Page 11 of BillionHeir
We might be the nicest facility in Boston, but even we don’t give out meds with sparkling water. Where the hell does he think he is? The Four Seasons?
“You assume correct,” I answer tightly, pushing both cups closer to him when he seems reluctant to take them from me.
Finally, he takes the medicine and tosses the pills into his mouth before following them with the water, even if it is flat.
He is quiet as I bustle around taking his vitals to complete the rest of his intake paperwork. When I am done, his eyes are closed and he is quietly snoring.
He must be exhausted after such a long day, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior. I can already tell he is going to be one of my most difficult patients yet.
* * *
“He can’t be serious.”
“I can assure you, he is.”
Mr. Bank’s pretentious assistant peers at me through his glasses as though he is unable to get a read on me.
I just finished one of the longest shifts of my life, in large part due to the man we are discussing. I just want to go home, not be cornered by some pencil pusher who has no clue just how much he is asking me to do.
“But the doctor said—”
“The doctor,” he says, cutting me off, “Has been persuaded by Mr. Banks. He agreed to let him receive all his treatments at his estate in Maine. That is, if he is under the care of a licensed nurse. Mr. Banks feels that since you two know each other, it would—”
It is my turn to interrupt him. “We don’t know each other, Mr. Wilson.”
“Well,” he says with a condescending look. “Your best friend and his lawyer are dating, are they not?”
“They are,” I answer.
I don’t know how he knows that about me. I didn’t think that he remembered me. If he did, he certainly didn’t say anything to me. You would think a man with his amount of wealth and privilege would have better manners, but I guess not.
“Then you know each other,” the assistant says simply. “You know he is not a serial killer, and he knows you are not going to cut a piece of his hair off to try cloning him in your secret laboratory.”
“That seems oddly specific,” I mumble mostly to myself as I shake my head. “Okay, so we are slightly connected. But that doesn’t mean that I am going to quit my job to take care of him for weeks in Who-knows-where, Maine.”
“It is just outside Portland, actually. On the coast. It is beautiful up there this time of year.”
“That is not the point,” I object, wondering why on earth I am still sitting here entertaining this man. It is bad enough that he caught me fresh off a shift. I haven’t even had time to change out of my filthy scrubs, and he has the audacity to ask me for a favor?
“You would be compensated handsomely for your time, Ms. Shepard,” the assistant says to me, his face still as bland as when he asked me for a brief conversation. But his words hold the hint of promise in them.
I shake my head again. After the last few hours of taking care of the most impossible man I have ever met, I have a pretty good feeling that if I were left alone with him, I would be more likely to push him down the stairs than help him up them.
“Money is not the issue,” I respond, grabbing my bag and preparing to stand up. My brain pulls up an image of my depleted bank account and rising stack of bills at home, but I quickly tamp it back down.
The assistant arches his carefully plucked eyebrow at me. “Is that so?”
By the tone of his voice, I know he has done his research on me. I don’t like that one single bit. My financial situation is no one’s business but my own.
I narrow my eyes on the bland man in front of me and stand as I give him a dismissive look.
“I think we are done here.”
Just before I walk away, the man produces a piece of paper and hands it to me. “This is the offer, and the number to call when you decide to take it. Please, do be quick about it.”
I roll my eyes, not bothering to look at what is written on the note before stuffing it down into my bag with every intention of throwing it out as soon as I get home. Then I turn and storm out of the lobby in a huff.
The nerve of that man, acting like he knew me and my motivations. Like money can solve any problem if you haveenough of it. Like I am so desperate that I would quit the only source of income I have and put all my eggs into the basket of some megalomaniac billionaire who has the disposition of an evil villain from a kids’ movie.
