by Krista Lakes
“I'm fine. I was actually thinking of taking a nap,” I lied. I didn't want to feel guilty about having him stay with me instead of running his billion dollar company. I wasn't worth that.
“If you need anything,” he said, pausing to make sure I understood. “You let me or Charlotte know.”
After he reluctantly left, my nerves had kicked into high gear again.
When I started pacing the floor, Dr. Verner and my father had kicked me out of the room so they could concentrate. Instead of sitting and fretting, I worked. I went through all the paintings in the hallway and started on an empty bedroom just to keep myself busy. While Dr. Verner with his van of equipment ran his tests and kept my father calm in his room, I let antique paintings and furniture distract my mind from the potential doom that could still fall upon my family.
I was sitting in the doorway of a bedroom, waiting for an update from the room at the end of the hall while I put in the details of a very nice Matisse sketch, when Charlotte came by with a tray with tea and some food on it.
“How's it going?” she asked, settling the tray of tea and cheese and crackers on the floor next to me before sitting herself. “Bastian would like an update as soon as there's any news. He's trapped in a meeting or he would have come down himself.”
“Nothing yet,” I replied, glancing at the closed door. I picked up the tea pot and poured a cup. It smelled wonderful, and a little bit like lavender. “Are you sure this is okay? I feel like we should be at a hospital.”
Charlotte smiled gently and put her hand on my shoulder. “It's more than okay. Dr. Verner is the best.” She shrugged. “Besides, why go to the hospital if you don't have to? Dr. Verner has all the same equipment.”
“But...” I set the cup down in my lap and sighed. It just felt strange, but I supposed medicine could be practiced anywhere. It was just odd to think of her father getting lab work without having to go to the lab. Add on to that, that I was sure we couldn't actually afford Dr. Verner's services. I was fairly certain he wasn't covered on our insurance.
“It's one of the perks of working for a billionaire,” Charlotte assured me, as if reading my mind. “Don't worry. These kind of things are why Dr. Verner is on Bastian's payroll. Your dad's in good hands.”
I played with my teacup, spinning the delicate china around in my fingers. If I dropped it, it would shatter and the similarity to my father's life frightened me.
“You need to eat something,” Charlotte coaxed, handing me a cracker with cheese on it. “Or you'll get hangry.”
Her reference to this morning made me smile and I took the cheese. Despite knowing that it was probably the best, most expensive cheese on the whole island, it was tasteless to me. I chewed automatically, more to make Charlotte happy than because I was hungry.
The door at the end of the hallway swung open and I jumped to my feet, nearly spilling my cup of tea. I set it on the tray, spilling most of it, before hurrying to talk with Dr. Verner.
“Does he need to go to the hospital? Is he going to be okay?” I asked, the words coming out faster than I had intended. “What's wrong with him?”
Dr. Verner straightened the stethoscope around his shoulders. “He's stable for now, but I want him to stay in bed and wear the heart monitor for a while.” He motioned to the tea and crackers. “Please, have a seat.”
I anxiously hurried over to my spot and sat down, hands in my lap eagerly awaiting the doctor's news. He didn't look tired, which I took as a good sign, but the last time a doctor told me to “take a seat,” my whole world had spiraled out of control. “So?”
Dr. Verner's face was serious and he took a deep breath before giving me the news. “Your father had a heart attack.”
I was glad I wasn't holding the tea because I would have dropped it. Charlotte gasped and grabbed my hand. I was glad she did, because I needed someone to hold on to.
“But he's so healthy!” I exclaimed. It didn't make any sense to me. “He doesn't have high cholesterol, he's not a smoker, and he just passed his physical a few months ago...”
“This wasn't caused by his lifestyle. Apart from running a stress test, there would have been no way to know about this,” Dr. Verner explained. “From the tests I ran, it appears to be an arrhythmia, which means that his heart's electrical system isn't firing properly.”
