by Ellie Danes
“I'll find you. You have proven yourself to be most capable and reliable. Don't worry, I have actually noticed this!”
I chuckled. “Thank you, Mr. Wallace, I appreciate that.”
He nodded, still smiling amicably, and shuffled away. I, meanwhile, headed over to one of the tables to snack on some of the delicious appetizers that were on offer. While I was busy packing a few of them onto a small side plate, I felt the presence of someone beside me. I turned to see who it was, hoping that it was Jace returning early from the hospital. But no, that would be impossible because he’d just left. Instead, this was the good-looking but creepy guy who had tried to bribe me earlier.
“Hi,” he said, his tone almost apologetic. “Look, I think you and I started off on the wrong foot. It was stupid of me to do what I did. The truth is, I was just following Ms. Ameson's orders.”
I didn't know how sincere this apology actually was, but this was neither the time nor the place to argue about that.
“Thank you for the apology,” I said coolly. “I appreciate it.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Look, I'm really not a bad person, all right? I'm just working with Ms. Ameson, and she can be real bossy. She pushes me to do things that I wouldn't usually do.”
“Like offer people bribes?”
He blushed and nodded, looking ashamed. “Uh yeah, like offering people bribes. I just want you to know that that was totally a spur-of-the-moment thing. She honestly told me that my invitation to this ball had been sorted out, that everything was taken care of. Then, when we got to the table and you said my name wasn't there, I guess I panicked, and I did something stupid. Please don't hold it against me, all right?”
“We all do foolish things sometimes,” I said, still suspicious about his intentions. “Just forget about it, and I will, too.”
“Thank you,” he said, looking relieved. “By the way, I don't remember your name, sorry. I'm Cory. Cory Burton, CEO of Burton, Inc.”
“And I'm Marie Benton. What do you guys at Burton, Inc. do?”
“We're an investment firm who provide capital to new software and tech start-ups—and we connect interested investors with the kind of start-ups that can make them big money quickly.”
Now I took a bit more notice of him. That was exactly what I wanted to get into. “Really, huh? And how long have you been doing this?”
“A good couple of years now. We've done super well, actually. I seem to have a knack for picking up software start-ups that really blow up.” He grinned with a proud, self-satisfied smile.
“I see,” I said. “I'm actually interested in getting into that field myself.”
He reached into his pocket and took out a business card. “Here,” he said, handing the business card to me. “If you ever need any advice or tips or whatever, give me a call. I'll help you out, no charge, as a gesture of how sorry I am for how I acted earlier.”
“Thanks, Cory,” I said, putting the business card into my bag.
“I have to go do some more networking,” he said. “There are lots of people I want to chat with here tonight. But thanks for accepting my apology. I really do mean that.”
“Sure thing. Have a good evening.”
He nodded and walked away briskly. I still felt suspicious of him, even though his apology had come across as sincere. There was just something about him, something I couldn't quite place, that set off warning bells inside my mind.
“Champagne? Wine? Cognac? Sparkling water?” asked a voice behind me.
I turned around and saw a waiter standing there with a platter of drinks. I was feeling the first hints of tipsiness coming on, but I figured that one more glass of champagne couldn't hurt. After all, I wasn't driving home. Isaac had arranged a gorgeous vintage Rolls Royce with a chauffeur to ferry the two of us around this evening.
“Sure, I'll have some champagne, thanks.”
The waiter smiled and handed me a glass of champagne. I sipped it and walked slowly around the perimeter of the hall, just making sure that everything was going smoothly. It was almost time for the speeches to begin, so I gently reminded the guests that they should start moving to their tables.
A few minutes later, almost everyone had gone to their tables, and Isaac glanced across the room at me, checked his watch, and gave me an appreciative nod. Even though it wasn't exactly a major achievement or anything, a little shiver of pride rushed through me. I had organized most of this on my own, and it was all running so well. I could see that Isaac was proud of me too, and that made me feel even better.
The evening would have been perfect if Jace were still here, talking to me. The way his eyes had lit up with interest when he saw me in this dress had made me feel like a princess. I hoped his friend was all right.
I went to my own table, but as I was about to sit down my phone buzzed in my bag. I took it out and saw that it was a Quickchat from a user who wasn't in my friends list. There was still a little bit of chatting going on in the hall, and people hadn't fallen totally silent just yet, so I figured I could check it quickly without anyone noticing.
I opened it, curious to see who this was.
It was Jace. As soon as I saw his face, my heart started to beat faster.
Chapter 14
Jace
I didn't know what was going through my mind as I raced away from the ball. Well, that wasn't quite accurate—I knew, but pinpointing any specific emotion was difficult, as it seemed that they were all bleeding into one another. There was fear, panic, anger, disbelief, anxiety, sadness—all rolled into one terrible mess.
All that I could hope for now was that the injuries weren't too bad—and that Matthew hadn't hurt anyone else but himself in this car accident. Damage to vehicles was one thing; we could easily afford to pay for whatever had been broken to be fixed, even with the expensive cars (and thus, the expensive parts and labor) we each drove.
