"To say he'll be thrilled that you're going public with this is the understatement of the year."
"Telling him will be the highlight of my day." Her expression brightened. "Actually, I had an idea. Do you think we could videotape the meeting? Then we could play it for him in his hospital bed. My first choice would be for him to make the announcement himself, but I doubt the medical staff would go for us setting up videoconferencing in ICU. So this is the next best thing. He'll be able to see the event firsthand. You think that's overkill?"
"I think it's terrific. He'll watch the tape a hundred times. He'll probably make all the nurses on night shift watch with him—that is, those who are still speaking to him." Dylan eyed her intently. "What about your mother? Have you prepared her for the media circus?"
A nod. "She knows my plan. I'll be calling my grandparents this afternoon to fill them in, as well. That's going to be a difficult conversation, especially if it turns out I'm a compatible kidney donor. The president of Ruisseau part they'll handle; the surgery is another thing entirely. But they're bright people. It won't come out of left field. And my mother will drive over there this evening, to help field the media if they start calling—and to ease things with my grandparents' circle of friends."
"What about you? Are you ready? The media's going to hunt you down like a fox."
"I know. I'll manage."
"You'll stay at my place tonight," Dylan stated flatly. "At least that way they can't hound you until the wee hours of the morning."
Sabrina gave him a faint smile. "But you can?"
"Mercilessly. Any complaints?"
"Not a one."
Their welcome moment of banter was interrupted by the ringing of the phone.
With a deer-in-the-headlights look, Sabrina leaned over her desk, picked up the receiver. "Sabrina Radcliffe." A pause. "Can't you just tell me...? Fine. I'm on my way."
She hung up, turned to Dylan. "That was Mary in ICU. She said Dr. Radison wants to see me now. He's on his way up from the lab—with the results."
"Did she give you any information?"
"No." Sabrina spoke slowly and calmly, but inside she was quaking. "She said he needs to speak with me directly." Scribbling a note for Donna, Sabrina snatched up her purse and headed for the door. Abruptly, she stopped and turned around, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue and fighting her stubborn need to always appear strong. "I'd rather not do this alone. Would you go with me?"
A tender look flashed in Dylan's eyes. He picked up the phone, dialed his secretary's extension and got her voice mail. "Nina, it's me. It's about seven-thirty. I'll be out of the office for a chunk of the morning. My cell will probably be turned off, so I'll check in with you when I can. If there's an emergency, call Mount Sinai. I'm joining Ms. Radcliffe there for a meeting." He replaced the phone in its cradle. "Come on. Let's go."
8:10 A.M.
Mt. Sinai
Dr. Radison was waiting when they were shown into his office. His brows lifted when he saw Dylan, but he didn't comment, just gestured for them to have a seat.
"I asked Mr. Newport to be here with me," Sabrina explained in response to the questioning look. "I want him to be part of this discussion. In all ways but blood, he's Carson's son. He's been part of his life a lot longer than I have. So even though my biological ties are crucial here, so is Dylan's presence."
"I have no problem with that." Dr. Radison opened a file on his desk. "I won't waste time. Here's what we've got. Without getting too technical, there are six criteria in the crossmatch test. If three or more of those criteria match, a transplant is feasible. Obviously, the more, the better. In your case, we've got five out of six."
Sabrina's heart started racing. "Five out of six? That's very good, isn't it?"
He nodded. "In addition, it doesn't appear that Mr. Brooks has any antibodies that would attack your kidney. In short, these results are extremely positive."
"Positive," Sabrina repeated. "But not conclusive. Not to the point where we know the transplant's a go."
"Assuming it's needed," Radison reminded her. "And, no, we're not at that point. Not yet."
Dylan leaned forward. "What happens now?"
"Now, Ms. Radcliffe sees Dr. Renee Mendham, one of the finest nephrologists in the country. Dr. Mendham's already got Ms. Radcliffe's medical history. I forwarded that on to her. I'm sure she's reviewed it. Next, she'll do a complete physical and a battery of lab tests. We have to make sure Ms. Radcliffe is in perfect health. Otherwise, there's no way we'd consider letting her undergo transplant surgery."
