by Krista Lakes
“Well, well. I guess that's why he's the billionaire,” Dad mused. He turned to me. “We better get working, kiddo. There's a lot to do.”
I looked around at the big house, stopping at the door Mr. Belrose had just left out of. “Yes, we do,” I murmured, but my mind wasn't paying attention to my father anymore. It was thinking of Sebastian Belrose and how I couldn't quite put him together.
He was a puzzle, but one I wasn't worthy of solving.
So, I smiled at my father and headed into my room to solve the puzzles that I knew I could solve. Time to appraise some art.
Chapter 7
The room I was starting in was huge, as was everything in the mansion. Three immense paintings dominated the walls surrounded by smaller ones scattered tastefully to complement the larger. It reminded me of an art museum rather than a house, but then I had only ever been in art museums this big, not houses.
The room had one window, and if I had been the interior decorator, I would have focused my attention on the view rather than the art. While the art was beautiful, the seascape out the window was more dynamic. Sheer curtains floated over the big window, and I was glad to note that a special film had been placed on it to block the UV light. At least whomever had set up this room had designed it to hold the artwork.
I stood for a moment at the window, watching the waves break against the shore and sea birds fly through the air. It reminded me of this morning's sunrise and that made me smile and wonder what Mr. Belrose was up to. I couldn't see him out on the water, which meant that he must have had his meeting.
“Why aren't you working?” Mr. Belrose's deep voice asked, distracting me from my thoughts. I turned around, startled, to see him standing in the open doorway. All the joy on his face from this morning was long gone.
“I was just getting started,” I stammered, going to a table in the center of the room to lay out my supplies. I flushed, knowing I had only been standing at the window for a couple of minutes, but from his viewpoint it must have looked like I was doing nothing at all.
“I'm not paying you to stand around,” he growled. I nearly dropped my tablet on the floor, but managed to catch it in the nick of time. He glared at me. “There are deadlines for a reason. If I wanted someone to stand and look pretty, I'd hire a model.”
My face flamed to an even higher degree. I wondered if Elijah had remembered to feed him breakfast.
“Didn't you have a meeting?” I asked. All I wanted to do was snap at him to go take a long walk off a short cliff, but I didn't. He was my employer.
“It was canceled. Are you going to work or what?” He glared at me, daring me to sass back. But, I was a professional, despite the fact that I had enjoyed looking out the window. So instead of saying something I knew I'd regret, I put on my biggest smile and looked up at him.
“Of course, Mr. Belrose. I'll get right on it.”
I cocked my head to the side, willing sweetness to drip off every word. I made syrup look bland.
He frowned, opening his mouth and then closing it. I had to hold in my sense of accomplishment at throwing him off. He had obviously been expecting a smart-aleck, defensive remark and my overly-sweet response was not computing.
“Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Belrose,” I continued, still smiling and forcing sugar sweet niceness from every pore, “I need to get to work.”
With that, I turned back to my table and arranged my tools. I moved methodically and carefully, feeling his eyes on me as I went about my work. I ignored him, concentrating on what was now entirely my domain. This is where I was most comfortable. I was now entering my element.
Once my station was arranged to my liking, I went to one of the smaller paintings on the wall and carefully began my examination. It took all my willpower not to look up and say something snotty as Mr. Belrose kept watching me, waiting for me to do something he could criticize.
The first painting was small, only about a 10X8 piece of oil on canvas. It's something I could see my mother having painted and I immediately fell in love with it. It was of an impressionist piece of a boat floating in the moonlight. Blues and silvers dominated the canvas, with short brush strokes carefully invoking the feelings of a festive boat out on dark water.
I trembled taking it off the wall, not from nerves but because I could feel it in my bones that this was an important piece. It spoke to me. The frame was well made and I was glad to see that care had been taking in preserving and displaying the artwork properly.
“That came with the house,” Mr. Belrose informed me, the tone of his voice dismissive. “I'm sure it's not worth much. You should start on the Degas.”