But human bodies were another thing. They weren't machines that could just be restored to good as new condition by a skilled mechanic. If he had done some serious damage to himself—or someone else—those would be consequences he would be dealing with for the rest of his life.
I jumped into my Maserati, fired up the motor and took off at speed, spinning the wheels and getting the rear of the car fishtailing with the abrupt, brutal surge of power.
“You'd better be okay, Matthew,” I muttered under my breath as I raced through the streets at breakneck speed. “You'd better be okay, man, you'd better be all right.”
It took me around twenty minutes to get to the hospital, and I managed to find a parking spot easily enough, thankfully. I raced to the ER, where I asked the first nurse I saw about Matthew.
“He's this way,” said the nurse. “Come, follow me.”
She led me briskly through the ER until we got to a bed at the very end. And there he was—lying in the bed, with tubes coming out of him. The whole left side of his face was badly swollen, and his left arm was bandaged. He seemed to be unconscious.
“Oh, my God,” I murmured as shock hit me with the force of a tsunami. “Oh, my God, Matthew, oh my God.”
“I'll get the doctor who attended to him to come over and speak to you,” the nurse said. “Wait here please.”
I nodded, feeling utterly numb and totally rocked with shock. I couldn't stop staring at him, and it was like it wasn't real, as if I were in some sort of nightmare that I couldn't wake up from.
After a while—maybe a few seconds, maybe a few minutes, I don't know—a voice started to speak near me. I turned around and saw a young doctor standing to my left.
“Dr. Lee,” he said, extending a hand to me, which I shook.
“Hi, Dr. Lee, I'm Everett Cooper.”
“Mr. Cooper,” he said, his voice stern and severe, “as you can see, your friend here is not in very good condition.”
“What—what happened?” I managed to ask.
“Drunk driving,” he said, shaking his head. “He hit a tree at very high speed. You'll have to s
peak to the officer who got to the scene first for more specific details, but it seems that he was speeding, and he lost control of the vehicle.”
“And uh, there were no other parties involved in this accident?” I asked.
The doctor shook his head. “No, thankfully.”
That was a relief, a small consolation in this terrible situation. At least the legal situation would be simpler, and he wouldn't have to carry the burden of guilt that came with injuring an innocent person.
“What's the prognosis? How is he?”
“It's not great,” he admitted, “but it's not as bad as it could have been either. As you can see, his left arm is broken, but it's a clean break, which won't be a problem to sort out. He's also cracked two ribs on his left side, and sprained his ankle. Again, these are painful injuries, but not life-threatening. They'll take some time to heal, but there shouldn't be any complications with the healing process.”
“What about his face though, his head? The fact that he's unconscious?”
“That's what we're most worried about. He's broken his nose, his cheekbone and there's an orbital fracture, and two of his molars have been knocked out. He's unconscious, yes, in a mild coma. There is some swelling in the skull, and there has been a bad concussion. What effects this is going to have on the functioning of his brain, we can't quite say for now. It's always complicated with these head injuries.”
“A coma . . .” I murmured.
“It's bad,” said Dr. Lee, “but not as bad as it sounds. We expect that he'll come out of the coma in a day or two.”
I nodded, still struggling to take in this harsh, shocking state of affairs.
“And he can still walk, right?”
Dr. Lee nodded. “Thankfully there are no spinal or neck injuries, apart from some whiplash, which is to be expected in an accident like this. But yes, he'll be able to walk and use his limbs just fine when he has recovered. It's the brain injury that is most worrying right now, and as I said, it’s very difficult to state at this stage just what the extent of that damage is going to be.”
I nodded and sighed. “Thank you very much. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Besides informing friends and family members, not really. You may want to contact the officers who were on the scene and find out what's going to happen in terms of the law. They took a blood sample on the scene to determine just how much alcohol was in his system. I suppose the amount of legal trouble Matthew is going to be in will depend on the results of that blood test.”
“All right, thanks. Do you have the name of the officer involved?”
“Sergeant James Newman,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He nodded stiffly, and then hurried off, presumably to deal with other patients who needed his attention.
I, meanwhile, just stood and stared at Matthew for a while, shaking my head.
“Matthew,” I murmured, “what have you done to yourself, buddy?”
I didn't know why, but at this moment I really, really needed to talk to Marie. I took the napkin with her number on it out of my pocket and decided to send her a Quickchat. I positioned myself with Matthew in the background, so that she could see the extent of his injuries, and hit record.
“Hi, Marie,” I said. “I'm just sending a Quickchat in case you're busy and can't answer the phone. Matthew is, as you can see, in pretty bad shape. I just spoke to the doctor, though, and he says that Matthew will eventually be okay. What they're most worried about at this stage is brain damage. He's in a coma and they don't know what the extent of the damage will be. Sorry, I hope this doesn't put a downer on your evening. I hope you enjoy the rest of the ball. Chat soon, okay? I have to go talk to the police now.”
I sent the video and put my phone back into my pocket. I couldn't say for sure why I had had to tell her all of that, but she had been on my mind a lot, and I really wanted to let her know what was happening.
She sent a reply, just a quick one to say how sorry she was to hear the news, and that she was thinking of me, and that if I needed anything to call her. I replied saying that I really appreciated that, and that I'd get hold of her later.
