by Skye Darrel
“Do you still care what happens to St. Jude?” he asks like we’re having a casual conversation.
“Um, yeah. I told you before.”
“Join me next Monday in Baltimore. I’ll be touring the hospital. I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll shut it down permanently. Perhaps, Ms. Finch, you can convince me to keep it open.”
“And how do I do that?” I ask suspiciously.
“You have a certain effect on me. I should like your opinion, that’s all. We will tour the facilities together.”
“I’m not your friend,” I stammer. “I’m not your . . .”
“Are you declining?”
My breath hitches. “I didn’t say that either.”
“Give me an answer, April.”
“I’ll go,” I say after a while, “as long as you promise you won’t get all weird on me—and also—you can’t ask any questions about my life. Got it?”
“Fair enough.”
“Okay then.”
We exchange numbers. The whole thing feels like I’ve agreed to some kind of bizarre date with him. Not that I would ever agree to a date with someone like Everett Royce. Borderline stalker. Crazy. And evil to boot, according to Camila. That’s what I tell myself as he puts my number in his phone.
“My assistant will send you the details,” he says.
Everett opens the study doors. My parents are waiting outside.
“I invited April to an event next Monday,” Everett says to them, “Please don't be concerned, I’ll keep her safe.”
Keep me safe? Wow. I’m not his to keep.
“Honey?” Mom asks. She’s smiling.
Dad crosses his arms and watches our visitor carefully.
Everett gives me an anxious look. Maybe he's worried I'll tell them he tried to kiss me against the bookcase. Maybe he's worried I'll tell them he got a freaking erection in our house. Serves him right. And I bet all those reporters and protesters who'd been outside his fancy building would love to know what an animal he is.
“We’re visiting St. Jude Children’s Hospital,” I say to my parents.
Everett leaves without another word.
We watch him walk down our driveway to a black Audi sedan parked on the curb. He gets in the driver’s seat. The car pulls away.
Dad turns to me. “Please explain, young lady.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” I say, flustered. I’m not even sure what just happened myself.
Mom looks at me as if I'm giving her grandchildren. “April,” she says, “are you dating that nice man?"
“What? No!” I tell her right away what happened this afternoon before she gets her hopes up—all except for the parts two well-meaning parents don’t need to know in detail. I also skim over Camila’s involvement. “I barely know him. He wants to shut down St. Jude and I said he shouldn't. We had this talk. It was weird. Then he just showed up here. Everett invited me to tour the hospital with him on Monday.”
Bringing up the hospital silences my parents. Five years ago on a Sunday afternoon, all three of us found out about my diagnosis there.
“You do whatever you think is right,” Dad says.
Mom nods. “How old is he?”
“I dunno,” I say, heading toward the stairs. “I never asked. Good night, guys.”
My parents let me go. Even Mom can tell I want to be left alone.
But when I’m alone in my room, I lie in bed wide awake. I keep thinking back to Everett’s eyes—and other parts of his body. I wonder what it’d be like to kiss him as I toss and turn. I wonder what it’d be like to feel his . . .
My panties are damp, my nipples stiff. Ugh. I get out of bed and change into a fresh pair as images of him ravishing me run through my head. Get it together, girl. He’s not the first good-looking man you’ve seen.
Okay, maybe he is the first one who’s that good-looking. It’s the way he carries himself too, the way he looks at me.
Whatever. Like I’m impressed.
Not that impressed.
He’s a rich asshole. That’s why he thinks there’s nothing weird about him waltzing into my home like he owns the place. I bet he’s used to people giving him whatever he wants.
I try to sleep but fail badly. Finally, I get my phone and send him a text: My parents want to know how old you are.
He texts back: 27.
Me: Wow really?
Everett: You look older than 19.
So he remembered my age. Big deal: I’m the oldest 19-year-old you’ll ever meet. Where are you?
Everett: Back at the city. I’m thinking.
Me: About what?
Everett: You. Are you seeing anyone?
I take a deep breath and pull the covers up before my fingers fumble over the screen: I see people every day.
Everett: You know what I mean. Tell me.
Me: Are you seriously asking if I have a boyfriend?
Everett: Yes. I made an educated deduction you’re not married.
Me: I don’t have a boyfriend.
Everett: Good. I’m not seeing anyone either.
Me: I didn't ask for your relationship status. And I don’t want a boyfriend.
Everett: Do you believe in fate? That things happen for a reason.
Not really. Sort of. Maybe? My thumbs slide across the screen: Sort of.
Everett: So do I.
Me: Good night.
Everett: Good night, April. I’ll be thinking about you.
I put my phone away without answering and roll on my side. “You shouldn’t,” I whisper in the darkness.
Chapter Four
APRIL
I never liked that hospital smell, and my nose crinkles when I enter the lobby of St. Jude Children’s Hospital.
He’s already here, in a perfect suit, talking to a woman wearing a pantsuit. They look all business.
