Page 10 of BillionHeir
“Shut up,” I say, my eyes growing wide. “It is about time!”
“I know, right?” she says, clipping her badge to her pocket as we walk out of the break room together.
Cami and I were in the same orientation class together here at Sanctuary Springs, and we have been friends ever since. It has been nice to have her friendship to lean on the last three years. It helps knowing there is someone here who is always on my side. We have been through new boyfriends, double dates, and breakups together. Since Jenna moved to Wyoming, she has become my closest Boston friend.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask her, knowing that we are going to be dealing with all manner of entitled, annoying, and frustrating patients over the next twelve hours. Hopefully, the good will outweigh the bad today, but that is not always a given.
“Ready as I will ever be,” she says with a smile before smacking me on the butt and strolling off in the opposite direction.
I laugh to myself as I walk toward my unit. The rehab is broken up into six areas. There are the three main units: long term, short term, and psychiatric. Each of them is then divided by gender. I work on the short-term men’s side, and I find I like it much better than the women’s. I would much rather deal withthe men who undress me with their eyes than the ladies who pick apart everything you say, do, and wear. I will admit, it was a little difficult to get used to seeing all the flaccid penises at first, but once you have seen a few, you learn not to startle as easily.
Unlike the long-term wing where their patients are here for years, if not the rest of their lives, ours are here more temporarily, anywhere from a couple of weeks to a couple of months depending on the extent of their injuries and how willing they are to be an active participant in their recovery. So many of these blokes expect that the physical therapists will do all of the work for them. But as they so often learn, if they want to get back to the real world, they need to put in the work with the therapists, eating well, and getting the rest they need. Muscles and bones don’t heal overnight.
Once our patients get through the initial realization and frustration that getting out of here is going to be harder than they thought, they usually mellow out a little bit. I have met some really nice lads here, though most of them were married.
I am proud to say that I have never dated a patient. Not that they haven’t tried. But it is one of the things I promised myself I wouldn’t do when I started working here. It is not only against the rules. It is forbidden. I would instantly be fired if they found out I did anything inappropriate with a patient. I have too good of a thing going to jeopardize it for quick sex.
I reach the nurse’s station, just as Tara, the floor supervisor, is walking up.
“Chloe, I am glad I caught you. We have got a new patient arriving today. Looks like it is going to be a doozy. He is arrogant, bossy, and irritable, not to mention rich as all hell. You are going to have your work cut out for you.”
“Thank you for your optimism,” I say sarcastically as I pull up his chart on the computer.
My heart skips a beat when I read his name.
Maxwell Banks.
He is the richest man in Boston, maybe even the whole country for all I know. I actually met him once before in Wyoming because Jenna’s boyfriend works for him as a lawyer, but I am sure he wouldn’t remember me. As surprised as I am to cross paths with him again, I am not surprised that he would come to Sanctuary Springs after the helicopter crash that nearly took his life.
I busy myself working on his chart, making sure that all of his intake paperwork is correctly put into the system so his transition from the hospital to our facility is seamless. I am sitting there, still typing away, when my patient arrives with his entourage of nurses, doctors, therapists, and even some higher-ups from administration who all follow him into the much too small room.
I am done before everyone is finished with him, so I check in on my other patients before coming back. When I poke my head into the room, I can tell he is just about to fall asleep. I hate having to wake anyone, but it is better if I get a few things out of the way. Otherwise, I am going to be back here in thirty minutes and he is going to be even grouchier.
“Knock knock,” I say, trying to be both cheery and quiet.
He opens his eyes, but they are groggy and filled with annoyance. Even so, I can’t deny how striking they are. He looks directly into my eyes, and I can feel him peering deep inside me, making my knees weak. He manages to look distinguished and dignified even in a hospital bed, and I recall just how attractive he looked in a business suit. This man is dangerous. I need to be careful.
“What?” he barks, his voice scratchy and hoarse, snapping me out of my errant thoughts. That is common with patients who have had a breathing tube down their throats for extended periods of time.
“I am Chloe,” I say softly. “I will be your nurse for the day.”
“And?” he asks impatiently.
“I know you are probably tired from all your travels and what not today, but—”
“What do you want?” he asks, cutting me off.
It takes everything I have not to tell off this oversized man child. But I need this job and can’t afford to get fired by saying what I want.
“I need to check your vitals,” I say calmly, controlling my voice so as not to betray my frustration with this exasperating prick. I shake the small cup in my hand. “And to give you your meds. Unless you don’t want them?”
I raise my eyebrows as a silent challenge to the man staring at me like I am his servant to command as he pleases.
“Fine. Do what you have to,” he says, looking down his nose at me. He is not even slightly apologetic for the attitude he is giving me and honestly, I don’t know what I saw in him earlier.
Rather than give him the tongue lashing he deserves, I swallow my pride and proceed across the room, handing him the little plastic cup with his pills and a separate cup of water.
“I assume this water is flat?” he asks, a look of disgust on his face.
