Four Billionaires for St. Patrick's Day

by Sierra Sparks

  It’s not Harlow. It’s no one. Just a package my postman left at the front door. My latest installment from my Books & Bubble Bath subscription.

  Great.

  As if I didn’t already feel like a walking cliché, now I’m seriously thinking of trying to mend my broken heart by losing myself in a romance novel while soaking in the tub. I might as well adopt twelve cats and call myself an official Old Spinster.

  I’m surprised to find that it’s mid-afternoon. I’ve been sleeping for a really long time.

  I’ll admit it. I called in to work, decided to skip my classes, and took a mental health day. This is my very first one, ever.

  I’ve heard of such things, but I thought they were for weak-minded idiots. The type of person who falls in love with someone who would believe a slimy doctor over her, and who would be so morose once that person breaks up with her that she needs to stay in bed all day, and maybe stay in the bathtub all evening to boot.

  And then I decide to take action. I don’t deserve a bubble bath until I’ve figured out what Dr. Davis’ deal is.

  Clearly Harlow doesn’t want anything to do with me right now, and how can I blame him, when undoubtedly Dr. Davis got to him first and painted me as some crazy stalker who is making Harlow look bad so that I can have him all to myself?

  I need to figure out a way to convince Harlow that it’s Dr. Davis— not me— who can’t be trusted. I need to do it to possibly save my relationship with Harlow, and to save my internship and future career.

  On a hunch, I drive to Dr. Davis’ office. This is risky, as either Dr. Davis or Harlow could see me, but at this point, what do I have to lose? I park at the far end of the parking lot, furthest away from the entrance, trying to formulate a plan.

  I think about what I know, which isn’t much, except that Harlow is the only patient Dr. Davis latches onto so tightly. There’s no one else he touts as being a success story, or brags about, or makes work for him. So what is it about Harlow that Dr. Davis needs so badly? And what is it about his other patients that isn’t worthy of public attention?

  I wonder if I should wait until I see Dr. Davis come out, and somehow go in and steal all his files. I wish I had a good disguise so that I could pretend to be a different patient myself. Or so that I could sneak in and talk to them.

  None of these ideas are very good, but at least I’m doing something besides sleeping or taking a bath. It has to be a step in the right direction.

  I know I need to have hard evidence to expose Dr. Davis as the fraud I believe him to be— although I have no idea what kind of fraud, or how, or for what reason— and even if I don’t get this evidence—even if I play ball and don’t say a word— he’ll likely find a way to destroy my career.

  As Harlow would say, it’s time to go big or go home.

  As I rack my brain, I see a lone figure exit the clinic and enter the parking lot. He’s limping, and it looks like the simple task of walking to his car is difficult for him. As he gets a big closer, I can see that he’s wearing a mask of some sort.

  Here’s my chance. I jump out of my car and head his way, hoping that neither Dr. Davis nor Harlow are around, and that they won’t happen to walk outside and spot me here.

  “Hello there,” I call out, extending an arm when I’m close enough. “Would you like help walking to your car?”

  “No, I’m fine,” he says.

  But then he takes my arm anyway. “Well, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. No problem. How are you today?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Hoping I don’t seem too out of place, I add, “I’m Whitney Reid.”

  “Jesse Morrow,” he says.

  The name sounds familiar, and I feel as though I’ve seen him around the office before, but I can’t place him.

  Then he takes a deep breath, and then asks, “Do you work here? With Dr. Davis?”

  “Me? No? Well… not exactly.”

  “Do you know Harlow? Or Lance?”

  I look at him again and it dawns on me.

  This is the patient that Lance had said he and Harlow had visited, while Mae was his nurse.

  I decide to tell him the truth. That’s often the best route and I’ve heard from everyone what a great guy he is, so, he deserves the best.

  “I work as a physical therapist at Piñon Physical Therapy. I do help some of Dr. Davis’ patients there, yes.”

  “I see.”

