Page 16 of Brooklynaire
Nate pulls out a chair for me, then seats himself at the head of thetable.
We sit down, and I feel like the queen at Buckingham Palace. There’s no way I’m going to stay in Nate’s mansion for a week. That’s crazy talk. But it’s lunchtime and Mrs. Gray is whistling to herself in the kitchen. So I sit quietly and take it allin.
This is a fun little adventure, even if my head injury was the cause ofit.
Staying for lunch proves to be a good decision, since Mrs. Gray’s soup and homemade Caesar salad are divine. Not that I’m surprised. Nate only hires the best. As I finish up the last bites of tangy tomato soup, he pulls out his phone and starts tapping onit.
“Nathan,” Mrs. Gray chides, lifting away his empty soup bowl. “Phubbing isrude.”
“Phubbing?” he looks up,startled.
“Phone snubbing. God knows you usually dine alone, when it doesn’t matter. But Rebecca is your once-a-millennium guest, and the least you could do is talk toher.”
I really do like Mrs.Gray.
Nate bites the corner of his lip, which is a sign of concentration. “Thank you for your input, but I’m trying to help Becca with something.” He speaks into the KattSearch app on his phone. “Is Dr. Evan Armitage on the board of any charitable organizations?” His face lights up when the search results appear. “Ah, this is just what I was looking for.” He taps the screen a few moretimes.
Honestly, if Mrs. Gray hadn’t taken him to task, I might not have even noticed Nate’s distraction. His mind works on a different plane from everyone else’s. He can carry on a lunchtime conversation with me and simultaneously rewrite a bit of code that’s been troublinghim.
“Bec, what’s that busy doctor’snumber?”
“Hold on.” I dig out the card and put it on the table. “What are youdoing?”
“I’m getting your appointment date changed.” He taps thephone.
“How are you goingto…?”
“Yes,” Nate says into his phone. “I think youcanhelp me. This is Nate Kattenberger calling for Dr. Armitage. Could you let him know that I’ve just donated $50,000 to the Concussion Legacy Foundation? It’s my gift to honor the doctor’s work with athletes. If he’d like to discuss the matter further, I’m available at the followingnumber…”
“What on earth?” I ask when he hangs up the phone a momentlater.
“Don’t get all stressy, Bec.” Nate puts down the phone looking pleased with himself. “I like that charity. Dr. Armitage chose well when he got involved with them. And, hey, professional sports teams are too cavalier about head injuries. I should have given them money a long timeago.”
“But…”
Nate’s phone rings on thetable.
“That was speedy. Hello?” He answers the phone. “Yes, Doctor, this is he. Indeed I did. You’re right, I do own a hockey team… That’s the one! Concussion research is very important to me. Seemed like as good a time as any to make a contribution… Right. It’s such an important topic. More so now thanever.”
Nate winks at me, while my head threatens to explode. Fifty thousand…What?
“I’m with you, a hundred percent,” Nate says, oblivious to my shock. “In fact, there’s someone sitting here beside me who really needs some assistance with a head injury. We’d like to see you sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, your front office thinks that a June appointment is the best you cando.”
Nate smirks into the phone, and I try to picture the doctor’s face as he realizes he’s just beenoutmaneuvered.
“Oh, terrific. That’s perfect,” Nate says a moment later. “Sunday morning at ten, then. The patient’s name is Rebecca Rowley. She’ll be there. Thanks very much. Bye now.” Nate hangs up looking exceptionally pleased with himself. “The good doctor is seeing you on a Sunday! Now that’sservice.”
I’m momentarily stunned into silence. That didnotjust happen. “Tell me you didn’tshake downthe specialist to get me an appointmenttime?”
Nate’s forehead wrinkles as he considers the question. He reaches for his diet soda. “Nah. I’m pretty sure a shakedown would be if someone tookhismoney. This was, like, the opposite ofthat.”
“Fifty. Thousand. Dollars? I cannotbelieveyou just gave that away…” My voice actually cracks on the last word. It’s a huge sum ofmoney.
“Well, technically I didn’t yet.” He grabs his phone again and taps the voice memo application, which he uses frequently. “Robert—this is Nate. Please donate fifty-thousand dollars to the Concussion Legacy Foundation before the close of business today. This is from the personal account—not the corporate foundation. Thanks,man.”
“Nate!” Igasp.
He drains the soda. “It’s a good cause, Bec. The best. The owner of a hockey team is supposed to care about concussion research. And you need an appointment with him. It’s a win-win.”
