Page 77 of Never Date a Celebrity

“The doctor said if you fall asleep, someone needs to wake you up to test your cognitive function every few hours.”

“He said that to the nursing staff.” Amelia wasn’t that far gone. Sore and on meds, yes. But she knew what the hell was happening.

Bridget swept an arm around the room. “Well, they’re not here and I am. So, follow my fucking finger.”

Amelia was fairly sure that Bridget wouldn’t be able to recognise a neurological issue either way, but she followed the finger anyway to shut her up.

“Excellent,” Bridget said like she was a professional. Hadn’t she played a doctor in a sitcom before? Amelia was sure that was the extent of her medical training. “Do you know why you’re here?” Bridget asked. All she was missing was a stethoscope and a clipboard.

Amelia carefully turned her head to the side and gave her a deeply unimpressed look. “You led me down a dodgy path on that stupid golf cart, that’s why. I told you those things were dangerous.”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t see the giant rock. At least I managed to swerve it.”

“You should have followed the damn arrows.” Amelia shifted and winced, instantly regretting the move. That’d be the cracked ribs and the broken wrist. It could have been a lot worse, she supposed. “Why are you still here? It must be late.” It was dark outside now. Early evening, at least. Amelia wasn’t sure how long she’d slept for.

“Oh, gee. Thanks for staying with me, Bridget,” she said in a deeply offensive impression of Amelia—frankly, for an actress, she could have done better. Bridget scowled at her. “I’m going to need a two-hour appointment with my massage therapist after sitting in that blue chair for half the day.”

Amelia tried not to giggle at the thought of Bridget Clemonte being forced to lounge on cheap plastic. “Okay, okay. Thank you for staying with me in the chair of doom.” That didn’t explain why she had, but it had been kind of her regardless. Amelia could acknowledge that.

Bridget took her seat again in said blue chair. “The studio is freaking out about you suing them because there were no seat belts in those damn things.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “I’m not suing anyone. I’m fine.” Shit happened. She’d lived. Move on.

“You’re lucky. I’ve never seen a golf cart flip before. They’ll be finding pieces of it for weeks.”

“As long as they’re not finding pieces of me.”

“Hey,” a quiet voice said from the doorway.

Amelia turned her head too quickly and winced again. “Imogen, hey.” She smiled automatically before remembering things between them were still strange.

Imogen shifted her weight from one foot to the other, awkwardness written all over her face. Amelia honestly hadn’t expected her to come. Or even know she was hurt. “Do you, um, can I come in?” She immediately shook her head at herself. “Sorry, I see you already have a visitor. I can wait in the waiting area.” She hooked a thumb behind her.

Bridget rose from the blue chair with her biggest show smile. The one reserved for fans and paparazzi. “Nonsense. You come right in.” She strode toward Imogen, hand outstretched. “Bridget Clemonte.”

Imogen gave her hand a shake. “Imogen King. Good to meet you.”

“Ah, the girl who hates celebs,” Bridget said like she meant it in friendly jest, although Amelia knew better. “You probably don’t know who I am then, huh?”

“No, I know you,” Imogen said evenly. Imogen didn’t seem impressed, nor unimpressed. Just indifferent. “Your face was on the side of the bus stop beside my flat for about six months last year.”

Bridget, who had been preening moments ago, suddenly looked thrown. Like she didn’t know how to act when someone wasn’t screaming or fawning all over her. “Yes. Right. On many a bus stop, I’d imagine.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I need a coffee anyway. From somewhere decent. So, I’ll let you two…catch up.” She turned and raised a conspiratorial eyebrow at Amelia, then gave Imogen a nod and strolled out of the room, heels clicking on the linoleum floor.

“Thank you,” Imogen called after her. She turned back to Amelia once she had disappeared. “So, that’s the infamous Bridget.”

“The one and only.” Amelia tried to sit up properly against the pillow, but it was difficult when moving hurt and she only had one working hand.

Imogen rushed toward her. “Here, let me help.” She gently manoeuvred Amelia into a more upright position.

“Thanks.” Amelia carefully relaxed back against the pillow. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. How did you know I was here?” It wasn’t like anyone would have known to call her.

“The accident was all over the internet. Then I took a chance on where you would be, and thankfully, I was right. But I wouldn’t have quit until I found you.”

“Why?” Amelia knew she sounded a bit brusque, but Imogen had blown her off all week. She wasn’t trying to punish her, but she had a right to ask questions.

“Because you were hurt and I had to get to you,” Imogen said without hesitation. “I needed to know you were okay.”

It sounded more like a sympathy visit than anything else, which was nice, but not exactly what Amelia was hoping for. “Well, as you can see, I’m a bit battered and bruised, but all in all, I’m fine.” She licked her lips, which were unnaturally dry. “Was that the only reason you came?” She heard the vulnerability in her own voice and hated it. But if Imogen wanted to go and blank her some more, Amelia wasn’t going to stand in her way.