Coded Love (A BWWM Romantic Suspense)

by Tiana Cole

  I immediately knew he was talking about the hospice wing for children. It was a dream that was closest to the hospital’s veteran staff because the hospice would care for terminally ill children. It was the vision of the original founder of the hospital, and until his death, only remained a dream.

  “That’s great, Director Newell. It can finally be done.”

  I was happy about the news but wondered why I had to hear it from him. I could wait till the announcement was official. Couldn’t I? And why did Nurse Silva look annoyed instead of overjoyed?

  “I’m happy you think so because I need you to make this dream of the hospital come true.”

  What? Me?

  “You remember our very important patient, Mr. Westbrook? Well, I just finished a conference call with him and his manager, Steve Truman. Mr. Westbrook is our very generous donor for the said hospital wing.”

  I was stunned.

  “Oh. Th-that’s very generous of him.” I kept a straight face. Nurse Silva was looking at me intently. “He-he was discharged this morning.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Yes. Yes, his team of doctors thought it was alright to do so. They will continue tending to him at his home. I was against the idea, but…”

  But…no one says no to one Gareth Westbrook. I knew that.

  “So, I don’t understand…I mean… how I can help…”

  I was confused. Gareth was discharged as per his doctor’s order. He was no longer the responsibility of the hospital.

  “I believe the man is on his way to recovery. I have no doubts about that. But because of the severity of his accident, his major sponsors are demanding that he rest completely for a couple of weeks before racing again. They require a clean bill of health.”

  I understood that. Gareth was probably worth millions of dollars to them. But it still didn’t answer why I was here in this room with Director Newell and Nurse Silva. My face showed my confusion.

  “Oh…for crying out loud. Stop beating around the bush. Just tell her, John.”

  I was taken aback by Nurse Silva’s outburst. I have never heard her talk that way to him before. Director Newell looked embarrassed and didn’t seem to know what to say. Nurse Silva, however, wasn’t as reticent.

  “What he means to ask you is… are you willing to work as a private nurse for Mr. Gareth Westbrook.”

  “What?” The wind got knocked out of me.

  “It will be fine, Sienna,” Director Newell cut in rather swiftly. “The time will be credited to your hospital record. It will help a great deal with regards to your status for promotion and your future here at Mary Johnston.”

  Hmm…it felt like a bribe. Director Newell sounded like he was trying not to beg.

  “Look, Sienna,” Nurse Silva added, “you don’t have to. The hospital cannot force you to do so. It’s not in your contract. I want you to know that. I’m sure they can find some other arrangements… if you are not inclined.”

  “Bu-but…why me?”

  Director Newell and Nurse Silva exchanged looks. It was like a stare-down contest. Nurse Silva won.

  “Because Mr. Westbrook asked for you.” She said that with exasperation, then sighed deeply like there was nothing more she could do about it.

  Although I was still in shock, it didn’t take long for me to put two and two together.

  Gareth Westbrook would generously make a donation for the hospital to get its longtime dream of a children’s hospice, but in exchange he wanted me to nurse for him until his sponsors were a hundred percent reassured that he was healthy again. But why me in particular? He could have any of the nurses he wanted.

  Then I remembered the incident last night. He probably felt most comfortable with me. I wanted to think that he was attracted to me but I didn’t want to go there just now.

  The thought of being with him again thrilled and scared me. But at the same time, I couldn’t resist the nagging feeling that I was some kind of bounty, a prize, a deal of some kind.

  “Director Newell, will he still give the donation if I decline?”

  Director Newell stuttered, turned red in the neck, before replying, “I…uh…we didn’t talk about that. But he did hint at another donation to furnish the hospice.”

  “Wow...” was all I managed to say.

  “Sienna, I warned you about him…”

  “Nurse Silva, please. I think Nurse Miller is old enough to make up her own mind.”

