Page 106 of Dirty Rich Cinderella Story

I motion toward the elevator. “My assistant, Ashley. Apparently, the guy she was going to marry was a con artist. She’s in trouble. I’m going to wire her money and we’re going to have to help her get out of this.”

“What can I do?”

It’s the perfect answer, as my woman and as my associate. I update her, and we decide we have to get a temporary secretary into the office. We reach the airport, and I’ve dealt with calling Ashley, and her wire. Lori and I are just stepping on the plane when her phone rings. She digs it out as she claims the window seat in the center of the plane and answers. “Hey, mom.”

The flight attendant stops beside us, and I order us both coffee and breakfast. “Yes,” Lori says as I tune the conversation back in. “I’m with my boss,” she adds, looking at me. “Cole. Cole Brooks. Yes, he’s still arrogant.”

I laugh at what is obviously a reference to a conversation about me.

“Yes, that was him laughing,” Lori says, “and yes, I said it in front of him. No, mother, I’m not going to get fired. For an arrogant man he’s got a fairly decent sense of humor.”

This exchange goes on for a few minutes before she disconnects and sticks her phone in her purse. “She says hello.”

“You’re not going to tell her about us, are you?” I ask.

“This is one of those things, Cole,” she says. “She’ll worry, and her stroke was too recent for me to put that on her.”

“She’s an ER nurse,” I point out. “That’s real stress.”

The flight attendant brings our coffee and when Lori sips hers, she looks at me. “You remembered how I take it.”

“I remember everything about you. Back to your mother.”

“The ER is about saving lives. She lives for that, not the stress of paying bills.”

“You know—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Cole,” she warns. “I’m not letting you pay for anything.”

But I’m going to, I think, though the hard set of her jaw tells me now isn’t the time to press her. “What happened back there at the hotel?”

She looks away and sets her coffee down. “Nothing we can change.”

“The divide of your job and our relationship,” I assume.

“Yes,” she says, looking over at me. “I just—I felt it when we left that hotel room.”

“As did I,” I assure her. “I’m going to talk to the Merrick board and to Stanford about turning your nine-month program into six.”

Her eyes light. “Can you do that? Can they?”

“Let’s pull up your program on the flight, and talk about how to make that happen. If I present them a plan with my intent of hiring you full-time when you graduate, I don’t see why it can’t happen.”

“You want to hire me full-time?”

“Reese and I planned on hiring you full-time before I ever knew who you were. At what level is based on how you perform.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“I know that is just one of the reasons Reese recommended the hire even before our re-introduction.”

“Which you’re telling me because you want me to know I’ve earned this.”

“Exactly. You have, and I have no doubt, you’ll earn the best possible position upon hire. I’ll send you the possible starting positions and pay. That way you can shoot high.” I then give her the only help I know she’ll let me give her right now by adding, “If we get this process approved, your money should be over six months, not nine.”

She breathes in and her lashes lower, and for just a moment I think she’s fighting tears. She blinks and focuses on me, composed now again. “That would be incredible.”

“You’re going to need to get started on the classroom curriculum now, in between cases.”

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