I gritted my teeth and forced my face into a polite smile. I hated it when people told me how to do my job. If he was so sure the piece was worthless, then why the heck had he hired me?
“Thank you,” I said politely, beaming my smile at him before turning back to my original painting. “I'll be sure to let you know when I'm finished.”
I would get to the Degas when I got to the Degas. I had a system, one that I had perfected over the years, and I would be dammed if I was going to let him tell me how to do my job. Even if he was a billionaire.
I took the frame over to the table, pointedly ignoring Mr. Belrose. I could feel his temper heating from across the room. He wasn't a man that was used to being ignored. He was a billionaire after all. I rolled my eyes. He probably had people begging to ask “how high” at just the thought of him saying jump.
But I wasn't jumping. I wasn't even bending my knees to prep for a jump. This was the one thing that I was good at. The one thing that I knew made me worth something. He may be a billionaire, but an art connoisseur he was not. The painting was far from being worthless. Very far.
I smiled down at the painting without realizing and heard him let out a frustrated sigh. I peeked up just in time to see his back stomping off down the hallway. I rolled my eyes and told myself to be nicer next time. He was the one paying my salary and he was definitely not pleased that I had ignored his suggestion to start on the Degas. But, if he wanted this done right, then he had to let me do what I was good at.
I pushed him from my mind and focused on the painting. If I was right, and I usually was, it was a Berthe Morisot painting and probably worth around at least fifty-thousand dollars. The last time I had seen her paintings up at auction, a painting of similar size and style had gone for over one hundred thousand dollars.
I hummed gently, starting my real investigation of the painting. I was at peace whenever I held artwork like this. I loved this part of my job. To touch things that were little windows into the souls of painters, to hold something in my hands that had moved the lives of others, was exhilarating. To have it all to myself for just a moment, to be able to see every brush stroke and every careful line of color filled me joy.
I loved the challenge of authentication and appraisal. It was a puzzle that never ended. I always imagined that it was a game to see if I could distinguish real from fake, and I loved having to use all my knowledge of art and painting to make sure that something was what it appeared.
This particular piece was relatively easy as it had a certificate of authenticity from a museum I knew and respected, though, I still had to double check it, and check the certificate in order to catalog it for the auction.
I opened up my tablet to begin putting in the details when I heard a loud thunk from the room next door. Frowning, I carefully set down the painting and went to investigate the noise coming from the room where my father was working.
“Dad?” I called out, stepping into the large room next door to mine. “You in here?”
Silence answered me. I frowned and then gasped as I saw my father's form on the floor next to a large wooden desk.
I screamed a sound of pure disaster and ran to his side. He was ashen and clammy to the touch, but I thought he was at least breathing. Panic welled up in my chest and my heart threatened to beat right out of my ribs. I could hear every beat echo in my ear
s, whooshing and rushing as I cried for someone to come help us.
Everything moved in surreal time. Some seconds, like the one where I waited for him to take that single shaky gasp, seemed to drag on while others flitted away faster than the speed of light.
“What happened?”
Mr. Belrose was suddenly filling my vision, his hands on my shoulders and shaking me. I looked down at my father, unable to move and unable to make my mouth work. My Dad... Daddy...
I looked helplessly back up at Mr. Belrose, focusing on his gray eyes. Something in them helped loosen the tightness in my chest making it hard to breathe. His hand on the bare skin of my arm was a tether back to sanity.
“I heard a thunk and I came in. I...” I stammered, the words sounding off-key and hollow to my ears. I knew there was something I should be doing, something I should have done by now, something that would help my father, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was.
“Bastian?” Charlotte's soft voice echoed through the room. Her brown eyes went wide as she saw my father on the floor. “What's going on?”
“He's alive,” Bastian said quietly, holding his fingers against my fathers throat and feeling for a heartbeat. Somehow, he was ridiculously calm, while silver cords of panic wrapped around me and threatened to strangle me. “Charlotte, please call Dr. Verner. Tell him we have an emergency that appears cardiac related. It will be okay, Ava.”
