Page 5 of BillionHeir
He tips his dark head of short curly hair up in greeting as he joins me in the now-too-small lift. He is short enough that I can see his bald spot clearly, and his wrinkled gray slacks and white button down look like they sat on the floor all night. I hope this isn’t how he presents himself when he is meeting with donors and important patients.
I notice a coffee stain on his sleeve, and I have to fight a smirk from spreading on my face. How such a sloppy, disgusting man got this high-profile job is beyond me. If I were in charge, I would probably fire him on the spot just based on his appearance right now alone.
“I was hoping to run into you,” he says as he brings a hand up and runs it through his greasy, unkempt hair. I struggle to keep a passive face instead of rolling my eyes at him. He is still my boss after all.
Rather than actually greeting him, I give him what I hope is a respectful but disinterested smile.
“Dinner?” he asks arrogantly as he blatantly flicks his eyes down to my chest before making a show of looking down at his watch. “I have a couple of hours I can spare.” Like I am some kind of item on his To-Do list that he can squeeze in.
Not if he were the last man alive.
It takes everything I have in me not to give him the verbal dressing down he deserves. The nerve of this man! I close my eyes and take a deep breath, collecting my calm before responding.
“I am busy,” I answer with a polite smile, doing everything in my power not to encourage him.
“‘Busy’,” he imitates. “I love your accent. So damn proper” he says, ignoring my dismissal as his eyes visibly travel up and down my body. “You gotta eat, right?”
I am working up a civil response when the lift stops on the next floor, and I am saved by two doctors in green scrubs. They are talking quietly to each other when they get on, paying us no attention as they ride with us down to the first floor.
As soon as the doors open, I push ahead to make sure I am the first person out. The only thing keeping me from Broadmire’s advances are the eyes of the cardiologists who continue their murmured discussion as they follow me outbefore he has time to stop me. I stride as fast as possible toward the door without running, but he still catches up with me.
“You are fast,” he says, huffing out an annoyed laugh. When I don’t slow down or respond, he tries one more time. “What about a drink? I know a great place.”
“I need to feed my—” My mind goes blank as I try to come up with some kind of pet that doesn’t really exist. “Fish,” I finally stammer out as we walk out the door of the rehab.
I leave him standing there without another word and walk to the curb. Almost as soon as I lift my arm up for a taxi, there is one swerving over to pick me up. Talk about good timing. I climb into the car and slam the door just in time to see him scowl at me through the window.
Dodged that bullet.
For now.
I stare blankly out the window watching the city roll by and contemplating my relationship status when my phone rings in my bag. I consider letting whoever it is leave a message, but something has me digging it out at the last minute.
I quickly retrieve it, seeing a picture of my mother before it rolls over to voicemail. I do the time zone math as I press the call back button. It is late in England, just after midnight. A shiver of worry runs down my spine as the phone rings.
“Chloe, dear, I was just leaving you a message,” my mother says in greeting, her voice sounding warm and filled with love, if a little tired.
“Mum, is everything okay?”
“Of course, darling. Why wouldn’t it be?” she says dismissively, but I can sense that there is something she is not saying.
“It is quite late, there, that is all,” I answer, trying to calm some of the panic I feel.
She is fine, I tell myself, taking a deep breath, but the peace I am searching for doesn’t find me.
When the car pulls up to the door of my building, I swipe my card on the card reader and leave the driver a tip before grabbing my bag and climbing out of the car, trying to ignore the way my feet scream in protest.
“Are you busy?” my mother asks, no doubt hearing the sound of the car door as I slam it shut and walk up to my apartment, waving at the doorman as I pass through the doors.
“No, actually. I am just getting home from my shift. Now, what has got you up so late?” I ask, stepping into the lift and pressing the button for the fifth floor. The old machine hums to life, groaning as it starts its accent.
“Oh, nothing really. I just couldn’t sleep thinking about my girl being an ocean away from me.”
“I have been gone for nearly ten years now.”
“I know,” she says, sounding forlorn. “And yet I still lie here at night wondering why I ever let you go.”
I sigh as I sink my key into the lock on my door. “I miss you, mum.”