  They must have talked about me even before I came in. I was sure Nurse Silva didn’t mince words about her sentiment. She made it quite clear to me at her office that she didn’t trust Gareth Westbrook. I also realized getting that donation would be a feather in Director Newell’s hat. The board of directors of the hospital would forever be grateful. He could retire with a hefty pension.

  I sat there undecided. Gareth has made it so that I feel like my hands were tied. If I refused, there was no guarantee the hospital would be getting a new wing and the furnishings that would go along with the second donation. If Gareth broke his promise and changed his mind, I would forever be the person who made it not happen for all those children in need of care. How could I live with my conscience knowing I was responsible for that? Even if no one ever knew about it, I would.

  But saying yes scared the hell out of me. I knew such close proximity to him on a daily basis wouldn’t be good for me either. I remembered the way I felt when told he was discharged. That didn’t auger well for my mental health.

  I knew bits about the kind of man he was, but I knew absolutely nothing too. Was this some kind of game for him? Did he have some kind of fetish for black women like me?

  I could still work on my vow to be friendly but distant. But that premise was based on familiar surroundings, like him being a patient in the hospital. As his personal nurse, I would be in strange territory…his territory.

  The crossroad loomed before me. I wanted to step on the brakes but instead I made for the pedal and stepped on the gas.

  “Alright, I agree,” I heard myself saying.

  Nurse Silva hissed her disapproval while Director Newell almost lunged at me in relief.

  “Thank you, thank you, my dear girl. This is such a great thing for the hospital. I’ll draw up the deed of donation with Mr. Westbrook tonight. You’re a saint, Nurse Miller.”

  I wanted to laugh. I really didn’t feel very saintly as the image of Gareth’s naked ass flashed before my mind. A delicious shiver ran through my body just thinking about it. I wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by him…to feel his hand caressing my skin.

  It was then I knew I would go wherever Gareth chose to bring this arrangement. I will deal with my sanity later…if and when it came to that. The die was cast.

  Chapter 13 ( Sienna)

  “Okay, I can do this, I can do this. There’s nothing to worry about. He’s just another man… err…patient. ” I had been repeating that thought in my mind ever since the limo picked me up from the curbside of the hospital.

  I knew there were eyes staring down at me from the windows of the hospital. Word had gotten around pretty fast about the arrangement. I received a few high-fives, like it was the best thing that ever happened. Some followed me with brows arched to the sky.

  Nurse Silva cornered me for a talk just before I left.

  “You’re a nurse, never forget that. You don’t have to accept shit from him. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Nurse Silva. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  Chantal was ecstatic and goggly-eyed. She made me swear to keep her in the loop. Like she expected to hear juicy gossip. She also asked if it were possible to visit me at Gareth’s place. I knew she was curious about a lot of things and told her so. She giggled and I replied that I didn’t think it would be a problem. I was there to work and was not a prisoner after all. But in my mind, I wondered if there were certain schedules I had to make clear with Gareth. It was a Monday to Friday live-in set up. I had weekends off.

  We ent
ered a gated subdivision in the suburb. The houses were huge with tall wrought iron gates. Just beyond those gates were manicured lawns and sprawling gardens.

  Everything my eyes beheld screamed exclusivity. From the immaculate tree-lined wide roads to the cars that were parked outside the gates. There was a regal stillness typical to the moneyed class.

  You didn’t see a single soul loitering in the streets or a dog rummaging through a garbage dump. I wasn’t surprised. I knew Gareth was wealthy.

  “Does Mr. Westbrook keep residence here in this neighborhood?”

  I was almost embarrassed to use the term neighborhood. This felt more like an enclave for the rich and famous. Neighborhood was a place I lived in. You could hear the neighbors screaming from across the yard and there was always a baby crying, day or night.

  He looked at me through the rearview mirror and replied, “No, ma’am. Mr. Westbrook has his own apartment in the city. This is his mother’s home, but she prefers to stay in Spain now because of the weather. Mr. Westbrook comes over for the weekends.”

  “Oh. So this is not where he will be recuperating?”