"And if all that goes smoothly, there's that renal angiogram you mentioned," Dylan remembered aloud.
"Exactly. That will give us a look at Ms. Radcliffe's kidneys, the surrounding arteries and veins that transport the blood supply to and from them, and the ureters that do the draining into the bladder. The idea is to get a technical look at the area to determine which kidney will be taken for the transplant—preferably the left because the vein is longer—and to establish the details of your specific procedure. Obviously, we also want to make sure there are no anatomical complications that would preclude the surgery. Dr. Mendham will describe the test to you in detail. It's an out-patient radiological procedure, using a local anesthetic."
"There are still so many question marks," Sabrina murmured. "I want guarantees."
"There are none. But concentrate on the fact that you've cleared some major hurdles. The results of the tissue-typing and crossmatch put you right up there in the probable category. Let's move forward with that in mind."
"How soon can I see Dr. Mendham? Today? Tomorrow? Say the word, and I'll clear my schedule."
Radison shot her a wry look. "I'm beginning to see the family resemblance. Father and daughter steamrollers. Lucky for you, I'm getting used to it, after two weeks with Mr. Brooks. So I jumped the gun and called Dr. Mendham. She moved her schedule around, as well. She'll see you Wednesday morning at ten." He passed a business card across the desk. "Here's her office address and phone number. She's a shoot-from-the-hip, top-notch nephrologist. You'll like her."
"I'm sure I will. Thanks for accelerating the process." Sabrina picked up the card and studied the information. Then, she raised her head. "Have you filled Carson in yet?"
"Of course not. These test results are yours, to hear and to share. If you're asking if you can share them with him now, the answer is yes. He woke up about five minutes after you called. Let me warn you, he's ornery as a bear. He's also forbidden me to let you donate your kidney, no matter what the tissue-typing results show. Have fun."
"I might not have fun, but I'll get my way." Sabrina rose, acknowledging Radison's droll warning with a stubborn lift of her chin. "Like you said, father and daughter steamrollers. Well, when I'm on overdrive, there's no stopping me. Be prepared for some choice words from Carson to rock the halls of ICU. Ignore them. I promise to keep him from going overboard and jeopardizing his condition. Besides, it won't take him long to figure out that this is one battle he won't win. He's getting my kidney if I have to transplant it myself."
"How reassuring." Radison came to his feet as well. "I'll go alert the nurses, tell them to man their battle stations. Mr. Newport, I hope you're a good referee."
Dylan's lips curved in amusement. "Actually, I think I'll let Sabrina and Carson duke this one out. It should be quite a showdown. It'll also be a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see Carson bested." His amusement vanished, and a look of intense emotion crossed his face. "He couldn't have picked a better time to lose. And, as a result, to win."
CHAPTER 22
8:35 A.M.
Carson was in heated argument with a nurse when Sabrina and Dylan walked in.
"Don't bother bringing me that liquid crap, because I'm not eating it," he was barking. "No Jell-O. No applesauce. No hospital shit period. Starting tonight, I want steak, medium-rare, and a baked potato. Or some grilled red snapper. Move me to that cushy floor, Eleven West. The one that's more like the Ritz-Ca
rlton than a hospital. Over there, they'll bring me some real food."
The trim, middle-aged nurse finished taking his vital signs, glaring at him as she jotted them down. "Believe me, Mr. Brooks, moving you out of here is one of our top priorities. The second Dr. Radison gives the word, you'll be on your way. Eleven West's already been alerted. As a result, half the staff members there have requested transfers."
Sabrina cleared her throat to stifle a chuckle.
The nurse glanced up, spotting Dylan and Sabrina. "Ah, you have visitors. My cue to go. What a shame." She leveled a no-nonsense look at Carson. "Your bland, uninspiring breakfast should be here any minute now. Eat it. It's the only way to build up your strength so you can make that move to Eleven West." She hurried to the door, rolling her eyes at Sabrina and Dylan. "Good luck," she muttered under her breath. "He's in top form today."
