The All-Star Antes Up
Page 25

Stan snorted in agreement.
Inserting his right arm in the shirtsleeve was slightly less painful, but Luke decided to leave off his jacket. As he buttoned his shirt, he scanned the doctor’s office. The room itself was decorated more like the Bellwether Club than a medical facility, while the extensive array of equipment was cutting-edge. Cavill must do all right with his practice.
The doctor himself was about Luke’s age, which initially had been a concern, but Cavill wore his crisp white lab coat with the kind of confidence that arises only from skill, knowledge, and experience. Not to mention that Miranda had recommended him. Luke had come to trust her so completely that it surprised him.
The doctor stopped typing, and a printer began to spit out pages.
“You don’t have a sign outside, so how do patients find you?” Luke asked, buttoning his cuffs.
“My business is all word-of-mouth,” Cavill said, picking up the printed pages and inserting them in an electric stapler. “And it keeps the paparazzi away if they don’t know where to stalk me.”
“So does Miranda Tate send you a lot of patients?” Luke planted his feet on the floor and eased off the examining table.
Cavill slanted Luke a look. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Okay, so can you tell me about Miranda Tate?”
“She’s very discreet and very good at her job. And a nice lady.”
“You have a mutual admiration society.” For some reason, that annoyed Luke. “What about her boss?”
“Her boss?”
“Spindle.”
The doctor’s expression altered subtly. “I don’t deal with him.”
“Don’t or won’t?”
Cavill gave Luke another of those assessing looks before he said, “Both.” He held out the printed papers.
Luke’s feeling about Spindle had just been confirmed. The man was a weasel. Luke took the sheets from the doctor and folded them in half.
Cavill raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to review the instructions?”
“Stan knows more about this than I do.” Luke handed his trainer the papers. “Bottom line is pain meds and on-field decision making don’t mix.”
“Let me emphasize one point,” the doctor said as he pulled his stethoscope off and stuffed it in his coat pocket. “Severe pain can cloud your judgment almost as much as the meds do. If you don’t stress the muscles for a few days, the pain will be less when you start playing again. So you might want to give it a rest in order to play better.”
The doctor was right. This kind of pain made him avoid moving in certain ways, and that limited his options. Not to mention that the press was allowed to come to the Thursday practice. Some of those reporters had been around football players longer than Luke had been alive. They could spot an injury a mile away. Better to admit he was taking time off after D’Olaway’s hit than to have the newshounds speculate he was covering up something more serious.
Not that he would stay away from the Empire Center. He could watch film and work on the new plays Junius wanted to institute with his teammates.
“You’ve convinced me, Doc,” Luke said. “I’ll take a couple of days off.”
“A couple is better than nothing.” Cavill grinned, which made him look younger. “I don’t think I had anything to do with your decision, though.”
“How do I take care of payment?” Luke asked.
“The paperwork goes to Miranda, and you pay her,” Cavill explained. “Another layer of discretion.”
And she would add her commission. That’s how it worked with concierges. Luke didn’t begrudge her the payment. She’d saved him from a lot of official crap that the league required team doctors to go through when a player was injured. All he had to do now was have a chat with Junius and tell the reporters he had some bruising from the tackle.
He thought of the twinge in his shoulder. If it happened again, he was coming back to see Cavill.
In the limo, he and Stan worked out their strategy for Farrell. Stan was going to call the head coach and express his concern about Luke’s condition, without mention of the visit to Dr. Cavill. He would advise Farrell to convince his quarterback to take some time off. Farrell would call Luke to tell him he needed to rest. Luke would object before agreeing. That way the head coach would credit himself with persuading Luke to let the bruising heal.
The limo pulled up at the Pinnacle’s private entrance. Luke ducked out of the car, which headed on to New Jersey to drop Stan off. As Luke stepped into the elevator to his penthouse, he dialed Miranda’s number.
“Miranda Tate. How may I help you?” she answered.
There was something about her voice. It poured smooth and rich out of the phone, like heavy cream, and made him picture the perfect, pillowy curve of her lips.
“It’s Luke Archer. I wanted to thank you for setting me up with Dr. Cavill. He’s a great guy.”
“I’m glad you were pleased with his service.” That was her professional response. Her tone changed to a more personal one when she asked, “Are you all right? Or is that top secret?”
“No cracks, no breaks. Just bruising. It’ll heal quickly.” That was his professional answer. He added, “Here’s the secret part—I’m taking a few days off to speed up the process.”
The elevator door opened into his entrance hall, and he wedged his foot against it to keep it that way.