The word “cardiac” resonated in my mind, reverberating and cinching the cords of panic even tighter. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I needed my father to wake up.
“Ava.” Mr. Belrose grabbed my wrist, his eyes connecting with mine. When I looked at him, the slender threads of panic holding me in place lessened. He knew how to be in charge and what need to be done. I was so glad he was taking control because I was freaking out. “Ava, I need you to go get the AED. It's in the kitchen next to the door. Lucia will know where it is if you don't see it right away. I need you to bring it to me, okay?”
I nodded, my head bouncing wildly. His words were my direction and I took off running the moment he let go of my wrist. I ran as fast as my legs could pump, skittering and sliding across the wood floors like an overgrown puppy all the way to the kitchen.
I stumbled into the bright yellow kitchen, panting and eyes wild. The smell of breakfast was still in the air. I looked for the AED, but since I wasn't sure what it would look like, I couldn't find it. The rush of having something to do, of doing something to help my father, quickly wore off in the face of my defeat. The panic from before returned full force as I had no idea where the AED was, yet knew my father needed it.
“Miss Ava? Are you looking for something?” Lucia asked, coming around the center island and wiping her flour covered hands on her dark apron. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“The AED, I need it,” I gasped. My voice came out squeaky, like I had forgotten how to use it.
Lucia's face paled and her eyes grew wide. She scurried over to the door, moving faster than I would have thought possible. Hanging on the wall to the side of the kitchen door was a small white and blue briefcase with a red cross on it. I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it. Lucia took it from the wall and placed it in my hands.
I nearly dropped it I was shaking so bad, but as soon as I told my fingers to wrap around it, it would have taken pliers to make me release it. “Thank you,” I whispered, turning around and running before I had even finished saying the words.
“No, don't sit up just yet,” Mr. Belrose scolded as I sprinted into the room. He had his hand on my father's shoulder, keeping him pinned to the floor. I didn't care what he was doing, my father was awake.
“Daddy!” I cried, rushing to his side and going hard to my knees. I was fairly sure I hit hard enough to leave a bruise, but I barely felt it. I threw the AED at Mr. Belrose so I could wrap my arms around my father's neck.
“For the second time, I'm fine,” Dad said, giving me a weak hug back. I wanted to sob into his neck, but I knew I needed to keep myself under control. Tears could come later. Right now, I needed to be strong for him.
“Lift up your shirt, Mr. Fairchild,” Mr. Belrose instructed, pulling several pads out of the now opened AED case.
“Why? What are you doing?” Dad asked with a frown. He didn't move to adjust his shirt.
Mr. Belrose didn't wait for him to actually lift his shirt, and instead just did it for him, placing the big square stickers across Dad's chest. “Just attaching the monitor and shock pads,” Mr. Belrose replied, turning to the machine and pressing a button. He looked right at me and gave me an gentle smile. “Excellent job, Ava.”
“Well, obviously I don't need a shock if I'm a awake, now do I?” Dad grouched, his eyebrows nearly coming together. I gripped his hand tight, holding onto him as if I could keep him here with me through that connection alone if necessary. He looked back and forth between Mr. Belrose and me like we were crazy. “I don't know what has the two of you all worked up.”
“Daddy, you were out cold on the floor,” I said quietly. I felt a tear trickle down my cheek and I wiped it quickly away with my shoulder. I couldn't cry right now. “You weren't waking up and you were barely breathing.”
Dad's face went from ashen to ghostly white. “What do you mean?” He looked over at Mr. Belrose and the AED. “What's going on?”
Mr. Belrose turned the AED monitor to face Dad. “I'm not a doctor, but I'm fairly sure your heart isn't doing what it is supposed to.”
Instead of the rhythmic peaks and valleys that I had seen on every medical show I could remember, the monitor was making strange patterns that only vaguely resembled the traditional ones on TV. My father's heart was obviously beating, but something wasn't right with it. I tightened my grip on my father's hand, even more determined not to let him go.
