Mr. Nice Guy by Belinda Williams

Chapter Twenty-Four

Two days later,Chelsea sat at the dining table pondering whether to contact Tom. They hadn’t spent any more time with each other after Chelsea had cooked him dinner earlier in the week. Of course, they’d seen each other because they shared an apartment. They’d passed in the hall on the way to and from work, or in the kitchen when grabbing a quick breakfast, but it had almost felt like old times when they were simply housemates.

Now Chelsea was beginning to wonder if Tom was avoiding her. Again. The night before, he was working a late shift, so she didn’t push. Today she’d held out until her afternoon break to send him a message.

Wanna hang out tonight?

No pressure. Just a casual invitation to spend some time together. It had been almost three hours and he hadn’t replied. Chelsea kept telling herself it was because he was at work. Being a paramedic wasn’t like working in an office. It wasn’t unusual for an hour or two to go by before he replied to messages.

Yet, here she was waiting for him to reply.

‘Ugh, you’re being pathetic!’ Chelsea chided herself and stood up to get a drink from the kitchen.

She’d just poured herself a glass of water when her phone buzzed. Her heart may or may not have thudded pathetically in response. She returned to the table to pick up the phone.

‘Ugh,’ she said again.

It was Darren.

Hey, babe. It’s next week. I’m free for dinner tonight. I can pick you up. Just tell me a time.

‘In your new car,’ Chelsea muttered. ‘Not likely.’

And no mention of him repaying her either. Just an arrogant message telling her that he was free and not bothering to ask if she was.

‘What did I even see in you?’

OK, so there were his abs, but Chelsea wasn’t so shallow that she’d date someone solely because of the way they looked. She’d been stupid enough to think that, because he owned his own business, he was entrepreneurial and driven. Sadly, she’d learned too late after lending him the money that the only things he was driven to do were to work on his abs, date women, and to spend money, not to make it.

She was just about to reply with a curt “not happening, and where’s my money?” message when her phone buzzed again. It was Tom. She gave up replying to Darren and opened Tom’s instead.

Sounds awesome but I’m working late. I swapped my early for a late to help someone out. Raincheck?

Chelsea sighed. She’d almost suggest that he was playing hard to get, but this was Tom, and it wasn’t fair of her to think that. She knew his job didn’t have regular hours like hers.

She flicked back to Darren’s message. ‘You know what, Darren? You’re on. Maybe you’ll pay my money back quicker if I insist in person.’

* * *

Chelsea feltuncomfortable the minute they arrived at the restaurant. It was a fancy new place in town that had opened recently, run by a renowned chef who had another popular restaurant in the nearby Hunter Valley. Dimly lit and with a moody soundtrack playing in the background, Chelsea noted that it was mostly filled with other couples.

Crap.

While Chelsea’s intention of meeting with Darren tonight was solely to discuss him returning her money, he hadn’t got the memo yet. In his mind, they were still dating. As awkward as it was, Chelsea knew that if she’d implied she no longer wanted to see him romantically from now on, she doubted he’d be as keen to see her face-to-face.

She’d just have to put up with the romantic vibes for an hour or two, and anyway, he owed her a lot of money. In Chelsea’s mind, she’d earned a nice dinner out.

Darren’s hand brushed the small of her back as they were led inside the restaurant to the table. Chelsea was quick to step out of his reach when the waiter gestured to their seats.

She watched him warily as he sat down. Darren’s olive skin appeared darker under the low lighting, and his brown eyes were so dark Chelsea could barely make out the pupils. If she didn’t know him better, she’d say it made him appear mysterious. He could have passed for a bouncer or bodyguard with his shaved head, navy jeans and suit jacket he was wearing. She suspected he had a hard time finding a jacket to fit his oversized broad shoulders thanks to all the hours he spent working out.

Oblivious to her assessment of him, he undid the button of his jacket and settled comfortably into his chair. ‘So, you’ll be pleased to know that your investment has been put to good use at my fitness studio.’

Chelsea stiffened at the term “investment”, and she jumped to correct him. ‘That’s great to hear. Although, it wasn’t really an investment. It was more of a loan.’

‘Sure, babe. Whatever you want to call it. Anyway, I’ve got this sweet new piece of gear that the members are loving. It’s so popular I’m going to look at ordering another one.’