  He frowns, and then points. “That’s my car over there. I’ve heard of you guys.”

  “You have?”

  As we walk to his car, an older and unassuming Buick, I think of how I know he’s heard of us but I don’t want to see what he is going to say.

  “I had a consult there, with Dr. Davis and Lance, and Harlow too, in a different meeting. They were all really nice. But then I heard it’s where the lucky ones get to go. Like Harlow.”

  “Lucky ones?”

  Harlow?

  My ears perk up, wondering what else Jesse will say.

  “Yeah, the ones who have hope of getting better. I’m not one of them.”

  “You’re not? Why not?”

  We’re at his car now, so I drop his arm, but he just stands there, still talking to me, luckily.

  “I don’t know. I guess from what Dr. Davis said I’m pretty much a lost cause. They can’t do much to help me.”

  “Really?”

  I’m astonished. How could physical therapy not at least somewhat benefit an injured service member?

  “Yeah, and I even got to talk to Harlow before my surgery. I’m kind of mad at him actually. Even though he was nice, he made it seem like it was so easy so now I’m confused. He made it seem like this surgery was almost like some miracle I should expect.”

  He shakes his head, and I feel bad for him, for being so confused. I wish I knew how to help him, but I don’t.

  “I was also hoping he would come to my surgery, which I know it probably too big of a request and that he’s probably really busy, but I never heard anything else from him,” he says. “But I guess he can’t spend a lot of time with everyone. And that not everyone can expect as good of an outcome as he’s had. I’m trying hard not to take it personally. I’m trying hard not to be completely pessimistic, actually.”

  I frown. It surprises me that he doesn’t know Harlow was there, when I know that he was. Why wouldn’t Harlow have said something to him? Perhaps he was unconscious?

  I’m about to tell Jesse that I heard that Harlow did go see him, and Lance as well, and ask him if it’s possible he might have been in an unconscious state and not remember. Then I realize maybe Harlow doesn’t want him to know. If he did present the surgery as some magical cure all, maybe he saw Jesse in a worse condition than he thought he would be in and felt guilty. Or maybe he wanted to escape without ever having to see him again and explain.

  Perhaps I’d misjudged Harlow and built him up into some sort of schoolgirl crush fantasy. I’m not even sure what to think anymore. It’s clear that Harlow wants nothing to do with me, so I don’t want to say anything that could get me even further on anyone’s bad side around here. I just know I really wish there was something I could do to help Jesse.

  But I’m no one. Just an intern. And if I even give up a hint of trying to help a patient of Dr. Davis’ that I wouldn’t have otherwise known about, I’ll definitely be out of that internship.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell Jesse, at a loss for anything else to say.

  “Thank you for the help,” he says, with half a smile.

  He opens his car and I help him slowly lower himself into it. The least that Dr. Davis’ staff could have done was walk him to his car, I think.

  As he nods at me and drives away, I know what I have to do.

  Somehow I have to get access to Dr. Davis’ files.

  Chapter 44 – Harlow

  I’m back at Piñon, but this time I won’t be working with Whitney. In
fact, I hope not to have to see her here at all. I’m meeting with the new physical therapist assigned to me, Lance, who is one of Whitney’s bosses, the same one who showed up to watch me do the track exercises and who also went to see Jesse after his surgery, like I did.

  I’m glad he’s familiar with my case although I’m a little afraid that Whitney may have poisoned him against me, because I know they’re friends. Her loser ex was afraid she was cheating on him with Lance, who is gay, when really Whitney was just tired of his antics. Like I got tired of hers.

  Still, though, Lance had seen me perform the track exercises with his own two eyes. He has to know independently of Whitney that I’m fit for service, or else he’ll realize that soon.

  I do my best to make a good impression when I first meet him, but soon I find out he’s a nice guy who doesn’t need pretenses.

  “Harlow, good to see you again,” he says, clamping a strong yet friendly hand down on my shoulder. “I’m honored to be able to work with you.”