I walk over to them in my dress and sandals, self-conscious all of a sudden. I must’ve spent hours last night deciding what to wear. I wanted to get his attention, yeah, but not to the point where he’s holding me against a bookcase like he wants to devour me. Not that much attention. So I went with a white summer dress that ends just above my knees. It seemed pretty modest last night, but now I stick out in all the wrong ways.
What was I thinking? Honestly, April, this is a hospital not a park.
Everett sees me coming and nods. “There you are.”
The woman introduces herself as Dr. Naomi Dixon, who sits on the board at St. Jude.
Everett gives me a big and very formal smile. No sign of that wild look in his eyes from Friday. “Dr. Dixon, this is Ms. Finch. The acquaintance I told you about. I value her opinion greatly.”
It feels strange to have him call me Ms. Finch and even more so to have my opinion valued so greatly. And acquaintance? Is that what we are? Whatever.
The doctor and I shake hands. She looks anxious. If Royce Innovations owns the hospital now, Everett Royce must be her boss.
“Shall we get started with the tour?” Dr. Dixon asks.
“Lead the way,” Everett says.
Dr. Dixon takes us through the building, starting from C Wing, the Oncology Unit that handles cancer cases, then onto the Surgery Center, and finally B Wing that offers counseling. I remember coming to B Wing when I was fourteen, right after I got my test results back. The memory is bittersweet.
Everett nods along as Dixon explains the hospital’s programs, how St. Jude offers care the children here would never otherwise receive, and that it would be a big mistake to shut the hospital down. Everett is impassive. I’m not even sure he’s listening.
“You must help a lot of kids,” I say to Dr. Dixon.
She smiles. “We are one of the finest pediatric hospitals in the country, April.”
“One of the most expensive to operate as well,” Everett cuts in.
The doctor keeps smiling with some effort. She brings us down another corridor, stopping at a junction. “Would you like to visit our school, Mr. Royce?”
“You have a school?”
“For our inpatients. They are minors after all. A school allows them to keep up with their learning.”
Everett frowns. “That may explain your financial problems. How much does this school cost?”
“The school is not the reason for our budget shortfalls,” Dixon says nervously.
“Then what is?”
I can’t believe how vicious he sounds all of a sudden. I shoot him a look, and he meets my eyes without flinching. The doctor is at a loss for words.
“What is the reason for your budget shortfalls, Dr. Dixon?” Everett asks again.
“It’s not any one factor,” she says quickly. “But I assure you, Mr. Royce, we’re doing our best to reduce cost without sacrificing quality of care.”
“Sacrifice may be inevitable,” Everett says. “I’ve personally reviewed your operating costs for the past decade. It seems St. Jude is fond of spending money on those who have none. You rely exclusively on grants and donations.”
“We are a nonprofit.”
“You certainly are,” Everett says.
I feel a stab of anger at his callous tone. “Dr. Dixon,” I say, “do you have any volunteering opportunities available? I’d like to help.”
Everett narrows his eyes.
“We’re always happy to have volunteers,” the doctor says. “That is, if Mr. Royce doesn’t shut us down.”
“I’m sure he won’t.” I touch his elbow and feel him tense. “Everett is a good man.”
Silence.
He glares at me, then forces a smile and looks at Naomi Dixon. “Ms. Finch has a soft spot for your facility. I wouldn’t want her to think me heartless.”
The doctor is lost for words again. I guess she can’t quite figure out what my relationship with him is.
Me neither, for that matter.
“Thank you for the tour,” Everett tells Dixon when we’re back on the ground floor. “Royce Innovations will do its best to accommodate your needs. You may continue operations for now, but I suggest you get your costs under control as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Mr. Royce.”
“And I trust you will keep our discussions today confidential.”
“Certainly, Mr. Royce.”
Everett seems satisfied at that. “Let’s go, April.”
WE WALK THROUGH the parking lot until we reach his black Audi. My old Civic is parked on a second level.
He stops by his car and turns around. “Happy?”
I shrug. “You invited me for my opinion. I gave you my opinion, those kids are getting the care they need. Sorry about your tech center, I'm sure you can build it somewhere else.”
“Not really,” he says. “This location is ideal. But you're right, I wanted your opinion and I’ll follow it.”
I bite my lip, trying not to shirk away from his fierce eyes. “What’s your opinion?”
“About what?”
“Those kids. Don’t you care what happens to them?”
“May I be honest?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Those kids are a burden. Five hundred years ago, nature would have let them perish. Evolution weeds out the sick so only the healthy can procreate. As a result, we get stronger as a species. But nowadays we’re supposed to believe every life has value. That we are all created equal. Statistically, we are not. Some are stronger. Some are smarter. Some are more deserving than others. Look at the kids in this hospital. What value is there in their miserable existence? St. Jude’s doctors are only prolonging the misery. The resources this hospital spends on three or four of those kids could put a healthy one through college. It’s a waste, April.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, my whole body going cold. “You know what? You may just be the biggest asshole of all time.”
“You wanted honesty.”
“Maybe you should’ve lied.”
“I’ll never lie to you,” he says. “Know this, right now your opinion is the only thing keeping St. Jude open. Fortunate for those kids you care about them so much."
“I was a patient here. I used to be one of those kids.”