“Right this way, Dr. Verner.” Charlotte's voice floated across the silent room as she escorted someone in. A man in a pale blue dress shirt with a stethoscope slung across his shoulders hurried through the doors. He was probably mid-thirties, with messy brown hair and sharp eyes, but he moved with confidence to my father. He had a large, black leather bag that reminded me of the old school bags doctors once used to make house-calls with.
Mr. Belrose moved back to give the doctor his spot next to my father. In doing so, he moved closer to me and put his hand on my shoulder. Just having someone else there was comforting and I took a deep breath. I felt like I wasn't holding up the weight of the entire mansion on my own anymore.
“He's in here, guys,” Charlotte called down the hall, motioning to the thunderous footsteps I could hear coming. Two men dressed in paramedic gear entered the room. Mr. Belrose raised an eyebrow at Charlotte. She shrugged. “Dr. Verner told me to call them.”
“Beat us to the scene again, Doc,” said the first of the paramedics as he came over to where Dr. Verner had just finished listening to my father's heart. “What do you need?”
Mr. Belrose squeezed my shoulder, giving me strength. His hand was warm and steady, keeping me from shaking like a leaf. He was helping me stay grounded instead of floating off into a cloud of panic. The small gesture meant the world.
“Health history, and let's get an IV going. I don't like the look of that EKG, so I'd like to have something ready if we need to push meds,” the doctor replied, opening up his black bag and beginning to pull medical supplies out. I swallowed hard. There was nothing in that statement that I liked.
The other paramedic came over to my side. He had a pad of paper and an easy smile, but I was glad Bastian was sitting beside me. Even though I hadn't known him very long, I felt like he was on my side. Like he was there for me, supporting me and helping me find my own strength.
“I just have a couple of questions for you,” the paramedic began. “I'll ask your father too, but the more information we have, the better it is.”
I nodded, trying to gather my chaotic thoughts. “Okay,” I replied.
The paramedic began his first que
stion, and I felt like throwing up. Bastian squeezed my shoulder again and I felt stronger. I could do this. With a deep breath, I focused on the paramedic and began to answer his questions.
Chapter 8
I watched the sun rise from it's morning resting place to crest at high noon through a window in the bedroom adjacent to the one my father and Dr. Verner were in. Outside, the world was sunny and bright, full of bright green and cerulean that seemed at utter contradiction with what was going on in my world.
Daddy.
I had nearly lost him. I still could lose him. The idea of losing both him and my mother was just something I wasn't ready to come to terms with yet.
Bastian had helped carry Dad up to his room with the paramedics. He had even sat with me for a little while, but he had a company to run and couldn't sit with us all day. I had replayed it in my head for the past couple of hours.
“Are you going to be okay?” Mr. Belrose asked, putting his phone in his pocket and sighing. His eyes watching my face carefully.
I looked over at my dad, laying on the bed with the doctor watching the monitors attached to his chest. My soul was shaking.
“I'm not sure...” I whispered. “But you should go.”
He hesitated. “Really, I can stay with you if you'd like. I can cancel meetings. They're just meetings.”
For a moment I considered having him stay. I felt better when he was with me. He had practically saved Dad's life after all. When he was around, I couldn't help but feel like I was safe. Like he would never let anything happen to me. Like Dad would be okay as long as Mr. Belrose was nearby. It didn't make any sense, but then, nothing today made much sense.
“No,” I told him, putting on my closest approximation of a smile. “You should go to work. I'll let you know if there's any updates.”
He frowned, his dark brows coming to a beautiful point. I didn't know why he wanted to stay with me. Maybe he just felt sorry for me. Maybe he saw something of himself in my situation. I knew he couldn't possibly want to stay because he had any interest in me. That was just crazy thoughts. He was a billionaire with far better things to do than sit with a random girl who wouldn't do the Degas painting first.