Page 60 of The Re-Proposal

“I saw the way you looked at her today. In all the years we’ve worked together, I’ve never seen you go soft for a woman. Not like you did with one glance from her.”

“I’ll get Clarissa back on my own,” I insist.

“Good luck with that.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Vargas rolls his eyes. “Come on, Bolton. Don’t let me spell it out for you.”

I fold my arms over my chest, daring him to go ahead.

“She’s sweet, kind, and dedicates her life to helping the disenfranchised. On the other hand, you—” he gestures to me, “are demanding, condescending, and you only care about the bottom line. You work twenty-hours and sleep four. You get two hundred emails a day and you have no time to read them because the minute you stop, you’ll get two hundred more. Holidays? Work hours? You don’t care what time it is or what day it is. If work needs to be done, you’re hauling people out of bed, away from birthday parties and anniversaries. With all you demand, you don’t even know half your employees’ names.”

“In fairness, I have too many employees,” I grunt.

“You offer a salary that’s above and beyond anywhere else, but it’s only to compensate for the torture, not to raise the minimum wage or make the world a better place.”

What a glowing review of me.Cody Bolton. One star. Too heartless. Would not recommend.

Vargas stops his ruthless assessment and eases back. “Look, I’m on your side. Always have been. Always will be. You’ve trusted me with bigger decisions than this because you know I’m right.”

“You’re delusional.”

“I play chess. I look ahead. I’ve seen where this can go. Take the kid, Cody. I’m giving you two moves in one. Again, you’re welcome.”

“Fine. But you’re dealing with the kid.”

He shrugs. “Of course. The car’s waiting downstairs.”

“Car? What car?”

“We’re going to the hospital to pick up Joel and bring him here.” Vargas pauses. “He’s moving in with you.”

* * *

I hate hospitals.

The smells. The sounds. The desperation.

The lack of control.

Money can buy almost anything, but it can’t buy health. It can’t buy immortality.

It can’t buy my mother’s life back.

It makes me feel off-balance.

Anywhere I go, I own the space.

But here? Too many people walk through these doors and don’t walk back out.

“You coming?” Vargas asks.

“In a second.”

He glances across the roof of the town car and nods at the paparazzi. The tabloid reporter Vargas called is hiding out across the street.

I have no idea why he’s snooping like a thief when he has permission to film this. It could be habit. Or he’s trying to preserve the ‘authenticity’ of the shoot. Can’t convince people our genuine private moment has been invaded if the pics look too professional.

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