feeling better.”
“Yes, some mystery assailant did a drive-by slicing on my belly. I’m positively perky.”
He cut me a dark look.
I huffed, “You’re allowed to be concerned about me, you know. I’m not going to take your concern as an avowal of love.”
We glared at each other for a few seconds and then Caine gradually softened. “Sorry. I’m being an ass. Of course I’m concerned. I’m taking care of you because I’m concerned, no other reason.”
Grateful at his admission, I reassured him, even though it hurt my heart to do so. “As your friend, and nothing more, I appreciate it and understand where it’s coming from. I’m not expecting anything to change because I got stabbed in the gut.”
“Would you stop saying that?” He gritted his teeth. “I keep seeing it every time you say it.”
“Sorry.”
He sighed again, but his lips had curled up at the corners, so I knew he wasn’t irritated anymore. “I’ll be back tonight.”
As soon as he walked out the door, I slumped against my pillows and felt tears burn my eyes. I hated to admit it to myself, but the truth was, after his behavior yesterday, I’d let that hope sneak back in again. I’d hoped that his tenderness, his affection, his irate reaction to what had been done to me meant that he finally realized how he felt about me.
God, I was such an idiot.
“When Caine called I was so freaking worried.” Rachel slumped on my bed beside me. “And then I stepped out of my door and saw this.” She slapped the tabloid newspaper on my knee.
A photograph of Caine and me occupied the lower half of the front page with the headline CARRAWAY’S PA ATTACKED OUTSIDE CARRAWAY FINANCIAL HOLDINGS.
“Oh my God.”
“Oh, it gets worse.”
I pulled the paper up toward me and began to read out loud, “ ‘Yesterday afternoon, busy workers in the financial district were horrified during lunchtime rush hour to witness Caine Carraway’s PA, Alexa Holland, loaded into an ambulance. Although there was no actual witness to the event itself, it has since been reported that Miss Holland, who is pictured above with Mr. Carraway at the Delaneys’ Alzheimer’s Benefit on Saturday evening, was brutally stabbed outside Two International Place. Miss Holland is said to be in recovery while the police search for the attacker.
“ ‘It is not clear whether Miss Holland was the victim of a targeted attack, or was just simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, but what is clear is that Mr. Carraway, of Carraway Financial Holdings, is pulling out all the stops to bring justice to his employee. An insider reports that he has hired private security to watch over Miss Holland while she’s in the hospital, and that he is working diligently with the police in tracking the culprit. Questions are being asked not only about the nature of the relationship between the beautiful PA and the wealthy CEO, but also of the mysterious secrecy revolving around Miss Holland’s family. Our investigator reports that Miss Holland is in fact the daughter of Alistair Holl …’ ” I trailed off, sucking in a breath.
“Go on,” Rachel urged.
“ ‘… the daughter of Alistair Holland, the son of Diamond heir and entrepreneur Edward Holland, who famously and mysteriously disinherited his firstborn almost twenty years ago. Alistair Holland divorced his wife, Patricia Estelle Holland, leaving behind her and their son, Matthew, while he went on to settle down in Connecticut, where he married Julie Brown, the mother of his daughter, Alexa Holland. Edward Holland and his family have not publicly acknowledged Miss Holland despite the fact that she’s been a resident of Boston for the last seven years. Edward Holland was not available to comment.’ ”
I looked up at Rachel, who was staring at me with something akin to hurt on her face. “Rach,” I whispered.
“Look. I don’t want to take away from the fact that you’ve been stabbed and I’m really scared and upset for you right now, but I can’t believe you didn’t tell me who your family is. I mean I knew your dad was a bastard, but I didn’t know he was also the son of one of Boston’s oldest and wealthiest families.”
“It wasn’t …” I worried my lip, wondering if my grandfather had gotten to my grandmother with the news before the tabloids. I remembered what he’d said to Caine before I drifted off, and his fierce vow went a little way toward soothing the hurt he’d caused me. Not all. I still didn’t know how to forgive him, but it meant something to me that he was finally looking out for me and not his family name. I’d been waiting on him appearing with my grandmother when Rachel showed up. Did this front-page news mean he wouldn’t show? “That side of my family … There are a lot of bitter feelings there, and the fact is that my dad had an affair with my mother and kept her on the side for years. When my grandfather disinherited him, his wife divorced him and he came crawling to us. I never knew any of that until seven years ago.”