by Joya Ryan
“Will he continue to get worse? With his memory?” I asked.
“I am sorry to say that he will likely continue down this path. However, with treatment, we can slow the process significantly. He will have good days where he is likely to understand everything, recognized everyone and nothing seems amiss. There will also be bad days where he can be extremely disoriented. Of course, there will also be many days where it is somewhere in between. The brain is a powerful, sensitive machine. But catching this now and starting treatment is the best thing for him.”
“Of course,” my mother whispered.
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Also, based on what your mother has been telling me, and the behavior of your father when he is at his worst, an in-house health care provider wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
My throat hurt. My mother had been keeping the details of my father’s progression from me if the doctor was thinking it was bad enough to have daily medical help.
“Thank you so much, Dr. Forman. I really appreciate you talking with me today.”
“Absolutely, Megan. I understand you’re living in New York so I will discuss the details of treatment with your mother, but don’t hesitate to call if you have questions.”
“Thank you,” I said again.
“I’ll hang up and let you ladies talk.”
A click sounded over the line. “You still there, Mom?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Daddy?” I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice, but it was impossible.
“Like I said, we didn’t want to worry you.” My mother wasn’t a dishonest woman, she just omitted the truth when she didn’t want to speak about things. Whenever she was vague, it usually meant she was hiding something. And for the past few months, vague didn’t even begin to describe her.
My chest ached with guilt. I should have known that things were getting worse. Should have been more persistent in my questions, because after hearing Dr. Forman’s diagnosis, things were not fine.
“Well, I am beyond worried, so please tell me the truth. Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not, honey. I don’t like my daughter sending me money every month.” There was a slight sob laced on the last word and it broke my heart.
“Mom, don’t be upset. I want to help. It’s my fault you’re in the situation in the first place.”
“You stop that right now, Megan Marie. You did nothing wrong.”
“I convinced you to risk your house, your retirement in something that I should have known was too good to be true, and I lost it.”
“Oh, Megan,” her voice was so soft, so understanding, so worried. She had never blamed me. Never yelled. Not once. Not even when they lost everything. “Tim was the one who cheated us. You were trying to help. I don’t want to hear you say otherwise again.”
I lowered my head and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to keep the tears behind my eyes where they belonged. She didn’t want to fight with me about this the same way I didn’t want her to fight with me about the money. I knew what I sent to her was just enough to keep the house out of foreclosure…barely.
Between the needed daily help with my dad and his new treatments, the mountain of needs was far outweighing the means. If we had to look into hiring a live-in nurse—because there was no way my dad would function in a nursing home where everything was new and unfamiliar—I had a feeling things were on the verge of changing for the worst.
“I love you, Mom.” It was the only way to end this conversation. Arguing with her right now wouldn’t do anything. Both of them were tired and scared and needed time to process everything they’d just been told.
“I love you too.”
“Can I talk to Daddy?”
“Of course.” There was a pause then my father came on the line.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Daddy!”
“Who’s on the line?” he asked.
I heard my mother mumble something in the background. I didn’t hear it clearly, but it sounded like she was trying to explain who I was.
“What? No, there’s no Megan here.”
“No, Daddy. I’m Megan.”
“I think you have the wrong number.”
My skin surged tight and my chest suddenly felt like it was trying to support steel weights instead of my lungs.
“Daddy, it’s me, Megan. Your daughter”
“I’m sorry, honey. Your father is really tired right now.” My mother sounded flustered and upset.
“He doesn’t remember me, does he?” I tried to keep the words steady, but it was no use. The other day when he’d called me Fresca, he had rallied quickly. But it was different this time. There was no recognition in his voice.
“Of course he does. He just…he just has good and bad days. You heard what Dr. Forman said, some days this just happens.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. My entire body hurt as though all my limbs had fallen asleep. My father was forgetting me.
“Tell him I love him,” was all I could choke out. “I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, honey.”
I hung up and bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, clamped a palm over my forehead and let the pain of the truth sink in.
My father’s mind was dying and I couldn’t do anything to help.
My mother and the doctor would speak later this week about treatments and schedules and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was sending her into a gun battle holding a knife. Money, insurance—we didn’t have either—would be questions I didn’t want her to face alone.
The cabbie continued to weave through downtown Manhattan and I looked out the window, praying for a miracle and hoping to hell Preston meant what he said and wouldn’t fire me. I needed my job now, more than ever, and yet, remembering his warm arms wrapped around me sounded really good right now.
I leaned my head against the window, settling for a cold piece of glass against my cheek.
***
“Could have been worse news,” Emma said handing me a glass of wine and sitting on the couch next to me. “They can help him. That’s something.” Her voice was soft and soothing and yes, she was right. Slowing down the process was better than nothing.
“Yeah, I know.” I drank my wine in one long, long gulp.
“Holy hell, girl. Slow down, you’re making me look bad,” Emma said.
“Can we talk about something else?” I just needed to let everything sink in and talking about my dad right now was not something I wanted to go into.
