Page 36 of Morally Black Betrothal
I went to the sink across from the nurses’ station to get myself my fifth plastic cup of chlorine-scented water and ice.
“Girl, you all right?” the head nurse was asking someone as I approached.
Her name was Joan. I knew this because I had already made sure Joan’s department received a donation of two million dollars to upgrade their scheduling equipment in exchange for the best care they could provide for my father. It bought us the cardiac ICU’s only private room and Joan’s personal care of my father when she was on her shift.
“You look like you got run over on the T,” Joan continued to a blond hidden behind the array of computers at the station. “Everything okay? We weren’t expecting to see you at all this week after you called in.”
“I’m fine. Just…long week.”
I froze.
Fine, I’ll admit it. In between checking emails and sparring with my bedridden father, I’d been casually watching the clock, wondering where Simone was, just like I had every afternoon this week. Wondering why she hadn’t been here at all. The goddamn nurses hadn’t known a thing, despite the hundreds I’d pushed their way.
I’d wondered if she was sick. Or dealing with that sister of hers.
Or avoiding me.
No. I wasn’t given to neurotic speculation, and I wasn’t going to start now.
I remained at the water station with my back turned, emptying the cup and refilling it four more times while Joan and Simone talked.
“Don’t you usually work nights, honey? When do you even sleep?”
“Usually, in the morning before I come here. But this week, I’ve had things to do, and?—”
I strained to hear after Simone cut herself off, but she didn’t finish her sentence. Something had happened in the last week. Something I would have wagered involved her twin or her family or whoever else probably depended on her in a crisis (and the rest of the time too).
Goddamn it. Why did I want to know so badly?
Weariness threaded through her voice, but there was something else in it too. Something hopeless. Like she was resigned to the fact that her life’s purpose was to be used by others, and there was no way out of that truth.
The plastic cup collapsed with a crunch in my fist.
“I’ll be fine,” Simone said, and I didn’t have to turn to know she was smiling bravely.
“Yo, did anyone else have to fight through a wall of cameras to get in the building this morning?”
I used the interruption by one of the male nurses to move behind a computer monitor outside Dad’s door, where I could lean against the wall and stay mostly hidden.
Was I eavesdropping?
Sure.
Was I sorry?
Not really.
The reason I was the most trusted of Niall Black’s sons wasn’t just because I was the eldest—it was because I knew when to keep my mouth shut and listen.
Information was currency, and I’d been collecting it all my life.
“Hush, Lemond,” Joan ordered. “The family is still here, and I trust you kept your mouth shut about Niall Black, right? Unless you want to get sued. Speaking of, Simone, honey, you’re going to need to sign this if you want to work today while he’s here.”
There was a rustling of paper. “Who’s here? Brendan?”
Something in my chest squeezed at the sound of my name coming from that mouth.
Another thing that generous donation had bought us was the requirement that all staff in the ICU sign a strict and costly NDA before starting their shifts today. HIPAA only went so far, and I wasn’t above threatening the livelihoods of every person in here to protect my family’s interests.
