Page 69 of The Billionaires

She eyes me like I’m the only reasonable person here. “So why am I here?”

I nod at Elijah. “He made the arrangements.”

“It’s his head,” Elijah says, sounding defensive. “Had it been his chest, I would’ve gotten the best cardiologist.”

“By that logic, you need to see a proctologist about your fall,” Lucius deadpans.

Elijah rubs his behind with a thoughtful expression.

“Fine. Whatever,” Dr. Brainiac says. “We’re here. Go ahead and take a seat.”

Lucius looks at the wheelchair the way I would at a camel eating a cactus. “Like I said, my legs work just fine.”

“Men and their egos,” Dr. Brainiac mutters under her breath. She gestures at the president. “It’s his hospital policy.”

The president looks resolute. “Even if you had a papercut emergency, you’d enter in that chair.”

With an exasperated sigh, Lucius sits his butt down, like a Roman emperor on his throne.

“Can I push?” Elijah asks.

“Sure,” Lucius says. “Just you watch where you’re going this time.”

Mean, but not unreasonably so, all things considered.

When we reach the elevator, the president leaves us in the hands of Dr. Brainiac, and she takes us to a room that looks more like a five-star hotel suite than a hospital room. The only clue to this being a medical establishment is all the scary equipment.

Must be some sort of VIP room. Between this, the neurosurgeon, and the president, I wonder if Elijah committed Lucius to buying this hospital a new wing.

“You can have a seat there,” the doctor says to Lucius and points at the comfiest-looking patient chair ever. “You two can take the couch,” she tells me and Elijah. Then she grins again as she notices the bagels. “Some patients bring comfort blankets, but I say comfort food is more practical.”

Lucius doesn’t look amused in the slightest as he hands the semi-defrosted bag to the doc, who tosses it onto a nearby table. She then puts on gloves, removes the gauze pads, and peers at the wound. “Like snitches, you’ll need some stitches.”

Saguaro help us. Dr. Brainiac clearly wants to switch her career from neurosurgeon to comedian. Lucius does not look entertained.

Ignoring his glower, she walks over to the table and picks up a pair of tweezers and a tube of cream.

“This is a topical anesthetic,” she says. “You want me to use it?”

“No,” Lucius says grimly.

“I had a feeling you’d say that. Suit yourself. This will not hurt me one bit.”

With that, she sticks the tweezers into the wound.

I feel a strong urge to cut a bitch, but Lucius bears the pain stoically, so I calm myself down.

Looking triumphant, Dr. Brainiac pulls out a tiny shard of glass and shows it to everyone. “If only all surgery were this easy.”

Damn. That was there all this time?

She then grabs some iodine and applies it liberally around the wound, at which point I stop looking because seeing the stitching might just cause me to get violent… or faint.

“That’s it,” Dr. Brainiac says after all of a minute. “Now drink this.”

When I look back, Lucius’s head is covered in bandages, making him look like a mummy, and he’s sipping apple juice from a kiddie box.

Elijah stands up. “What do you mean? What if he’s got a concussion?”

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