Grace
“You’re leaving me!? Since when?”
“I got a job as a private nurse,” I said. “I technically started yesterday, but I’m working half days through the week to transition into the job.”
“Who’s it with?” Emilia asked
“To be honest? The house we’ve been delivering flowers to regularly for the past three or so months.”
“Wait, how did they figure out you were a licensed nurse?” she asked.
“Without diving into whole story, the house we’ve been delivering flowers to has a man recuperating from an accident. When I took the flowers over yesterday, he had been doing physical therapy on the floor and they couldn’t get him into his wheelchair. So I did.”
“Way to go,” she said with a grin. “But on a serious note, I’m happy for you. I know you’ve been dabbling with the idea of staying here or finding a job elsewhere, and I’m glad you found something in your field of study.”
“I’m going to hate leaving you, Emilia.”
“Trust me, I’m going to hate letting you go. But I know you love taking care of people. I know that’s why you got into nursing. You’ve worked with me for years, Grace. It’s time you got out of my shop and explored the world you chose to be a part of.”
“Am I making the right decision?” I asked. “Taking this job?”
“Depends. Are you excited for it?”
“I’m nervous.”
“But is that nervousness undergirded with positive or negative emotions?”
I picked up an apple slice between my fingers and slid it between my lips. I honestly wasn’t sure. Part of me was so nervous I could throw up. What if I really wasn’t what this man needed? What if I couldn’t help him in all the ways I thought I could? However, I was excited about helping. About giving him a quality of life during his recuperation he obviously hadn’t been getting at his parent’s home. Or sister’s. Or whoever that mansion belonged to.
“Positive, I think,” I said.
“Then that’s good enough for now,” Emilia said. “So, tell me more about this person we’ve been delivering flowers to.”
“I can’t tell you much without destroying the HIPPA agreement between us.”
“Then tell me what you can.”
“I mean, he was in an accident. A bad one. He’s looking at another hip surgery in a couple of weeks so he can start retraining himself how to walk.”
“Yikes. What kind of accident was it?” she asked.
“A car hit him,” I said.
“Holy hell. Is he okay?”
I cocked my head off to the side and pursed my lips.
“He’s about as good as any man would be after getting hit by a car and being wheelchair-bound.”
“I get it. I get it. Stupid question,” she said.
“I’m hoping to not simply help him with physical therapy, but to also help him with his mental state. That goes a long way with recuperations like this, and he’s not in a very good one.”
“What do you mean? He’s not mean to you, is he?”
“Not so much mean as he is cold. Distant. He’s sort of severed himself from the world so he doesn’t get upset that he can’t convene with it,” I said.
“Grace…”
“I hear you, Emilia. But I promise you, he’s not a mean man. He’s a disappointed one. He’s obviously got a decent job if he can afford out-of-pocket all the things that come with an in-home nurse, and I can only imagine what he’s had to put on hold with that job because of this accident.”
“I want you to be careful,” she said.
“There’s nothing to be careful about. I’m his in-home nurse. Nothing more.”
“But I know you. I know how you get when you become invested in something. You lose your professionalism and it becomes an emotional thing for you. I’ve seen you do it with regular customers. Wanting updates on their lives and wanting to know how their kids are doing.”
“That’s called ‘networking’,” I said.
“So it is networking when a regular customer comes in here, talks about how her daughter got her heart broken for the first time, and you’re so emotional you have to go home early because you can’t stop crying and wondering if she’s okay?”
“That was one time, Emilia.”
“All I’m saying is be careful, Grace. If you want to help him through his mental blocks as well as his physical ones, I could see you becoming attached,” she said.
“That won’t happen. He’s a new client, and temporary at that. Once he’s up and walking and back at work, my job is done. Two months, tops.”
“So you’ll have no issues keeping it emotionally platonic?” she asked.
“I promise,” I said. “Emotionally platonic is my game as an in-home nurse. It’s a different world. I’m a different person when I’m in your flower shop. I promise this won’t be an issue.”
“Okay,” she said as she reached for my hand. “Then I trust you.”
“Thank you for looking out for me,” I said.
“Anytime,” she said. “So! Have you Googled him?”
“Say what now?” I asked.
“This guy. Have you Googled him?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you should be doing that for every private client. I do it when high-profile clients come into my flower shop.”
“Wait, you do? Why?” I asked.
“To know what I’m getting into. Knowing more about the person helps me to pick the arrangements that suit their lifestyle best. It’s an artform, you know. I always Google them first.”
“Or you could simply talk to them as well.”
“I definitely won’t have that kind of time once I lose my best employee,” she said with a grin.
“Now you’re just trying to make me feel guilty.”
“Never. But I did talk to the maid a little bit that used to be the one picking up the flowers. How much do you know about Hayden?”
“How do you know his name?” I asked.
“Besides the fact that me and the maid hit it off? Hayden Lowell owns and operates one of the largest luxury hotel chains in the world.”