"So I see." Sabrina folded her arms across her breasts and gave a resigned shake of her head as she walked toward the bed. "I go away for a few days and you escalate your campaign to terrorize the staff. Okay, I'm back. Now you can pick on someone your own size."
"You're not my size. You're tiny. Only your mouth is big."
"That's heredity for you," Sabrina retorted. "Like all my obnoxious qualities, I got that one from you." She used her sparring time to scrutinize Carson, noting the changes that had taken place since she saw him on Friday. She was relieved and encouraged by what she saw. He had real color in his face, his breathing was even, and his chest tube was gone, as were several of the contraptions he'd been hooked up to last week.
For the first time, Sabrina knew in her gut that her father was on the mend.
"Sit," Carson ordered, gesturing for her and Dylan to pull up chairs. "You're even crankier than I am," he informed Sabrina. "And you look lousy. Didn't you get any sleep this weekend?"
"Not a wink. I was too excited about rushing over here for a dose of emotional abuse."
Carson's lips quirked. "When did you get back?"
"Late last night." Sabrina pulled her chair directly up to the bed. "And before you ask, yes, I did Ruisseau work on the plane—both ways."
"She was also at her desk before dawn today, reviewing stacks of departmental updates," Dylan added, lowering himself into his seat and crossing one long leg over the other. "She comes in earlier than you do and stays later. Frankly, I don't think you're paying her enough."
"Great. Now I've got two wiseasses to contend with." Carson eyed Dylan, his caustic words belied by his affectionate tone and the warmth in his gaze. "Why are you here this early? Did you just miss me? Or did Nina boot you out?"
"I asked Dylan to come with me," Sabrina provided. "I wanted him here when I got the tissue-typing results— which I just did. I came here straight from Dr. Radison's office."
"How are things going at CCTL?" Carson demanded, pointedly ignoring the subject Sabrina wanted to broach. "Are you satisfied with the way it's being run in your absence? And how did things go with those two mega-corporations that dominated your weekend? Did you get them on track, or were they the old-school types whose mind-sets are so rigid there's no getting through?"
"CCTL's running like clockwork," Sabrina replied without missing a beat. "Deborah and Mark are doing a bang-up job. The weekend was a success. Both companies went home with a clearly delineated strategy, and as a far more cohesive team than when they arrived. And the blood test says you and I are a match made in heaven. So, if you need a kidney, you're getting mine. Anything else?"
Carson's jaw set, and he gave a hard shake of his head. "It's not happening, Sabrina. I already told that to Radison."
"I know. And I told him I was coming in here to set you straight. This isn't your choice to make. It's mine. And I've made it."
"Not if I say no, you haven't."
"I beg to differ with you. I'm twenty-seven—way too old for you to order around. You wanted to meet your daughter. Well, you have. You wanted me in your life. You've got that, too. Now I want something from you. I want you to learn how to grit your teeth and accept my help. Because you're getting it whether or not you want it. I'll declare you incompetent if I have to, and sign the papers as your next of kin."
"Really." Carson was clearly enjoying this battle of wits. "And how will you manage that? I'm not incompetent. I'm more lucid than you are."
"I'll he." A corner of Sabrina's mouth lifted, and she slid a sidelong glance at Dylan. "I know an amazing lawyer who, I'd be willing to bet, would take the case— to protect Ruisseau's interests, of course."
"Don't bet," Carson cautioned. "You'd lose. The lawyer you're looking at doesn't lie. He also doesn't screw me over."
"True." Dylan took his cue, jumping in with both feet. "But, in this case, I'd make an exception."
Carson's head snapped around, his stunned gaze boring into Dylan. "You're kidding."
"Nope. The way I see it, I might be lying, but I wouldn't be screwing you over. I'd be doing you the biggest favor of your life. You're just too goddamned stubborn to see it." Dylan blew out an exasperated breath. "Carson, stop being an obstinate pain in the ass. Give in gracefully. You're not going to win."
"The hell I'm not."
"Fine. Then call Sabrina's bluff. I'll come up with some great language declaring you mentally incompetent. Keep raving that you're not accepting an ideal donor match, and you'll only lend credibility to my argument. And if I need witnesses, the nurses in ICU would line up to support my claim. They already think you're nuts."