With whose money?

Chelsea pretended to study the menu. ‘Super. If that’s the case, it sounds like you can afford to pay me back then.’

Darren’s dark eyebrows rose. ‘Already? It’s only been a few weeks.’

‘A month, actually,’ she corrected.

‘Oh. Right. Anyway, like I said, I’ll pay you back. I’m just not quite ready yet.’

‘So how will you afford the additional equipment?’

Darren shrugged. ‘Another loan. I’m just sorting it out at the moment.’

‘Then why not consolidate all your loans and pay me back?’

Darren set his menu down and frowned. ‘What’s the big deal about the money? I told you I’m good for it.’

Chelsea smiled, not wanting to get him offside completely. She’d learned after working with kids that it was sometimes better to praise instead of criticise.

‘I know your business is going from strength to strength, and that’s fantastic. I just really need the money back soon, that’s all.’

‘What for?’

Chelsea reached for the jug of water and poured a glass to give herself time to answer without getting angry—which she was. It was her money, after all. Not his. He had no right to ask what she planned to do with it. That was her business.

‘I’m enrolling to do some further study and that money will pay for my first semester’s tuition,’ she said, hoping to appeal to his generous side.

His eyebrows rose again. ‘Study, huh? Sounds intense. Well, just tell me when you need it and I’ll make sure you have it.’

No “wow, that’s amazing” or “what will you be studying?” but at least he’d agreed to return the money.

‘I need the money next week,’ she lied. She didn’t, but screw waiting. The money was hers and she wanted it back sooner rather than later.

Darren poured himself a glass of water and didn’t comment on the fact that Chelsea hadn’t offered to pour his. ‘Yeah, so that might be a bit soon,’ he said after taking a sip.

‘I don’t care, Darren. I want my money back.’

There. She’d said it. There was no misunderstanding the situation now.

He frowned. ‘I thought we had a good thing going.’

‘What, we hook up occasionally and I lend you money when you need it?’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘Excuse me? Are you ready to order?’

Chelsea looked up at the waiter in annoyance. She’d been so intent on Darren that she hadn’t seen him approach. ‘No, we’re not ready yet,’ Chelsea said, and Darren looked disappointed. The waiter nodded and retreated.

Chelsea folded her arms and returned her gaze to him. ‘So what did you mean, exactly?’

Darren shrugged. ‘I thought we were having fun together.’ The movement tested the strength of the jacket’s stitching, but Chelsea wasn’t intimidated by his size.

‘Yeah, see, it stopped being so much fun for me when I realised I’m broke and—’

Chelsea didn’t get to finish her sentence because there was a loud crash followed by a woman’s shriek.

Chelsea turned towards the noise at the rear of the restaurant. ‘Oh my God.’

An older gentleman had collapsed to the floor, taking plates and cutlery with him, and was clutching his chest.

‘Holy shit,’ Darren muttered.

The woman was standing beside him, gesturing wildly. ‘Somebody, do something! Please!’

A couple of the waiters ran over. ‘Should we call an ambulance?’ one asked.

The woman waved at them angrily. ‘Yes, of course. But please, I don’t know CPR. Can you help me?’

The two waiters looked between each other, their faces white.

The one who had already spoken turned back to the woman. ‘I’m sorry. We don’t know how to do that.’

‘Shit,’ Chelsea said under her breath.

The woman cast a desperate gaze around the other diners, who were now all staring at them. ‘Please! Anybody? It’s his heart. It must be his heart. He has a stent, but . . .’ The woman looked down at her husband, her lower lip trembling in fear. The man had gone still.

Chelsea turned back to Darren. ‘Go and help them.’

Darren’s jaw dropped open and he turned pale. ‘Who? Me?’

‘Yes, you,’ Chelsea shot back, not bothering to hide her annoyance. ‘You own a gym. You’re trained in First Aid.’

‘Yeah, but I’ve never had to use it before.’

Chelsea didn’t bother to censor herself this time. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re useless.’

She stood up and tossed her napkin on the table, then turned and strode over to the couple.

‘I know CPR,’ Chelsea told the woman.

‘Oh, thank you. Thank you. Yes, please. Please do something.’ The woman grabbed her arm, her fingernails digging into Chelsea’s skin.