“He does?” I asked.
“He does. So when you told me he probably has a decent job, that’s an understatement. He’s the owner and CEO of TreeTop Hotels.”
I felt my eyebrows rise to my hairline as my jaw dropped open.
“He’s what?” I asked.
“Make it a habit, Grace. If I can teach you one thing, it’s to Google your clientele. Big or small. Private or public. Whether you work as an in-home nurse for the elite or plug yourself into a hospital. Google is the best resource you have of finding out stuff regarding the people you’re going to be helping.”
“Hayden Lowell owns TreeTop Hotels.”
“His great-grandfather started the company, yes. Passed it on down through the generations, and now Hayden has control of it,” she said. “But that’s not why I brought this up.”
“I’m really going to have to Google him,” I said.
“That’s fine. It’s wise, actually. But the reason I’m telling you to be careful with him is because their lawsuit is all over the news right now.”
“Lawsuit?” I asked.
I pulled out my phone and started typing his name into the search bar.
“It’s pretty typical for families to sue drivers who hit pedestrians. But they aren’t just suing the driver. They’re also suing the city, claiming that the traffic lights and the pedestrian walk signs were out-of-sync. They’re gunning for blood.”
I flipped through a couple of the articles as my eyes scanned the material.
Emilia was right. The Lowell family wasn’t simply suing the driver, but the city as well. Mounting a massive defense and claiming millions of dollars worth of damages because of Hayden’s inability to run the company to his fullest extent. Something about an abandoned construction in Jamaica or something and investors getting their money back.
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I didn’t understand half of what the articles were talking about, but I saw why Emilia was concerned.
In the heat of their anger, the Lowells were volatile.
“I don’t want you caught up in some insane lawsuit that’ll drain you for all you have if you do something wrong,” she said.
“I get it now,” I said as turned off my phone. “And I promise you, I will be extremely careful.”
“That’s all I’m asking. You want to help him and that’s your beautiful spirit talking. But I want to make sure you’re going to be okay in all of this.”
“And it’s one of the many reasons why I love you,” I said.
I reached over and took Emilia’s hand. I was going to miss this woman. She’d given me my first credible job and single-handedly saved my sanity through nursing school. Me graduating with honors and keeping on track was all thanks to her. To her perseverance and encouragement and late-night talks when I was up studying and couldn’t keep focus.
“You’re going to call at least three times a week to let me know how you’re doing,” Emilia said.
“I promise.”
“And if he still wants flowers delivered to wherever he is now, you’ll call me so I can deliver them. That way I can see you face-to-face.”
“I’m not going off to war, Emilia,” I said with a giggle.
“No, but you’re stepping into a new world. And that can be daunting. I want you to know that I’m still here for you. Just because your schooling is done doesn’t mean I am.”
I rose up out of my seat and pulled Emilia into a giant hug.
“I love you,” I said breathlessly.
“I love you too, Grace.”
Chapter Six
Hayden
“Yep, that goes too. Into storage. And be careful with it. That table cost me ten thousand dollars.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Move the couches against the wall. We’ll reposition the television as well,” I said. “And my room will have to be rearranged as well.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Yeah. The kitchen chair at the end of the table can be put in a corner somewhere. I won’t be needing it for a little while. In fact, put the extra chair in the second room on the right down the hallway. My new nurse can use it for whatever she wants.”
“The room next to yours?”
“That’s the one,” I said.
“Will we need to do anything with the upstairs, sir?”
“Nope. Won’t be going up there for a while.”
There were movers waiting for my new nurse to show up and men rearranging the furniture in my home. My two-story penthouse apartment was hardly the best place to recuperate, which meant I had to hire people to do the fucking work for me. It was embarrassing, to say the least. Telling men to fucking push couches around. I should be able to do that shit. I should be able to stand up from this damn wheelchair and take control of my environment.
But I couldn’t.
So, I was having them rearrange and remove everything that could possible impede me from being able to live on my own. My new nurse— Grace, I think her name was— had agreed to move in and live with me on an around-the-clock basis. The original agreement was for her to commute. Here by six, out by eight. But my mother and sister weren’t having it. They insisted she move into one of my three guest bedrooms, and if she didn’t then she could move into my mother’s house and we’d stay there.
And that shit wasn’t going to happen.
Grace had been my ticket out of that damned place. Out from underneath the bickering of my sister and my mother. Fuck, I had gotten tired of hearing them bitch. And I was equally tired of my mother always having to help me out of my damn clothes and into the fucking shower. Having my sister do it was weird, but having my mother do it made me feel like I was a damn toddler.
In some ways, I felt like one.
So, I agreed to pay for her time from six in the morning until eight at night. If my sister and mother wanted her around-the-clock care, they could foot the rest of the damn bill. I figured that would shut them up about it, but instead they ended up doing just that. Which meant that with the money I was paying her and the money they were going to be shelling out for her, my nurse could live on her own after all this shit was done. For three fucking years.