  “Same here,” I say. “I’ve put in some time with Whitney but I hear you’re even more experienced.”

  “Yes. Yes. Now about that… I know you’ve already gone through some of this with her, and I hate to be redundant. But just so that I have a good understanding of where we are on things, I’m going to ask you to do some of the same tests, if that’s okay with you?”

  “Sure, no sweat.”

  It’s annoying to have to repeat things, but I want to start off on the right foot, so whatever Lance wants to do is fine with me. Plus, I know I did well on those exercises before, and I’m anxious to show off my skill again, so that Lance can see that Whitney obviously wasn’t giving me enough credit in those reports she wrote.

  “Okay, let’s start by having you stand on this bar and extend your left arm…” Lance begins, and I follow his instructions perfectly.

  It’s not nearly as fun as when I was doing this same exercise with Whitney. I can’t help but remember her nice, plump ass as she stood in front of me, or the feel of her small, soft hands on my shoulder as she steadied me.

  “Very good,” Lance says.

  He runs through some more familiar exercises, taking notes and making little “hrmphs” and “hmmms” in between. His vocalizations sound vaguely positive, but I’m dying to know what he’s writing down.

  “So how am I doing, Lance?” I finally ask him.

  “You know what, Harlow, you are doing spectacularly well,” he says, sounding a little surprised.

  Now I don’t know what to think. Is everyone here inclined to doubt my abilities?

  I know I had a traumatic accident but I don’t know why they all seem so shocked that I can do simple stretches and pass easy assessments, when Dr. Davis has been working with me on all of these things for months now, and he’s helped me bounce back to where I’m almost as good as new.

  Lance runs me through some more easy tests and then both of us jump when we hear an unexpected knock at the door.

  “Dr. Davis,” says Lance, sounding as surprised as I feel. “Welcome. Come on in. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve just been observing,” Dr. Davis says.

  “Observing?”

  “From the window, and I can’t help but notice that you are repeating exercises that Harlow has already done with his previous physical therapist.”

  “Why yes,” Lance says, visibly blushing. “I’m just trying to get an accurate assessment of…”

  “And I’m just trying to not waste Harlow’s time,” Dr. Davis says, bluntly. “It’s a precious commodity and, as you know, he’d like to work on things that will help him advance faster.”

  I’m not sure whether to be grateful or upset at Dr. Davis. I’m glad he’s trying to move me along, but I think it’s rather unorthodox for him to be here, and I’m a bit embarrassed. On the other hand, maybe he’s trying to make sure there are no more mistakes, like there were with Whitney.

  “Of course. Dr. Davis. Whitney had suggested some exercises and stretches…”

  “Nonsense,” says Dr. Davis, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I can show you what Harlow needs to work on.”

  He enters and stretches out my left leg— the one that is still rather weak— on top of the barre. He definitely knows my problem areas. I grunt, unable to extend it all the way.

  “This is a big problem that Harlow needs help fixing,” Dr. Davis commands.

  “Oh yes, I can see that,” says Lance, furiously taking notes. “I’m glad you pointed that out.”

  I feel betrayed, as if somehow Lance should have stuck up for me. I’m not that bad.

  Sure, I know I’m not as flexible as I was before my accident, and Whitney had said she would work on that with me. Still, I’m a lot more flexible than a lot of service members, and even a lot of guys in my own unit.

  Dr. Davis continues to show Lance my problem areas, stretching me this way and that like an inflexible rag doll.

  “You see?” he says, when he’s finally done twisting me into contortions.

  “Yes,” says Lance.

  “Now, if I may have a word with you privately?”

  “Of course,” Lance says confidently, but he looks a little nervous. “I’ll be right back, Harlow.”

  He steps outside with Dr. Davis, and I’m not happy. I’m sure that Dr. Davis has to go over things about my training with Lance, and make sure he understands, but I have no idea why he can’t do it when I’m not right here. I know they have planning and training meetings about me in my absence, but I guess that’s not enough.

