Page 7 of BillionHeir
I thought about moving back to the UK where I can better support her. But I make so much more money here in the US. That is not even considering all the qualifications I would have to meet if I wanted to transfer my license.
I have also considered moving my mother here to live with me, but then she wouldn’t have medical coverage if her cancer returned. I still don’t understand why healthcare has to be so difficult here in America, but that is a conversation for another time. It is not like I can solve the whole world’s problems.
For now, I will continue to live here, saving every penny I can scrape together with extra shifts at work so I can send it to my sweet mother. I try to visit once every year or two, but withmy finances being what they are right now, I haven’t made it home in the last three years. It seems irresponsible to take the time off and buy an expensive plane ticket when the money could be spent in much more productive ways, like the student loans that are breathing down my neck.
I just finished an exhausting twelve-hour shift, and I have another one at the same time tomorrow. So for now, as I stare out the window of my tiny fifth-floor apartment, I let my mind roam while I rest my aching feet. My shift today at Sanctuary Springs Rehabilitation Center was especially grueling. We are almost at full capacity with several more intakes on the schedule for tomorrow.
The facility hosts patients who are too weak to go home on their own, but too healthy for the hospital. They often come to us with a sour disposition and a chip on their shoulder. They are confident that they don’t need us and make us prove to them just how much they do need the therapy that our center provides. Our site caters to a more high-end clientele, offering more luxury and amenities for a premium. This, in turn, means that they pay their nurses at a higher rate.
Don’t get me wrong, the pay definitely comes with a price. We are often stuck caring for snobby, rich, demanding women who look down their noses at us, expecting us to wait on them hand and foot like we are the help. It is a challenge just to getthem to do their therapy, nevermind sticking to their prescribed diet.
I foolishly thought that this job would be easier because I was dealing with more wealthy patients. Boy was I wrong. These people are used to having staff, and they treat us as such. It is frustrating on the best of days and demanding and utterly exhausting on the worst.
But I do it. I deal with their abusive comments about everything from the lack of quality in the Egyptian cotton linens to the fact that my nail polish is chipped and my hair isn’t perfectly arranged to their liking. Nothing is off limits, and everything and everyone is under rigorous scrutiny, night and day. It drives me out of my mind some days.
But it is not like I have any other choice.
Chapter 3
_______________________
Maxwell
“Six WEEKS?”
“Mr. Banks, I understand this might come as a surprise, but please—”
“No,” I interrupt as I shake my head adamantly. “Six fucking weeks? Absolutely not. I do not have time to sit in some fucking nursing home with a bunch of invalids for six weeks. I am a very important and busy man. I can’t and I won’t.”
“But sir,” the Chief Physician of the hospital says, trying to reason with me. “If you don’t give yourself thistime to heal, you could lose the use of your entire arm. Physical therapy is a necessity, not a recommendation.”
“No,” I say again, even stronger than before. “Figure out another treatment plan, because I am not going.”
“Mr. Banks,” Katrina cuts into the conversation as she bustles into the room with a disappointed voice. “I know you are not cursing at this doctor.”
I clear my throat and look down at the scratchy sheets on my bed as I try to avoid her gaze.
“You need to listen to this man. He has your best interests at heart. And don’t you dare talk about those people in rehab like that. After all,” she says, pinning me to the bed with her stare. “You are about to be one of them.”
I sigh and look back up at the doctor who seems shocked that Katrina’s scolding worked on me.
“I need to get back to Boston,” I say in a tone slightly less annoyed than before, but only just.
“We can do that,” the doctor answers with a nod, looking back down at his paperwork. “A transfer shouldn’t be an issue for a man of your means. Do you have any opinions on where you want to go?”
“The best of the best.”
* * *
“It is good to see you again, Mr. Banks,” my assistant says when I am situated in the luxury ambulance that will take me tothe rehab facility from the airport. I have just spent the last 6 hours on a Med Flight from Seattle. It was quite a harrowing experience flying after having just been in a helicopter accident.
I insisted on Ethan meeting me here at the airport and riding along with me to the rehab facility so that he could catch me up on everything that has happened at Banks International since I have been out of commission.
“Ethan, I think we are on a first name basis at this point,” I answer, noting the look of shock on my assistant’s face. He has been working for me for years now, and he has been keeping my company running in my absence. At this point, I have no choice but to trust him. I might as well become more familiar with him.
“Okay, Maxwell,” he says carefully.
“It is Max,” I say more forcefully than I intended. Being friendly is not exactly my strong suit. “I am glad you weren’t with me as originally planned. I hate to think of what might have happened.”