“Arrhythmia,” I repeated. The word was bitter in my mouth.
He nodded. “Today, the electrical system in his heart malfunctioned. Instead of sending the normal beat pattern, it sent gibberish, which made his heart spasm. Luckily, it reverted back into a sustainable rhythm before too much damage occurred.”
I took a deep breath, focusing on the fact that my father was okay. “What happens now?” I asked, almost afraid of what the doctor might tell me.
“First, I'd like him to rest while I monitor his condition,” Dr. Verner replied. He tugged at one of the ends of his stethoscope. “There are some tests I'd like to run once he's feeling a little bit better, but he needs to relax and recover for a few days. Once I've had a chance to run those tests, we'll be able to look into treatment options.”
“Like a pacemaker?” It was the first thing I thought of when Dr. Verner had mentioned electrical problems of the heart.
“Yes, a pacemaker might be a viable option.”Dr. Verner smiled, warmth coming into his eyes. “I'll know more once I get the results.”
“But, he'll be okay?” My voice cracked as I asked the question. Dr. Verner patted my knee gently.
“Yes, it looks like he will be,” he assured me. “But, I will need to keep a close eye on him just to make sure.”
I nodded, relief flooding my chest and letting me breathe again. He was going to be okay. Maybe not right away, and maybe he would need a pacemaker, but those were both things I could deal with.
“You said he'll need to take some time off?” Charlotte asked, still holding my hand in hers.
Dr. Verner nodded. “Yes. No work for at least the next three days. I want that heart monitor on him at all times. It's connected to my phone, so I'll have an alert the moment it does anything strange and I'll be within five minutes at all times. It also has the ability to shock him if necessary.”
“Wait, you said no work?” I repeated, trying to ignore the part of his sentence that mentioned shock. “But that's the whole reason we're here. Are you sure?”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, I'm sure. He needs to rest. If you bring him work that he can do in bed and without getting his heart-rate up, I'll allow it.” He gave me a stern look. “But no crawling around under furniture. He needs as little stress on his heart as possible.”
I nodded, but grudgingly. This was going to make this week a lot more difficult.
“Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to send some of the findings off to a cardiologist to get his opinion on them.” Dr. Verner stood, and I rose with him to shake his hand. “If you have any more questions, please let me know and I'll be happy to answer them.”
I knew I should have a million questions, but there was only one that I could think of.
“Can I go see him?”
Dr. Verner smiled. “Of course. He's sleeping right now, but you're welcome to go in.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I replied, shaking his hand. I grinned at Charlotte and then took off for the door at the quietest sprint I could manage.
I paused for a moment with my hand on the doorknob. My whole body was shaking. I was afraid that I would see him hooked up to a bajillion machines like Mom had been. Slowly, I held my breath and opened the door.
Inside, Dad was fast asleep in a massive four-poster bed. For the first time in my life, he looked small. Human. The man who was always my super hero suddenly looked like an ordinary person. I stifled a sob and took a step further inside. There were some monitors and wires, but I was glad that he looked like he was sleeping normally. He was even wearing the pajamas I had gotten him for Christmas two years ago.
“Hi, Daddy,” I whispered, kneeling at his side.
I took his hand in mine, glad to feel it warm and full of life. He looked so peaceful, that if I hadn't just experienced the day, I never would have guessed that anything was wrong. His cheeks were pink again and his chest moved in a comfortable, easy rise and fall.
I kissed his hand, holding it to my cheek. I could feel the steady pulse of his heart through his wrist. “Don't leave me, Daddy. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, too.”
He just kept sleeping, and I finally let the tears I had been holding back all day stream silently down my face.
Chapter 9
I sat at the kitchen table with my computer, tablet, and several maps of the house scattered around me as I worked. A glass of lemonade sat half-full beside me, but I had mostly forgotten about it. I had to come up with a new plan on how to appraise everything in the house on the same timescale, but with my father laid up in bed. It was going to take some doing, but I think I had figured out a way to get it all done.
