craftsmanship and excellent taste—too bad she’d had to cut them off him. “Maybe. I really wouldn’t know.”
“Hmm . . . you did say you dreamt about keeping him warm that night, right?” Cheryl teased.
Sarah should be used to her by now. Still, color rose up her neck. Flipping over on the bed, she buried her face in a pillow. “Shut up!” The pillow muffled her response. She regretted ever telling her friend about that dream.
“Yeah, yeah.” Cheryl giggled.
“Whatever.” It was impossible to get Cheryl to take her seriously when she got into this teasing mood. It was Sarah’s cue to leave for class. “I’m going. Don’t wait up. There’s a good chance I’ll be late tonight.”
Snatching her backpack off the desk, Sarah hurried out of the room before Cheryl could see how her teasing affected her. It was one of many things she wasn’t ready to admit.
“Greg, the car’s ready,” Simon Moss called out from the doorway.
Gregory Andrews III glanced up from the mountain of papers on his desk—documents requiring his signature, approval, or review. He nodded at Simon, who left after scrutinizing him a bit longer than necessary. There were too many papers piling up around him, and Greg had no idea how fast he could get to everything. He’d been back in the city for two weeks following his long hospital confinement in Fairbanks. Since he couldn’t make an appearance at work without clearance from the doctor, he opted to work from home. The trouble was his body hadn’t been the same since he’d returned to the mainland.
Most days he felt better, and it seemed like he was inching back to normalcy. There were good days when he moved with ease, enjoying the absence of shooting pain from his abdomen or the recurrent nausea and dizziness. But some days, the only thing he could do was stay in bed or seated, or he’d have stumbled and hurt himself.
Greg planted his hands on the desk and hoisted his body up. Before taking a step, he plucked the cane perched on the side of his chair. The cane was a staple for him these days, an aid he needed in case his muscles decided to spasm without advance notice. It had happened many times earlier, and the results had been devastating. Busted lips, extreme fatigue, and a bruised ego were some of the side-effects he’d encountered after his surgery.
Clutching the cane, he hobbled toward the door, through the hallway and out of his Fifth Avenue penthouse to the elevator. The elevator attendant smiled at him when he approached.
“Good morning, Mr. Andrews. You’re looking well today,” the elderly gentleman greeted with sincerity.
“Thank you, Lewis. I’m feeling much better.” Greg resisted the urge to snap back. Instead, he concentrated on the descending numbers encased in a metal display. His mood hadn’t been the best and would remain sour until he heard from Trevor.
“Are you going for another appointment?” Lewis looked at Greg over his shoulder, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners.
Greg gave a silent sigh before answering. “Yes. It looks like it’s never going to end.” His tone sounded curt, despite his best efforts to keep his annoyance at bay.
At long last, the elevator saved him from the unwanted small talk. “See you later, Lewis. Say hi to the missus for me.”
Greg waved to him before stepping out of the elevator. Pushing his sunglasses down to cover his eyes from the sun’s glare, he headed to the glass door a doorman held open for him.
“G’morning, Mr. Andrews.”
“Hey, Juan.” Greg marched straight to the waiting limousine, and Simon closed the door after him. In the confines of his chauffeured car, Greg let out a ragged breath. Here’s to another day of tests, inconclusive results, and nothing solid to go on. How can doctors scratch their heads and repeatedly come up empty and still have jobs?
Granted the woman, this Sarah, had successfully saved his life by removing the bullet and transfusing him with
“Hmm . . . you did say you dreamt about keeping him warm that night, right?” Cheryl teased.
Sarah should be used to her by now. Still, color rose up her neck. Flipping over on the bed, she buried her face in a pillow. “Shut up!” The pillow muffled her response. She regretted ever telling her friend about that dream.
“Yeah, yeah.” Cheryl giggled.
“Whatever.” It was impossible to get Cheryl to take her seriously when she got into this teasing mood. It was Sarah’s cue to leave for class. “I’m going. Don’t wait up. There’s a good chance I’ll be late tonight.”
Snatching her backpack off the desk, Sarah hurried out of the room before Cheryl could see how her teasing affected her. It was one of many things she wasn’t ready to admit.
“Greg, the car’s ready,” Simon Moss called out from the doorway.
Gregory Andrews III glanced up from the mountain of papers on his desk—documents requiring his signature, approval, or review. He nodded at Simon, who left after scrutinizing him a bit longer than necessary. There were too many papers piling up around him, and Greg had no idea how fast he could get to everything. He’d been back in the city for two weeks following his long hospital confinement in Fairbanks. Since he couldn’t make an appearance at work without clearance from the doctor, he opted to work from home. The trouble was his body hadn’t been the same since he’d returned to the mainland.
Most days he felt better, and it seemed like he was inching back to normalcy. There were good days when he moved with ease, enjoying the absence of shooting pain from his abdomen or the recurrent nausea and dizziness. But some days, the only thing he could do was stay in bed or seated, or he’d have stumbled and hurt himself.
Greg planted his hands on the desk and hoisted his body up. Before taking a step, he plucked the cane perched on the side of his chair. The cane was a staple for him these days, an aid he needed in case his muscles decided to spasm without advance notice. It had happened many times earlier, and the results had been devastating. Busted lips, extreme fatigue, and a bruised ego were some of the side-effects he’d encountered after his surgery.
Clutching the cane, he hobbled toward the door, through the hallway and out of his Fifth Avenue penthouse to the elevator. The elevator attendant smiled at him when he approached.
“Good morning, Mr. Andrews. You’re looking well today,” the elderly gentleman greeted with sincerity.
“Thank you, Lewis. I’m feeling much better.” Greg resisted the urge to snap back. Instead, he concentrated on the descending numbers encased in a metal display. His mood hadn’t been the best and would remain sour until he heard from Trevor.
“Are you going for another appointment?” Lewis looked at Greg over his shoulder, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners.
Greg gave a silent sigh before answering. “Yes. It looks like it’s never going to end.” His tone sounded curt, despite his best efforts to keep his annoyance at bay.
At long last, the elevator saved him from the unwanted small talk. “See you later, Lewis. Say hi to the missus for me.”
Greg waved to him before stepping out of the elevator. Pushing his sunglasses down to cover his eyes from the sun’s glare, he headed to the glass door a doorman held open for him.
“G’morning, Mr. Andrews.”
“Hey, Juan.” Greg marched straight to the waiting limousine, and Simon closed the door after him. In the confines of his chauffeured car, Greg let out a ragged breath. Here’s to another day of tests, inconclusive results, and nothing solid to go on. How can doctors scratch their heads and repeatedly come up empty and still have jobs?
Granted the woman, this Sarah, had successfully saved his life by removing the bullet and transfusing him with
Similar Books