Now for the next issue—dealing with the cops. I called the local station and asked to speak to Sergeant James Newman.
“This is Newman speaking,” said a gruff voice after my call was transferred to his office.
“Hi, Sergeant Newman, this is Everett Cooper,” I said. “I'm a close friend of Matthew White's. He was involved in an auto accident earlier tonight.”
“Oh yeah, the guy who wrapped his fancy sports car around a tree. Yeah, how's he doing?”
“Not great, but they think he'll be all right. I'm at the hospital right now.”
“All right, well I'm guessing they already told you that we took blood samples from your buddy at the scene of the accident?”
“They did, yes.”
“Well he was three drinks over the limit, which is enough for a major fine, but not enough for jail time.”
I sighed, thankful for that. “That's good, that's good news,” I said.
“Yeah. But we are gonna push to have his driver's license suspended for a minimum of six months.”
“That's fair.”
“You guys can be real thankful that nobody else was involved in this, and that we can't determine the exact speed he was traveling. You see, the speed he was going, combined with his alcohol level, it would have been enough to get him put behind bars—if another person were injured. But because he hit a tree, and thus didn't damage anybody's property, and there were no other people involved, we'd be hard-pressed to get him behind bars. So, despite his injuries, and the fact that his expensive car is totaled, he can count himself lucky . . . real lucky, you understand?”
“I understand, officer. Thank you.”
“Well I've got other things to attend to tonight, Mr. Cooper, but thanks for calling.”
“Goodbye, Sergeant Newman.”
I cut the call off and put the phone down. This was really, really messed up. But the police officer had been right—he was lucky that he wasn't in a lot more trouble. If anyone else had been involved, or even just someone else's property, he could be looking at a prison sentence.
“Matthew,” I said gently to him, “I know the news about your dad's cancer is distressing, but this isn't the way to deal with it, buddy.”
Just then my phone started to ring. I got it out, thinking it might be Marie. It wasn't, though—it was my aunt.
“Aunt Barbara, hi,” I said, “I'm sorry I didn't tell you why I had to leave the ball like that, but trust me, it was an emergency, it—”
“I heard all about it,” she said, her tone cold. “And I'm not surprised at all. That young man is a fool, an idiot! Now look what he's done! When word about this gets out to the press, what do you think is going to happen to the public image of your company? What are people going to think, Everett?! And if they think that this company is being run by an irresponsible drunkard, who on earth is going to want to invest in it?! You have two choices before you at this moment, my boy, two choices, and what you choose will determine whether your company succeeds or fails. You can keep that idiot in your company, and watch it sink like the Titanic, or you can throw him—that useless deadweight—overboard, and thrive! That is the choice you have to make, Everett! And in my mind, there is only one option, get rid of him! Get rid of him this instant!”
“Aunt Barbara—”
She hung up on me. I scowled at the phone. Was she right? I had plenty of money—billions of dollars—but it was tied up in other things. I needed investments to take Quickchat to the next level. But kick Matthew out of the company, desert him in his time of need? It didn’t sit well with me.
If this was Aunt Barbara’s version of what successful business looked like, I wasn’t so sure I wanted it.
Chapter 15
Marie
When I saw the Quickchat that Jace sent, with his friend Matthew lying unconscious in the
hospital bed behind him, I wanted to cry. He looked so sad, so distraught—and his friend looked so badly injured, too. It was a horrible thing to witness. I just wanted to hug him, to hold him tightly and tell him that everything was going to be all right.
“You are looking so, so stunning,” a voice said from behind me, interrupting my thoughts.
I turned around to see Cory Burton standing there, staring unashamedly at my body. I felt instantly uncomfortable. I remembered the apology he had made to me earlier, and thought about how his current behavior seemed to be nullifying the sincerity of it. Well, the seeming sincerity of it. Maybe he had just been putting on an act.
“Um, thanks,” I replied, wondering if he would pick up on the discomfort clear in my voice.
“What do you think of my haircut?” he asked.
“Your—haircut?” I couldn’t believe this guy. Was he fishing for compliments? “It looks nice.”
“Thanks. I did just go to my favorite stylist this afternoon,” he said, trying to sound casual. “She does a lot of Hollywood A-listers, you know. She only takes on clients strictly by referral. I know some people who know some people, though, so I got in with her. What do you think of this suit? Tailor made for me by an up-and-coming designer in New York. I invested in his company, and I'm pretty sure those stocks are about to skyrocket.”
As obnoxious as he was, I was kind of interested in what he was saying. “So, he's a specialist suit designer? Or does he branch out into other areas of fashion as well?”
“Oh, he does it all—men's stuff only, though. He's given me advance previews of his spring collection, and man, he's gonna blow the competition right out of the water. I guarantee it, this guy is gonna be as big a name as Versace and Armani in a couple of years. And I'll be riding those profits all the way to the bank.”
He smiled arrogantly and sipped from his glass of whiskey. “This is decent whiskey,” he remarked. “Obviously single malt, you can't expect people like us to drink blended. Ugh. So, what is this, eighteen-year-old? Older? Very smooth, just the right hint of a piquant, woody aftertaste . . .”
