Chapter 10

Wes

“What the fuck do you mean you’re transferring her to the clean room?!” Bryn shouts at the top of her lungs, hands most likely falling aggressively to her ripped jeans covered hips. “How is her room not already clean enough?!”

“Isolation and sterilization,” Hamilton calmly clarifies from the outdoor bench he’s occupying.

I cut an incredulous glance over my pillar leaning shoulder that allows him to see my glare but not her. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“ Yes. ” The lack of hesitation in his retort is unsettling. “She’s not better, Wes. She’s worse. ”

“How the fuck is she worse?!” the woman in the area viciously bites.

“Her fever and rash are about the same; however, now she’s got nausea and vomiting, which means it wasn’t an allergic reaction to the flowers.” His pause is short, and his sigh even shorter. “I, myself, have also been feeling a tad off. Noticeably nauseous, but no vomiting or diarrhea, leading me away from the idea of us sharing an unfortunately timed stomach bug to a conclusion I hate that I have to make.”

Slowly, I shoot him another glare. “ Which is? ”

“She is most likely being poisoned.”

“ What?! ” Bryn screeches at an ear-splitting volume.

“ That’s absurd, ” is practically growled through gritted teeth.

“Upon reviewing my notes, her tests results, the duration of each individual symptom as well as the likeliness of the symptoms themselves, poison is the most plausible answer.”

“ Ohmygod… ” leaves Lauren’s daughter after a shaky breath.

My refusal to believe that anyone would want to hurt the single most important woman at the estate, the woman who goes to extreme lengths to make lives better, who pitches in with her own two hands anytime it’s needed whether in gardening or stocking, who willingly plays the role of therapist and mentor pushes me to snap, “What is the second most?”

“An unknown or undiscovered or undocumented disease that has hard to trace triggers.”

“Like Lupus?”

“It’s not Lupus,” Bryn huffs in mild irritation. “Haven’t you watched House ? It’s almost never Lupus.”

“This is not an overdramatic TV show,” Hamilton fusses in her direction before turning mine, “and this is most likely not Lupus or an autoimmune disease. And if it is? There’s nothing I can do for her here .”

The proclamation has me looking over my shoulder once more to meet his gaze.

“In my expert opinion , I believe she’s being poisoned. It could be something airborne, ingested, or delivered by touch considering we were the only two people in the facility all weekend sharing many of the same situations, me personally handling all the same items. Because of this…because of the fact I had minor symptoms as well ,” his gaze consistently pivots between us, “isolation and sterilization in the clean room is the best, next set of actions along with providing her strictly IV liquids and nutrition. While they are not ideal for a functional individual who can tend to herself, they’re the ideal course of actions to guarantee she is only receiving what she is supposed to.”

No argument is made.

Not that there’s really one to give.

“The only people allowed inside – in protective gear at that – will be me and three around the clock nurses from HNMC – already vetted and NDAs signed – rotating in eight-hour shifts, who’ll also be accompanying any and all medical gear transported to the estate.”

Fuck.

I don’t want this.

I don’t want more people on the grounds.

I don’t want more reasons to have to hide.

Disappear.

Especially not with the way Bryn makes me feel like it’s alright to actually be seen.

“They will not be allowed on any other part of the property, and I’m having Park set up members of security at both the front and back exit to assist in preventing that and the possibility of anyone who isn’t one of them entering. They’ll be escorted straight to the medical vehicle from the door and straight from the vehicle to the door. You have nothing to be concerned about, Wes.”

“Except that someone he employees may be trying to fucking off my mom.”

“ Except that. ”

This time I throw my words over my other shoulder at her. “ I don’t believe anyone is trying to kill Lauren .”

“Doesn’t mean that they aren’t. Just that you don’t wanna believe it.”

I hate that she has a valid point.

Primarily because she shouldn’t.

Because the people who are here are supposed to be ones I can trust.

That I’ve always relied on trusting.

I can’t have that of all things changing.

If I can’t trust them, who can I trust?

Where does that leave my estate?

Me?

“How long?” I clear my throat and intentionally direct my question to Hamilton. “How long do you wanna keep her in that room?”

“A week.”

Bryn’s huff practically blows the building off its foundation.

“Two days to flush her system,” my dedicated physician explains, “two days to stabilize it, and two to three days to see improvements.”

“And if you don’t?” the gray knotted tank top wearing beauty investigates.

“I’ll escort her on the chopper to the hospital myself,” Hamilton firmly declares.

“Good because if you don’t, if you find some other bullshit excuse or experiment to try instead, I will hot wire that ’65 Shelby Mr. Wilcox is hiding in the back of his collection, drive it straight through the front door of this place, and take her to the hospital my goddamn self.” I peek over my shoulder just in time to see her fold her arms across her chest. “I’m not speaking Klingon, so I know you both understand.”

There’s no reluctance from Hamilton to offer reassurance. “Absolutely.”

“ Mr. Wilcox. ”

I meet her glare for a second time. “How do you know about my Shelby?”