Private nurses weren’t cheap, but the best were always worth it in the long run.
And Grace was going to be handsomely rewarded for her efforts.
There wasn’t an amount of money that could be put on getting me out of my mother’s house, though. I’d grown tired and exasperated with staring at that damn garden outback. It reminded me of my father. It reminded me of the walks we always used to take in the back garden. The talks we had about me taking over the company and the bitching I always did about college.
I missed that man.
A knock came at the door and one of the movers went to answer it. He swung the door open and there she stood, with her long curly hair and her yellow-speckled brown eyes. She was hauling a box in her hands and could hardly see over the damn thing, so I pointed at one of the movers and beckoned for him to take the box.
“Don’t just stand there. Help the poor woman,” I said.
“Thanks,” Grace said breathlessly.
She turned to leave, but one of the movers stopped her. She wasn’t going to be lifting a finger getting her stuff out of her car. Or moving van. Or whatever the hell she’d hauled her stuff in. They talked for a little bit before the man whistled, then disappeared out into the hallway.
“Do they need any help?” Grace asked.
“No,” I said.
“Maybe I should go help them.”
“Don’t.”
She looked over at me and rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. She was chewing on it nervously. She obviously felt out of place. Her eyes were darting around the place I’d called home for a few years now, and I could tell she was impressed.
She was trying not to show it, but she was taken by it.
“The layout’s simple,” I said. “This is the living room, over there’s the kitchen. Down that hallway is my room as well as yours. I’m the first door on the right, you’re the second. The laundry room is the door on the left-hand side of the hallway and it you keep going down the hallway, it dead ends into a library with an electric fireplace.”
“What’s upstairs?” she asked.
Her eyes were no longer darting around, but now situated on my gaze.
“More rooms. Another small sitting room. Places I won’t visit for a while until I’m out of this contraption.”
I tapped the arms of my wheelchair and watched her slowly nod her head.
“The bathroom?” she asked.
“There’s a bathroom attached to every room,” I said. “Down the hall, second door on the right. Go into the room and the bathroom door is off in a corner somewhere.”
“Okay.”
But she didn’t move from her place.
“Aren’t you going to use it?”
“Just wanted to know where it was,” Grace said.
“Ah.”
“So, who does-?”
“Where do you want these boxes?” the mover asked.
Four men barged in with massive cardboard boxes in their hands.
“In her room, of course,” I said flatly.
“Which room was that again?”
“Down the hall, second door on the right,” Grace said.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“No problem,” she said with a grin.
It lit up her eyes before she cleared her throat and let it fall from her cheeks. She was obviously uncomfortable and very out of place. I was starting to regret hiring her. After all, I was her first private client. Which meant none of her theories or practices were tested. And I knew tiptoeing around an uncomfortable person for the next couple of months wasn’t going to help with my recuperation at all.
But the way she’d effortle
ssly picked me up off the floor.
It had been shocking, to say the least.
“Once the movers are done you can begin unpacking. For now, however, I’d stay out of their way.”
“That’s fine,” Grace said. “Understandable.”
I sighed and turned myself towards the kitchen, then began wheeling myself through the archway.
“Would you like me to make-?”
“No,” I said curtly. “I can make my own food.”
“But sometimes, specific diets help promote the body’s internal healing.”
I paused my movements and slowly wheeled myself around so I was facing her.
“Like…?”
“Fresh fruits and vegetables. Certain fatty meats, like fish. Salmon. Sardines. Nuts.”
“Didn’t know nuts were a meat.”
A small giggle fell from Grace’s lips and I found a heat pooling in my gut. The movers were headed back out the door to go get another handful of her things and I could tell the joke eased her into the atmosphere. But I hoped she didn’t get the wrong picture. I wasn’t here to make friends. I wasn’t here to work on my interpersonal skills. I hired her to help me get my ass back to work so I could fix the shit still plaguing my company and this damn abandoned project.
“I was going to offer to make you something, or at least grocery shop to stock foods that would help you with your recuperation. Especially given your upcoming surgery.”
I nodded and wheeled my chair around before I started into the kitchen. I wasn’t interested in her cooking skills. Nor was I interested in her stocking my refrigerator with foods. All I needed was her supposed medical expertise.
And if she didn’t have them, she’d be fired.
Simple as that.
“Ma’am?” one of the movers asked.
“Yes? Sorry. What is it?”
“We don’t see anymore boxes in your car.”
“Yeah, I only packed eight or nine of them,” she said. “Thank you guys so much for your help. Could I tip you or something?”
“I’ve got it,” I said.
“Yes. Mr. Lowell takes care of all that,” the mover said.
“Oh. Okay. Then um… well, thank you again,” she said.
I wheeled over to the fridge and ripped the door open. I could hear Grace’s small footsteps padding along the cherry mahogany floors of my home. I opened the bottle of water and grabbed an apple, then set everything in my lap and backed away.
Mr. Beast Page 4