  “He intends to stay for the duration, ma’am.”

  “Please call me Sienna.”

  The chauffeur nodded but did not respond. He turned into a cul-de-sac and stopped by the gate of a palatial home. He pressed a series of numbers on a button and the gate opened. I felt my heart skip a beat. I could almost feel Gareth’s presence within those walls.

  “Mr. Westbrook left word that you should make yourself at home. The maid will show you up to your room.”

  I was surprised. “Uhhm, Mr. Westbrook is not here right now?”

  “He went for a run and will be back soon.”

  We were met at the entrance by a uniformed maid who took possession of my stuff and said, “Mr. Truman is in the breakfast room. He said to bring you right in when you arrived.”

  I nodded as I recognized the name. Mr. Truman…Steve Truman. Gareth’s manager. I followed the maid’s direction and came to an open doorway where I heard a voice.

  “…went out jogging. The doctor says it’s alright.Yes, yes, he is feeling well. Don’t worry about it. He’ll be back soon and doing those shoots with your company.

  Tell your lawyers to proceed with the contract as scheduled. Wire the money to the Westbrook account I gave you. If the money is not deposited within today, all deals are off. Good day, Mr. Aziz.”

  I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

  When I was sure he was off the phone, I knocked before I entered the room. He was about to call another number when he saw me come in. There was a look of stunned surprise on his face as his jaw slackened.

  Then he furrowed his brow deep in thought, followed by a realization, and then he chuckled. But the smile didn’t strike me as a welcoming. I was surprised at my own observation.

  Truman and I have never been introduced but I saw him twice before today. The first time was inside Gareth’s hospital room when he arrived with his doctors. Gareth’s team, I remember him saying. The second time was at the meeting attended by Director Newel where they warned us not to talk or give any information to the media eager to know about Gareth’s condition.

  I didn’t give much thought to Steve Truman back then. I only knew him to be Gareth’s manager.

  Short and squat, with slicked-back hair, he reminded me of a bulldog. The man exuded authority and control. I guess he had to, having a high profile client like Gareth Westbrook. And with multi-million dollar contracts to deal with, he had to be a wheeler-dealer of the highest degree.

  Strangely, I felt wary of him. His eyes were sizing me and I felt like a piece of meat on display. He extended his hand and I hesitated before I gave him mine. His hand felt hot and sweaty and I pulled away.

  “Miss Miller? Nurse Miller? I…You’re not exactly who I expected to show up.” Then he snorted. “I guess I thought you’d be much older and more experienced.”

  I bristled at the words.

  “Mr. Truman, I have been working at Mary Johnston Hospital for the past five years. I think I have all the experience you may be referring to. I can show you my resume, if you need it.”

  I didn’t mean to sound snooty but to hell with him if he thought I was a stuck-up bitch.

  “No. No. I’m sure you are more than qualified. I was just surprised…but then, I should have remembered we’re dealing with Gareth here. This explains a lot of things.”

  “What things, if I may ask?”

  He chuckled. Whatever it was he found funny, I certainly wasn’t in on it. He dismissed my question with a wave of his hand and asked me to join him for breakfast. I lost my appetite somewhere between his stunned surprise upon seeing me and the dismissive way he waved his hand.

  “I-I’m not hungry. But the maid said you wanted to see me.”

  He nodded as he pulled a chair and asked me to sit. He opened a manila envelope and pulled a folder from inside which he tossed casually towards me.

  “Those are Gareth’s latest lab results. Along with it are activities that his neurologist approved. Outside those listed there, you are to make sure he avoids doing them. That will be your main task. Keep an eye on him for us.”

  I scanned the list. It seemed pretty routine. Physical therapy was at the top. I wondered if he had a therapist come and visit him. I asked Truman about it.

  “No. Gareth refused that aspect of his rehabilitation program. We settled on a masseuse who will come.”

  He gave me a sly look and remarked, “Maybe you can convince him to change his mind?”

  “Convince me to change my mind about what?”