"Sorry, Dylan, but your knight-in-shining-armor bullshit's not going to work. You and I both know you're full of it. You might try, but you could never pull this off. I know a dozen people, including Radison, who'd testify that I'm a hundred percent lucid and able to make my own decisions. They're not about to perjure themselves to help you realize your sentimental goal. This might shock you, but not everyone feels the same way about me as you do."
"I don't blame them," Sabrina commented dryly. "But that's not the point. What you're saying is that if I tried declaring you incompetent, you'd fight it—right?"
"I'd fight it and I'd win. Remember, Sabrina, I'm the ultimate street kid. There's no beating me when it comes to getting down in the dirt and slugging it out."
"I agree." Sabrina interlaced her fingers calmly. "And I'm the ultimate corporate shark. It's a role I don't much like playing, but when I do, there's no beating me when it comes to going for the jugular. It just so happens that I was trained on a different, but equally brutal, battlefield than you. So, here we have it. You played your hand. Here's mine. I'm seeing a nephrologist on Wednesday. She's got a battery of tests to run. It's going to be another month before I get the go-ahead. But once I do—which I will—and if your kidneys still haven't kicked in on their own, then you and I have a date in the operating room. If you refuse to let me be your transplant donor, I'll break my agreement with Ruisseau, walk out of your life, and never look back. Your turn."
Carson stared at her for a moment, trying to determine if she was serious or bluffing. Obviously, he didn't like the answer he found, because a flash of naked pain crossed his face. Sabrina knew she'd caused that pain, and it made her insides twist. But she stood her ground, kept her impassive veneer in place.
"I'm not bluffing this time, Carson," she reinforced quietly. "I mean it. Either I'm your daughter or I'm not. If I am, accept my heartfelt need to be there for you. Act like a father. If you can't, then I guess we've got nothing to build on. And nothing more to say."
A long minute of silence ticked by.
"Damn, you're good," Carson muttered at last. "I guess the corporate battlefield's even bloodier than the streets." He threw up his hands. "Fine. You win. I'll take your damned kidney."
She smiled sweetly. "Thank you. Now that that's set-tied, I have some other news to share. I think this news will be a lot easier for you to swallow. In fact, it might even make you stop bellowing like a moose."
He arched a suspicious brow. "I'm listening."
Sabrina d
idn't make him wait. "I did one other thing on the plane ride back to LaGuardia besides my Ruisseau work. I drafted an announcement telling the entire staff who I am and what my position in the company is. With your approval, I'd like to make that announcement this afternoon."
Carson coughed, reaching over for a glass of water and taking a few swallows. "Tickle in my throat," he muttered, fooling no one, since they all knew how affected he was by Sabrina's decision. Regaining his composure, he placed the glass on the nightstand. "Are you sure you're ready?" He studied Sabrina's face. "There's no timeline here. And no pressure—not from me, or anyone else."
"I realize that. I don't feel pressure. Not from anyone or anything—including today's blood test results. I made this decision separate and apart from what I learned from Dr. Radison today. I want to make this announcement, Carson. I planned on doing so whether or not I was a compatible donor match."
She paused, then blurted out her thoughts without censoring them. "I've had an amazing couple of weeks. Getting to know you has been like being infused with a constant jolt of adrenaline—and we've just touched the tip of the iceberg in terms of our relationship and what it might grow into. As for having a hand in running Ruisseau, I've never felt more alive, more challenged—and more honored. Your company encompasses all the positive team spirit and drive for success that I try to convey in my CCTL workshops. It's awesome to see its effects firsthand. I'm chomping at the bit to see what happens next. Most of all, I'm dying to get you back in that CEO chair, so I can work by your side. There's so much we can accomplish. And with you back where you belong, and me there to add my energy and perspective to the equation, Ruisseau's going to go through the roof."
A corner of Carson's mouth lifted. "So you were bluffing about walking away if I refused to take your kidney."
She shook her head. "No, I wasn't. Which—given the superlatives I just spouted, and how excited I am to take part in Ruisseau's future—should tell you exactly how much my decision to be your kidney donor means to me.
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