The kitchen light flickered on overhead, making me blink as the light blinded me. The sun must have set at least an hour ago without me noticing the change.
“Thank you,” I said, trying to focus on the person joining me in the kitchen. “I didn't realize how dark it had gotten.”
Mr. Belrose stood at the light switch. He was wearing a dark blue dress shirt and black dress pants that seemed like they might be a bit much for the tropical heat¸ even with the air conditioner on in the house. I was almost too warm in my linen pants and a tank top. I had abandoned the light, conservative sweater I wore to cover my arms hours ago.
“How are you doing?” he asked, taking a step further into the kitchen and then pausing as if he didn't want to scare me. His eyes were tired and the scar across his cheek and eyebrow looked deeper and darker than they had this morning. I thought of his smile and just how long ago that sunrise had been. It felt like weeks instead of just a day.
I opened my mouth, ready to say the platitudes that everyone says, but then I looked at the table. He had been there today. I didn't have to lie and say “good.”
“I'm not sure, to be honest,” I answered truthfully. “ I'm working on it, but I'm not sure. It's been kind of a crazy day.”
He nodded, his gray eyes full of understanding and shadows.
“I want you to know, though, that we'll still complete the appraisal on time,” I informed him. I picked up a piece of paper and frowned at it. “Well, pretty close to on time. It might take me a day or two extra, but I'll have it done by the time of the auction even if I have to work twenty-four hours a day to do it.”
“Good.”
A polite, but awkward silence hung in the air between us as he hovered in the doorway. He looked at me, his gray eyes taking in every detail. I knew I must look like a mess. I could see the tangles of my red hair from the corners of my eyes and I certainly felt like a disaster.
“Have you eaten anything today?” He finally asked, taking another step into the kitchen.
“Um...” I tried to remember, but I honestly couldn't recall the last bite of food I had put in my mouth. I wasn't about to tell him that though. “I'm sure I have...”
My stomach grumbled loudly, betraying me.
“I'll make you something then,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he went to the fridge.
“You really don't have to go to any trouble, Mr. Belrose.” I watched in horror as the billionaire opened the fridge and began piling ingredients onto the counter. I was sure he had much better things to do than make some random employee dinner.
“It's no trouble. I was going to make some for myself anyway,” he replied, pulling out a pan.
“Thank you.” I bit my lip for a second. “And thank you for all your help today with my dad. I really appreciate it, Mr. Belrose.”
“It was no trouble at all. I'm just glad I was there.” He stopped and looked at me, his blue eyes going to mine and holding me captive. “Please, call me Bastian. If you're going to have me save family members and then sit in my kitchen in the dark, we might as well be on a first name basis.”
“Okay... Bastian.” I smiled. Saying his first name felt strange, but wonderful. I knew I would probably end up calling him Mr. Belrose out of habit, since he was still my employer, but I liked it. It felt right in my mouth.
“Do you like turkey or ham better?” he asked, looking up again from his cooking.
“Turkey,” I responded. I watched him choose a knife and pull out a cutting board, wondering what kind of billionaire prepared his own food, let alone the food for others. “Shouldn't Lucia be doing this?”
He stopped and looked up. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Because you're a billionaire and it's her job?”
He set the knife down for a moment. “Lucia isn't my chef. She's the housekeeper who happens to enjoy cooking. She's at home with her family.” He picked the knife back up and began chopping some sort of vegetable. “Why would I make her stay for me when that's not her job?”
“Oh... I didn't realize she was the housekeeper and not your chef.” I felt rather silly, and I tried to hide it by stacking up my papers into a neat pile. He threw some bacon into a pan and I could hear it sizzle as he continued to chop. “You don't have a chef?”
“When I'm in New York, I do. Here, I enjoy making my own food.” He stopped chopping and grinned. “Though, I do enjoy the leftovers Lucia leaves for me. She makes the most amazing jerk chicken.”