“Of course,” Emma poured more wine into my glass and took a swallow of her own. Her long brown hair was in a messy bun on the top of her head and since she had taken her contacts out for the evening, she shoved her dark rimmed glasses up her nose. “How about we talk more about Mr. Sexy turning out to be your boss? I still can’t get over it!”
Yeah, that was a doozy. “Not just my boss, Preston is the owner.”
“Still calling him Preston, huh? Not ‘Mr. Strauss?’ ” Emma teased.
I smiled. It was such a laid-back name. Not nearly as intimidating as John Preston Strauss. The man oozed self-assurance and all his alpha male swagger and charm had worked on me. There was no denying it now. Problem was, I couldn’t figure out how to move on from here.
“He’s different. Like there’s different sides of him. Last night I saw the dominant aggressive side and today it was like talking to a playful frat boy.”
“God, I love frat boys.” Emma sighed and swirled her wine glass. “He seems honest though. And he could have let you get away but he didn’t.”
“Don’t start with that.”
“What? All I’m saying is it’s kind of romantic.”
I groaned and took a sip of wine. The idea of kids and house and doting husband had always been my end goal. Hell, part of me still wanted that. But for me, that particular table had turned, stranding me at the corner of Crap and Oh-shit Street.
Several
months ago I had encouraged my best friend Kate to go after Adam. He had nearly hit her with his car and borderline stalked her but I had never seen Kate so at peace. Somehow, Adam had broken through all her walls and made the light shine through my best friend. If Kate’s anxiety had a cure, it was Adam Kinkade.
While no one deserved happiness more than Kate, the idea of “happy endings,” was long gone from my list of possibilities. Emma, however, tended to like the elaborate romance idea, though she’d never admit it. Her collection of Nicolas Sparks’ movies were a dead giveaway.
“I’m over the romantic thing. I’m honestly wondering if it even exists.” I wasn’t trying to be negative, just realistic. My parents were an amazing example of love and commitment. Kate and Adam were well on their way to sunshine and rainbow town. A place that was lost on me.
Reality trumped any fictional desires of happiness that Brian hadn’t managed to destroy. Moving to New York had been my first step in letting go of the idea that love, marriage, and babies were my happily ever after. My family was struggling, and that was my focus.
Besides, relationships apparently weren’t my strong point. I had dedicated the last two years to a guy who, not only didn’t see forever when he looked at me, but also left me feeling little better than a fool. And while I never did anything with my ex-boss, Tim, he threw, not only me, but my parents under the bus. Trust, men, and emotions didn’t go together. Not in my world.
“If I ever meet the boy that did this to you I’m going to bitch slap him,” Emma said, as if pulling my thoughts out of my mind.
“He’s not worth it, trust me.”
“Yeah, well, he and his skanky lady can just rot in Chicago together. You have bigger and better things going on.”
Emma’s encouragement did help. While I kept the details about my parents’ financial situation to myself, she obviously knew about Tim going to jail and the scam, as well as Brian and Grace. But she was right. I did have a good thing going here. Well, better than what I had going in Chicago.
I always wanted a career of my own in business or finance. I had moved up quickly at the hotel and was making decent money. I was also in the greatest city in the country and had good friends and great parents. I was better without Brian. I knew that. But the residual crap left over from a cheating asshole ex-boyfriend and thieving felon for a former boss really shook my confidence. I always thought I was a great judge of character, now I had a hard time trusting my judgment on what to order for lunch.
“Okay, enough about this.” Emma clapped her hands. “Tell me more about today. After the one-night stand.”
I smiled and told her what Preston had said earlier.
“And you turned him down?”
“There was nothing to accept.”
“You said he asked you to dinner.”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t tell if he was serious or playing a game. And either way, it’s not a good idea. What if we go out, and it doesn’t work, then he fires me? Or worse, I am stuck needing a job that reports to a guy who I have a ‘history’ with? Talk about awkward.”
“Good point. I think powerful men like that always have an agenda, but Meg, he wouldn’t have asked you in if he didn’t at least like you a little bit. He could have his pick of women and he called you.”
“Thanks a lot,” I grumbled.
“You know what I mean. You’re hot and you’re funny and I’m sure you kick ass in the sack.”
“I just don’t get it. He offered dinner, then somehow turned it around on me. Like twisted my words and made me feel like I was the one who was approaching him with something.” I shook my head.
“Yep, that’s called the Jedi-Mind-Trick.” She took a drink of her wine. “The douche 2.0 version is the worst.”
I smiled. Preston wasn’t mean, or an ass. Well, kind of…but not in an overly assy way. I pinched my nose, even my thoughts were sounding lame.
“Do you like him?”
I considered that for a moment. He was irritating. Intense. Handsome. Sexy as hell and the way he moved his strong body so fluidly over mine was something out of a Greek god training manual. He was definitely rocking some good aspects. But, a single fact remained that I couldn’t ignore.