“Is it still none of my business why you were a patient?”
“Yep. Don’t even ask.”
“Fair enough.”
I shake my head, walking past him. “I’m going home.”
“Wait.”
I feel his palm on my shoulder and spin around. “Don’t touch me!”
“April, I’m sorry.” Everett runs a hand through his black hair and his face softens. “You’re right, okay? I can be an asshole. I didn’t mean what I said.”
Amazing how fast he can change. But he looks so earnest I find myself rooted to the spot. He’s staring at me like he did in the study.
Intense.
Feral.
Sincere.
Melting through me. A different man from even moments ago.
I should tell him I’m more like those kids than he knows. I should hate him for what he’d said. But I can’t. Words refuse to form as heat rises in my belly. I can’t decide which man is the real Everett, the man standing before me now—or the cruel, arrogant asshole who’s been with me all morning.
“What do you want?” I snap.
“The day is still young,” he says. “I freed two hours in my schedule for you.”
“To do what? Drown some kittens?”
“I’m not that much of an asshole. Drink coffee?”
“Starbucks. On occasion.”
“Perhaps somewhere more private."
I rub my elbow. “Where?”
“My home. I’ve seen yours, it’s only fair you see mine. Let’s take my car. Don’t worry, I’m a gentleman.”
I have my doubts about that. But I let him take my hand and guide me to his Audi. I can always change my mind later and decide I really do hate him.
◆◆◆
EVERETT DRIVES ME to the Royce Building downtown. We take a side street, turning onto a down-ramp that leads to a private underground parking garage. When we get out, I see a row of expensive-looking sports cars in bright colors.
“The Lamborghinis belong to my brother,” Everett says as we walk to an elevator. “Sebastian is ostentatious. He likes expensive things.”
“Yeah, I guess an Audi is not too ostentatious.”
“I also own a Cadillac.”
“No need to apologize for being a billionaire. Only thing worse than showing off is false modesty.”
“You have strong opinions, April.”
“I told you, I’m the oldest nineteen-year-old you’ll ever meet.”
Everett swipes a keycard in the elevator and we zoom up, the numbers overhead climbing until we reach the top floor.
“My penthouse apartment,” he says.
He takes me down a luxurious hallway with lush white carpet, and I count seven black doors on either side. He explains that this entire floor is residential, but the only residents are him and his brother.
“Always wondered how the obscenely wealthy live,” I say.
Everett shrugs. “When we bought the building, it was already half-constructed. This place was supposed to be a luxury condominium, and we converted it to an office complex for Royce Innovations. But the top floor we reserved for ourselves.”
“Who’s we?”
“My family.”
“Being a Royce must be nice.”
Everett taps a keypad on the electronic lock. “There are perks.”
The apartment is starkly white, bright and lavish with modern-style furniture. The air smells faintly of lavender and alcohol. There’s a huge black sofa that could seat a dozen people.
A stocky man with messy blond hair is sprawled out on the recliner by the sofa, one arm draped over the side. His clothes look expensive but messy. I recognize him, the man who’d walked into the security room with Everett last Friday. I remember thinking at the time he looked so out of place with his goofy smile.
He reeks of booze now.
Ever
ett sighs. “April, this is my brother Sebastian. Please excuse his condition.”
Sebastian opens his eyes. “Gimme a sec,” he says with a yawn. With his round face and shallow eyes, Sebastian has this boyish aura so unlike Everett.
I can’t believe they are brothers.
“You’re drunk,” Everett says, standing over him.
“No shit, little bro.”
Little bro. They’re both tall, but Everett is a bit taller. I’d never call him little anything.
“I have a guest,” Everett says. “Sleep it off somewhere else.”
“But I came to see Achilles!” Sebastian wobbles to his feet. “Wait, what guest?”
Then he notices me, and I stand a little straighter as he breaks out in a clownish grin.
“April, I apologize for his state,” Everett says. “My brother is not the most disciplined of men.”
“No it’s fine,” I say, wondering who Achilles is. A third brother?
Sebastian walks over to me and bows. “Ms. Finch, how do you do? Everett couldn’t shut up about you all weekend. He is madly, madly in love.”
I fidget my fingers over the front of my dress.
“That’s enough,” Everett says. “You’re drunk.”
“My obvious state of intoxication is regrettable.”
“Um, it happens,” I say.
Everett nods at the door.
His brother stumbles away. “See you around, April. Forgive my little bro if he comes off as a big prick. He takes after our old man.”
“Get out,” Everett says.
Sebastian chuckles as the door closes behind him.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Everett says. “My family is complicated.”
“You don’t have to explain. I said you can’t ask questions about my life, so I won’t be nosy about yours.” Although I’m wondering about a hundred different things. Like—in love? With me?
“Let me show you the view,” Everett says.
The apartment has a corner living room with floor-to-ceiling windows. One glass wall faces the buildings downtown and the skyline beyond. The other wall faces the Inner Harbor, a narrow waterfront where Baltimore’s wealthy live and play. A terrace extends outside the apartment, and there’s an infinity pool with crystal blue water.