  Lance comes back with the same nervous smile he had on his face when he left.

  “Please excuse that interruption,” says Lance, as he picks his pen back up from the desk where he had left it. “You are most definitely a very important patient of Dr. Davis’, and we just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

  Now it’s my turn to say “of course” like a robot, as I stand around awkwardly.

  “Okay, we’ll just wrap up with some squats,” Lance says, and I obediently bend down to begin.

  “I’m so glad that our program has the chance to work with you, and with Dr. Davis,” Lance says, as he clicks the meter to count each of my squats. “It’s a fine opportunity for the facility, and I’m sure it’s helped Dr. Davis with the sale of his technology.”

  “The sale of his…?”

  I want to stop squatting, but I don’t want to give Lance any reason to think I can’t continue, so I go on, perplexed.

  I had known that Dr. Davis was trying to sell his technology and get his stocks to go public, but I thought I would be among the first to know when it actually happened. In fact, Dr. Davis had promised me some of the stock funds, for working for him.

  “Oh yes, the whole office is abuzz, because the sale of Davis Technologies made the news. Now the program will have even more money, to help more service members like you.”

  “That’s good,” I say, as the meter clicks one more time and Lance says, “All right, that’s good. That’s definitely the required amount in the minimum amount of time.”

  “So am I free to go?” I ask him.

  “You are. I’ll see you soon, and it was nice working with you.”

  I’m not even going to ask what my report to Dr. Davis will look like. I’ve learned to just rely on Dr. Davis to tell me.

  “Thanks,” I say, as I head out.

  The more I try to make sense of everything, the less I can. I look around, wondering if Dr. Davis is still here, but I don’t see him. I’ll have to catch up with him later at his office, and ask about the sale of his company. Maybe he just hasn’t had time to tell me yet.

  And I can’t help looking around to see if Whitney is anywhere in sight. She’s not, and I can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

  She’s listened to me about not calling me anymore, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s tenacious when it comes to challenging Dr. Davis— or me, I guess— but not about a
nything else. And I guess it’s for the best.

  That woman was bad news. I just wish my head could convince my heart of that fact.

  Chapter 45 – Whitney

  As soon as Lance’s session with Harlow ends, I head to his office. I couldn’t help but see them working in there together, and I’m jealous.

  It’s supposed to be me in there working with Harlow, for both professional and personal reasons. The fact that it’s not is enough to drive me mad, but I have to hold it together for at least a little longer, until I can manage to get to the bottom of this mystery.

  I watch Harlow walk out of the building and I can’t believe he didn’t see me. But then again, I’m sure he did and just doesn’t want to talk to me. He’s already warned me not to try to talk to him, so I don’t.

  I’m beginning to realize we’re over. I don’t know what exactly happened or why, but I can’t wait around hoping it will change. I’m now focused on figuring out what exactly Dr. Davis is doing, since that obviously doesn’t include helping service members like the one I’d met outside his office.

  “Lance!” I whisper, loudly, as I enter his office and shut the door behind me. “I need your help.”

  “Oh my god, girl,” he exclaims, rolling his eyes. “What now? Don’t you even want to know how my session with your heartthrob went?”

  “Former heartthrob,” I correct him. “And I guess. Sure, why not? How’d it go?”

  “Very strangely. I put him through all the tests you already did, thinking maybe you’d missed something. Accidentally, of course.”

  He raises his eyebrows, as if to infer he’s not trying to accuse me of inflating the numbers for Harlow’s sake.

  “But of course, it all checked out. You’re right, he easily passed all of those silly tests. But then, lo and behold, who should appear but His Majesty the Royal Doctor Davis himself.”

  “Really? At your session with Harlow?”

  I hadn’t seen Dr. Davis at the facility. I wonder if he’s still around.

  “Don’t worry, he didn’t stick around long. Only long enough to tell me I don’t know how to do my job. He told me to skip over my own assessments, and to concentrate on things that Harlow needs work on.”