“He owns the hotel I work in. Tell me that’s not a bad idea.”
“Oh, that’s a terrible idea,” Emma instantly agreed. “But that’s not what I asked.” Heat stained my cheeks. “I knew it! You have it bad for him.”
“Do not.”
“I can see it on your face.”
“A night of good sex after a drought can do that,” I defended.
“So it was good?”
It was beyond good. Everything about Preston was new and unexpected. Yet I instantly felt comfortable with him. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have slept with him or spoken to him the way I had earlier today.
“It doesn’t really matter. I need to just worry about keeping my job.”
Emma held out his wine glass and clanked it against mine. “Well if anything, I’d say you earned a raise.”
Chapter Four
“Is there something you want to say?” Brooke asked and handed me a note.
It was Monday afternoon and I had just walked into the hotel to relieve Brooke and start my shift. It had been a long weekend and I was anxious to occupy my mind outside the four walls of my apartment.
“Excuse me?” I took the note from her and unfolded the piece of paper.
Have Miss Riley come to my office first thing when she arrives.
~ J.P. Strauss
I glanced up to see Brooke smiling at me.
“What’s going on with you and Mr. Strauss?”
“Nothing.”
She raised her brows. I straightened my stance, made sure my usual black pencil skirt and white button-up was crisp and neat, and made the long walk to the office, and person, I had been dreading all weekend. Of course that dread was interrupted by bouts of daydreaming and naughty thoughts, but still.
I wasn’t even out of earshot when whispers instantly began circling behind the front desk that I was getting fired. My skin broke into a cold sweat and my mouth went dry. Once again, a stupid decision made without adequate research was threatening to bite me in the ass.
How could I have slept with Preston Strauss?
A long elevator ride and too much silence later, I rapped lightly on the office door.
“Good morning, Miss Riley,” Preston said, opening the door.
“Hi.” I kept my head up, but my eyes averted.
No matter how much courage I tried to muster, I just couldn’t bring my gaze to meet his. A single look made me lose focus. Right now, shame was my name and I couldn’t lose my job. It wasn’t just me counting on the money. There wasn’t much I wasn’t willing to do to keep my parent in that house, including beg, especially since I had three home-care services call me back with quotes this morning. And it looked as though I’d need to find a second job just to cover the cost of a part-time health-companion, which Medicaid didn’t cover.
“Are you unwell?”
I frowned and looked at him. “I’m fine. Ready to start my shift.”
“About that.” He rounded his desk, and that was when I noticed an older man with light gray hair and a suit that almost swallowed him. “Megan, this is my attorney, Lars Blackman.”
“Oh shit,” I breathed, and it wasn’t until Preston arched a brow at me that I realized I said it out loud.
Lars Blackman was a world-renowned attorney even though he looked like the sweetest thing in the world. At just over five and a half feet tall with small shoulders and wrinkly face, he resembled a Shar Pei. The man was ruthless. I wasn’t just getting fired, I was getting annihilated.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Miss Riley.”
Too shocked and terrified to do anything else, I sat, my skirt hugging tight as I crossed my legs and attempted to sit up straight and not burst into tears. No matter how hard I tried to look put-together and professional, the fact rem
ained that it was this very uniform that had been rumpled and on the floor of Preston’s penthouse a few nights ago. I felt like a fraud. Like he could see right through me.
“Care for a drink?” he asked, sitting behind his desk. Mr. Blackman remained standing at his side. Two against one.
“No, thank you.”
Preston folded his arms and sat back in his chair. He looked incredible. Dark green button-up with white cuffs and collar. The first two buttons were undone and the dark gray pants and black leather belt completed the “rich and powerful” ensemble. Of course the reputably lethal attorney standing on his right didn’t hurt the image either.
Mr. Blackman handed Preston a hefty file folder. He placed it on his desk and threaded his fingers over the top of it.
“I have a proposition for you, Megan.”
I folded my lips together and tried not to fidget. “What kind of proposition?”
“A marriage proposition.”
My vision went blurry and it took me a good three seconds to realize it was because I was blinking my eyes rapidly. I looked at Mr. Blackman. He was stoic. Perfectly calm and not an ounce of rapture on his face. Then I looked at Preston. Same expression.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand?” My voice was somewhere between a laugh, scoff, and utter confusion.
“I’d like to marry you,” he said with no more emotion than explaining the weather.
I had to be hearing him wrong. “But I—don’t you mean you want to fire me?”
“No. Why would I fire my fiancé?”
“Why would you ask me to be your fiancé?” My heart was pounding and I was pretty sure I was going to pass out. I cupped my throat and tried to manually force myself to swallow. This was either a cruel joke or Preston Strauss was off his meds.
“I’ve given a lot of thought to your terms and I accept.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” He looked at Mr. Blackman and the lawyer shook his head, agreeing with Preston’s statement.
I was in the twilight zone, and not the kind with the hot tween vampires. No. I’m talking full-blown crazy town.