  We both wheeled around. Gareth stood there tall, sleek, and sweaty. His hair stuck to the back of his neck and moisture glistened on his arms and chest. Instead of looking like a bedraggled cat doused with water, he managed to look like the Greek god Apollo. Life wasn’t fair.

  “G-Good morning, M-Mr. Westbrook.” I was inarticulate.

  He gave me a deprecating look upon hearing ‘Mr. Westbrook.’

  “Good morning, Sienna. Steve…”

  He walked towards the breakfast table, poured himself a glass of orange juice, and then sauntered back to where Steve and I were. His sinewy movements reminded me of a cougar stalking its prey.

  “Convince me of what?” he repeated.

  “I was telling Sienna here that you refused to see a physical therapist and she doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Liar. I never said that. All I asked was if they acquired the services of a physical therapist.

  “I already made up my mind about that, Steve. I do not need or want a physical therapist.”

  Perfect timing. Truman could have a sample of my expertise after all.

  “Mr. Westbrook, you may want to give it some thought before deciding against a physical therapist. Right now you feel fine. But there are symptoms which doesn’t manifest at the onset of initial injury. You’ve heard of whiplash, I would assume, Mr. Westbrook? That can be a debilitating injury to your neck, spine, and arms, if not diagnosed properly.

  I wouldn’t want to be behind the wheel of a car running at 120 miles an hour and suddenly feel a sharp, jabbing, electric shock at the back of the head and neck. Or aching, burning, throbbing pains that will radiate all the way down your arms to your fingertips while holding the wheel of your car.

  Most probably it will be just pain on one or both sides of the head, or visual disturbance at the back of your eyes. Bad memory and difficulty concentrating are probably the least of your worries. Your body…your call, Mr. Westbrook.”

  Stunned silence. Both men were gaping at me like I just predicted the crash of the stock market.

  “Alright…alright, I say yes to a physical therapist…if you stop calling me Mr. Westbrook. It’s Gareth.”

  “If you say so… Gareth,” I replied, turning my back on them and pouring myself a glass of juice from the carafe.

  Truman was smiling, even winked to show his approval. He then pr
oceeded to consult with Gareth. Business, I assumed, as I made my way out to look for my bedroom. When I returned to the breakfast room, Truman was gone and Gareth was sitting with a newspaper in his hand, which he put down when he saw me come in.

  “Alright, Miss Smarty-Mouth, you won that round.”

  I smiled, approached him, and took hold of his hand. He twisted his palm and held mine. But I felt for his pulse with my thumb instead. Steady. Strong.

  “It’s not a contest, Gareth. It’s your health we’re talking about here.”

  He shrugged and added, “I’m glad you decided to come. I-I wasn’t really sure…”

  “You made it difficult for me to say no. But just so you know, I felt you were blackmailing me and the entire hospital.”

  He smiled a guilty smile.

  “It was the only way I knew how.”

  “You really want me here, Gareth?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, then let me do my job. Please don’t make things difficult. You’ll do as told by your doctors and I’m here to make sure you take your medication and follow a regimen. Is that clear?”

  He sighed and nodded his head.

  I walked towards a console where a tray of supplement, vitamins, and a couple of pills stood in their plastic bottles. I knew he had to take some. I checked the list for his meds and doled it out to him.

  He smirked in disgust as I arched my brow at him. He took them meekly as I handed him a glass of water. He made a show of swallowing them and opened his mouth for me to check. I smiled, controlling the urge to tousle his hair. He was such a child in some ways.

  “I’m just really happy that you’re here now and I want to celebrate by taking you out to dinner tonight.”

  Uh-oh. Was that part of what I signed in for?

  I wondered at the etiquette about having dinner with a patient. But he wasn’t at the hospital. This was his home and I was his personal nurse. It wouldn’t hurt to go out with him. I had to make sure he ate right, didn’t I? I knew it was lame but I wanted to say yes.

  “I have nothing fancy to wear so it will have to be really low-key.”