Page 29 of The Billionaire's Bargain

Alexander's already pulling out his phone. "I'll have the car brought around. Which hospital?"

"Mercy General." The words come automatically before I process what he's saying. "Wait, you don't have to?—"

"I'm coming with you." It's not a question or an offer. His tone brooks no argument as he's already speaking to someone on his phone, issuing rapid-fire instructions about the car.

"Alexander, this isn't?—"

"Ten minutes and we'll be on our way." He cuts me off, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Do you need anything before we go?"

I shake my head, feeling strangely hollow. This isn't how billionaires in romance novels act, is it? They don't drop everything to rush to dingy public hospitals with girls they've known for less than a week.

But then, nothing about Alexander has been what I expected.

The ride to the hospital is a blur of city lights and my own spiraling guilt. Alexander sits beside me in the back of his sleek black car, so close our thighs press together, but might as well be miles away. My mind races with terrible possibilities. Mom's been working double shifts at the diner for years, ever since Dad left.

Up until she got sick, that is. Then, she’s been at home sick a lot, so I picked up the slack. Took over her shifts.

I was supposed to be helping her, not disappearing into a billionaire's bed while she got even sicker.

"She's going to be okay," Alexander says, his deep voice cutting through my panic.

I turn to him, suddenly angry. "You don't know that. You don't even know her."

His face doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. "You're right. I don't. But I know hospitals, and I know doctors, and I will make sure she gets the best care possible."

"Why?" The question bursts out of me. "Why are you doing this? We had a deal. Sex for money. This wasn't part of it."

His jaw tightens. "Is that what you think this is?"

I look away, unable to bear the intensity of his stare. "I don't know what this is anymore."

The car pulls up to the hospital entrance before he can respond. Alexander is out and opening my door before the driver can, his hand extended to help me out. I ignore it, stumbling past him toward the entrance, needing to put distance between us and the questions I'm not ready to face.

The hospital smells like industrial cleaner and misery. At the front desk, I give my mother's name with a voice that doesn't sound like my own. The receptionist directs us to the third floor, and Alexander silently follows me to the elevator.

"You don't have to stay," I say as the doors close, trapping us in the small space.

"I do." Two simple words, but they land like stones in still water.

When we reach my mother's room, the sight of her small form in the hospital bed knocks the breath from my lungs. She looks old and frail, her skin gray against the white sheets, an IV dripping steadily into her arm. Her eyes are closed, her breathing shallow.

"Mom?" I whisper, moving to her side.

Her eyelids flutter but don't open. A doctor enters behind us, clipboard in hand. "Ms. Montgomery? I'm Dr. Patel. Yourmother is stable, but quite ill. She's suffering from pneumonia and severe exhaustion. On top of the cancer."

The words hit me like physical blows. "Yes, I know about the cancer—" My voice breaks.

"And you are?" The doctor turns to Alexander, who stands like a sentinel near the door, his powerful presence incongruous in the sterile room.

"Alexander Grant." He doesn't elaborate, but the doctor's eyebrows rise slightly in recognition of the name.

"I see. Well, your mother needs rest and antibiotics. We'll be keeping her for observation for at least a few days."

After the doctor leaves, I sink into the chair beside my mother's bed, taking her thin hand in mine. Her fingers are rough from years of carrying plates and wiping tables, her nails short and unpolished. So different from my own hands now, softened by days of luxury.

Alexander places a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I'll be right outside. Take all the time you need."

But as he turns to go, something breaks loose inside me. All the confusion, the guilt, the anger—it surges up like a tidal wave.

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