Chelsea wasn’t a doctor or a paramedic, but she understood that the man’s condition was serious. He was lying on his side on the floor, unconscious. Whether it was a heart attack or otherwise, she needed to make sure he was still breathing.

Chelsea turned to a waiter. ‘Get me your First Aid kit. Now. I may need a face shield if I have to do CPR. And you’—she pointed to the other one, who was still standing frozen to the spot in shock—‘have you called the ambulance?’

Chelsea wasn’t taking any chances. The man could be unconscious for any variety of reasons—his heart, or even a stroke—and the paramedics were the best ones to help deal with the situation.

The waiters both ran off, and Chelsea kicked her heels off so she could crouch down on the floor next to the man. She glanced up at the woman. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Martin.’ The woman put a hand to her heart like she couldn’t bear to see him like that, and Chelsea’s own heart clenched.

Chelsea leaned in and listened for any sign that Martin might be breathing. The restaurant was deadly quiet when only moments ago it had been full of diners chatting and laughing. Chelsea forced herself to focus and listen intently.

Nothing.

Shit.

She felt for a pulse on Martin’s wrist. Again, nothing.

A waiter skidded to a halt beside Chelsea. ‘Here.’

Chelsea took the First Aid kit off him gratefully and zipped it open. She found a face shield and ripped open the plastic packaging.

Oh boy. She’d never actually had to perform CPR for real before, but she’d done plenty of training to keep her skills up-to-date for her job working with children. Chelsea leaned in close again and opened the man’s mouth with her fingers to check for any blockages. She tried not to shudder and reminded herself about the masses of poo, saliva and snot she’d dealt with over the years as her fingers moved around the stranger’s mouth.

When she’d confirmed nothing was blocking his airway, she extracted her fingers and wiped them on her dress.

‘Help me roll him onto his back,’ Chelsea told the waiter, and together they shifted the man so he was lying flat on his back. Chelsea then put the shield over the man’s mouth.

Here goes nothing. Or everything.

Chelsea began chest compressions like she’d been taught. She counted under her breath quietly.

One. Two. Three. Four.

When she reached thirty, she bent over the man and breathed into his mouth twice. She was relieved to see his chest rise and fall as she did so, because that meant no blockages obstructing his lungs at least.

She repeated the process. Again. Then again.

‘Why isn’t he breathing?’ the woman sobbed.

Chelsea had no idea, and she swallowed the panic she felt rising with every compression. Instead she said, ‘The ambulance will be here soon. They’ll know what to do.’

She bent over Martin again to give him two more breaths.

Keeping up the compressions was hard work, but Chelsea didn’t stop. She had to keep going. She was essentially breathing for him right now and if she stopped . . .

‘You’re doing amazing,’ Darren told her.

Chelsea hadn’t noticed that he’d come to stand beside them. She ignored him.

After a few more minutes, they heard the sound of sirens and Chelsea was close to sobbing in both relief and exhaustion. She kept up the compressions and breathing until two paramedics clad in navy blue uniforms carrying equipment strode in. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a waiter race over to them and usher them over.

A female paramedic crouched down beside her. ‘You’re doing a fantastic job, but we can take it from here.’

Chelsea collapsed back on her heels, tired and grateful.

‘Chelsea.’

She looked up, stunned at the sound of a familiar voice.

‘Tom,’ she whispered.

Tom nodded to the man the female paramedic was now tending to. ‘You know this guy?’

‘What?’ She shook her head. ‘No. No, I don’t. I just . . . they just . . .’ She gestured to the woman. ‘They needed help.’

Tom nodded, his green eyes kind, but his expression serious. ‘You did good. Here.’

He took her by the elbow and helped her up, guiding her over to a nearby chair so she could sit down. ‘Sit and recover.’

Chelsea nodded and collapsed onto the chair in relief. Tom patted her on the shoulder and glanced past her. She thought she saw his eyes harden, but then he turned away to join his co-worker.

‘Wow, Chelsea. That was amazing,’ Darren said loudly from behind her, insensitively ignoring the fact there was still a man on the floor potentially dead or dying.

Oh, God. Darren. She’d forgotten about Darren. Tom was here, and she’d been caught having dinner with Darren.