The Boss and His Cowgirl Read Online Free Page A

and dashed into the bathroom. She whipped off her sweatshirt and pulled the tank on before returning and settling on the bed once again.
    She had to lift the tank so he could see her torso. Dr. Bruce tsked at the bruises staining the ribs on her right side and her cheek. He hmmed at the knot on the back of her head. “You’ve got quite a collection of injuries, young lady. Are you in discomfort?”
    â€œOnly when I laugh?” She waggled her brows and the man smiled.
    â€œGood to have a sense of humor, Ms. Dreyfus.” He made sure her eyes were equal and reactive then checked her blood pressure, temperature and other vital signs before continuing. “You were lucky. You’ll be sore for a few days, but the bruises will fade in a week or so.” He coiled his stethoscope and dropped it into his bag before digging around in a side pocket. He pulled out a white envelope and wrote on it before retrieving a bottle of pills. He emptied six into the envelope and handed it to her. “I don’t see signs of a concussion so I’m prescribing a light sleep aid. I suggest you take two tonight and then use the others as needed. Take one at bedtime over the next few nights. I’ll also leave you some cold packs to help with the bruising and the bump. Once you get back to Washington, I want you to see your regular physician if you continue having trouble. Any questions?”
    â€œNo, sir. I’m good.”
    He patted her on the shoulder. “Get some rest, Ms. Dreyfus. That’s the best thing for you.”
    The doctor opened the door and Glen almost fell through. Her guard was taking his duties seriously. He ushered Dr. Bruce out, shutting the door behind him. Georgie looked at the envelope and debated the pros and cons. She hated taking medicine but suspected the doctor was right. She’d replay the day’s events—especially Clay’s actions—on an endless loop guaranteed to keep her tossing and turning all night. Clay. She had to stop thinking of him by his first name. The senator. Her boss. The unattainable symbol of every feminine fantasy she’d had since the day she’d first walked into his campaign headquarters ten years before.
    â€œArgh!” If her head wasn’t already pounding, she might beat it against the wall. “Georgeanne Ruth Dreyfus, you are a complete and utter idiot.” In self-defense, she shook two pills into her palm, twisted the top off the Diet Coke and took her medicine. Settling in bed, she snuggled into a world-class pillow.
    * * *
    The song “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” invaded her dream. Over and over. Georgie fumbled for her cell phone but it wasn’t on the bedside table. The song stopped and she snuggled back under the covers, her brain as foggy as San Francisco Bay. She’d barely closed her eyes when the song played again. This time she threw off the covers and went hunting. She found the blasted phone in the side pocket of her messenger bag—the bag with the strap that broke yesterday when she tumbled off the loading dock, but was now perfect.
    The hair prickled on the back of her neck. She didn’t remember bringing it from the car last night and there was no way it could have been repaired. The phone stopped ringing, again, and she noticed the price tag still attached to the intact shoulder strap. This wasn’t her bag, even though it was full of her stuff. Hers was a cheap knockoff. This one was the real deal, according to the amount listed on the tag.
    Before her brain could cycle through the implications, the phone sang a third time. She answered with a snarled, “What!”
    â€œOMG, Georgie! Are you okay? I’ve been so worried and then you didn’t answer and where are you and are you all right, what happened—” Jennifer Antonelli, her best friend, paused to inhale.
    â€œSlow down, Jen. How did you know something happened?”
    â€œHow did I know?”