“I can believe it,” I said, remembering how good the french toast was this morning. My stomach rumbled again. The bacon smelled wonderful and I was suddenly very hungry. “Do you want some help? It feels a little strange to have a billionaire making me dinner.”
Bastian moved the pan holding the bacon, causing the air to fill with sizzles and pops. He then turned and gave me a playful glare. “That's twice now that you've mentioned my net worth. It honestly doesn't affect my cooking ability. I promise. This will be good.”
“Sorry.” I blushed and played with a loose strand of hair. “I guess I've just never talked to someone who makes my year's salary in a week.”
“You're doing it again,” he informed me, raising his eyebrows in warning. “And besides, it's more like your year's salary in a day, not a week.”
I opened my mouth to protest until I realized he was joking with me. I giggled and he grinned at me.
“Fair enough.” I sat back in my chair, watching him work. He moved around the kitchen with a calm serenity that I envied. When I cooked, I looked like someone on speed or with their hair on fire. “Where'd you learn to cook? Is that a class you have to take at Billionaire University?”
He laughed, a sound I hadn't heard yet. He had a great laugh. An infectious happy laugh that made my day instantly brighter. He swished the pan with the bacon in it again, making sure everything was cooking evenly before going to mix something in a bowl. I had no idea what he was making, but it sure smelled wonderful.
“No, I learned it from my mom.” He tasted whatever was in the bowl and then added more spice. “She was a gourmet chef and she did her best to teach me.”
My brain caught on the use of past tense. She was a gourmet chef.
“What about your dad?” I asked, trying to steer clear of the dead mother.
“He was a electrician.” Bastion tasted the mixture again and set it to the side, content with whatever was in it. “But he loved my mom's cooking and wasn't half bad in the kitchen himself.”
Again, parent in the past tense. Both of his parents must be gone then, I thought to myself. For a moment, I wondered what today must have been like for him. While I had nearly lost my father, he had already lost both his parents.
I didn't know quite what to say, but luckily he had finished and was coming around to the table with his creation in hand. He looked incredibly pleased with himself and it made me smile.
“Voila,” he said, presenting the most amazing sandwich I had ever seen. Thick french bread layered with turkey, bacon, avocados, cheese, lettuce, tom
atoes, and some sort of creamy sauce awaited me.
He sat down in the seat across from me, but waited for me to take the first bite. I carefully picked up the beautiful sandwich and tried it.
It was the best sandwich I had ever tasted in my entire life. The vegetables were just the right level of crispy compared to the bread and meat and the sauce was some sort of ranch dressing that brought out every other flavor. It was like taking a little bite of heaven in sandwich form.
“This is amazing,” I gasped, stuffing another bite into my mouth. He grinned, obviously pleased with himself as I thoroughly enjoyed his culinary creation.
“What are you working on?” Bastian asked once I started to slow down my bites. He motioned to the paperwork still scattered across the table.
“Plan B,” I explained. “With Dad out of commission, I had to come up with a new plan.”
“Go on,” he replied, smiling at me. He took another bite, but seemed genuinely interested in having a conversation. “Tell me more.”
“Okay.” I smiled, feeling flattered. I was actually quite grateful for any excuse to get to talk to him. His gray eyes were warm again in the yellow light of the kitchen. They weren't quite as bright as this morning, but the longer he sat, the less shadows seemed to haunt his face. “I'll take pictures of everything tomorrow. We needed the photos for the auction catalog, but this way Dad can appraise some things through photograph and keep up on all the paperwork, leaving me time to do the rest.”
“Appraisal by photograph?” Bastian raised his perfectly groomed eyebrows. “You mean I didn't need to fly you both out here?”
“No, you still did.” I blushed as I realized he was teasing me again. “A lot of this needs to actually be looked at, but some things, like that picture you saw me working on this morning, already have certificates of authenticity. From there it's just verifying the certificate and assigning a price.”