“ Pretty sure that’s not the takeaway she was requesting… ” is murmured under the doctor’s breath.

“Found it Saturday afternoon during the hunt for where they parked my car.” Outrage briefly transposes into mirth. “It looks like its owner. Desperate to be ridden. ”

My cock swiftly begins to rise in my black sweats as if it’d like me to call on it for a solution to the proposed problem.

I’m not desperate.

I just haven’t been interested.

Although, I most certainly am now.

Hell, if I jerk off to thoughts of her jerking me off any more than I already am I might need to request a prescription for dick chafing.

Hamilton doesn’t bother hiding his chortles during his rise to his feet. “I’m going back inside to tend to my patient; however, I will continuously be in contact with the two of you during this process. Please, message or text me if you have any questions.”

His exiting the front porch area precedes me announcing, “I’ll have Park extend camera access to you so that you can visually check in on her at your leisure whether that be from your phone or the laptop in the library.”

“And what exactly will you be doing if Doctor Hates House is right? If she is being poisoned by someone on your staff?”

“She isn’t.”

“ But. If. She. Is? ”

“Then they will be handled accordingly.”

“That better be billionaire speak for a box jellyfish style death sentence.”

Unsure of what she’s detailing, prompts me to remain silent.

“ Painful ,” the exasperated female declares. “ Extremely. Painful. ”

“ Ah. ” An amused grin threatens my expression. “Yes. We’re on the same page.”

“Good.”

Sounds of her footsteps begin almost immediately after the clipped word prompting me to call out, “ Wait. ”

They immediately cease. “For?”

I can do this.

I can…ask a woman to have dinner with me.

I mean…I’ve done it in the past.

I can do it again.

While yes, it has been quite some time, I’m still capable of it.

It is still something I possess the power to do.

I just…hope it doesn’t come out the way it did during my rehearsing this weekend.

Clark – not so subtly – claimed I sounded thirteen again and J.T. enthusiastically agreed.

Neither provided helpful commentary.

“Did you want me to guess what you’re going to say?” Her approaching voice leads me to grabbing a small glimpse that confirms she’s relocating to be directly behind me. “Can you at least tell me how many words it is? That’s basic charades etiquette, Mr. Wilcox.”

“Am I Mr. Wilcox because you’re pissed at me or am I Mr. Wilcox because you’re hoping to make me squirm?”

“The latter.”

Relief doesn’t hesitate to fall on my shoulders.

Thank fuck for that.

Not sure I could actually go through with this if she were completely pissed as opposed to being simply frustrated by the situation with her mother.

“I was wondering…” standing straight up is accompanied by shoving my hands in the pocket of my hoodie, “if…you’re…working this evening.”

I know she’s not.

I know she only works Friday, Saturday, and Sunday thanks to a quick call with Park.

But I need the buildup.

I need to set the tone for a successful pitch.

Just like I coach the face of my company to do for every board meeting.

“No.”

“Do you have plans?”

“Might see if Puppet Boy wants to eat whatever Lucky’s made and binge a few episodes of Next Gen with me. Kinda tapped on energy for job hunting and apartment searching seems like a backseat option until Mom’s stable, you know?”

I swallow the droplets of guilt burning their way down my vocal cords and nod in understanding.

Lauren’s unsettled condition is my fault.

Just like the death of Bryn’s dad.

My own parents.

I’m incapable of not hurting others.

Which means asking her to have dinner with me is a terrible idea.

One that I should’ve never even considered.

Don’t deserve to consider.

Just as I prepare to dismiss myself, she asks, “Why?”

The temptation to lie is batted right off my tongue.

“Why do you ask, Mr. Wilcox?” Her voice is now uncomfortable close. “Why do you care?”

“I…” nervousness forcefully penetrates my tone, “believe…Mr. Reese – er – uh – J.T.- ”

“ Puppet Boy. ”

The playful correction successfully smothers out the weariness that has worked itself into my system. “He has a prior engagement this evening.”

“Then I guess I’ll eat and binge alone.”

“ You shouldn’t. ”

“Shouldn’t what?”

“Dine alone.”

An undeniably impish hum precedes her questioning, “Is that statement coming from the concerned billionaire host who doesn’t want his guest getting into trouble unsupervised or the sexy billionaire host who’s trying to ask me out on a see you naked type of date?”

“I don’t have to see you naked.”

“But you are asking for a date?”

Heat sadistically burns my cheeks and vocal cords, yet I battle past it to airily reply, “ Yes. ”

Silence swings painfully between us for so long that I convince myself to take it back.

To claim I’m merely doing my best to be a good host.

Friend.

Maybe us being friends would be better.

I don’t have many.

And having her in my orbit, burning bright like the sun I don’t let touch my skin anymore, would be beneficial.

Definitely less harmful for us both.

“If you agree to my terms, I’ll say yes.”

Intrigue and hilarity have the corners of my lips kicking upwards. “You want me to negotiate for a date?”

“No,” she sassily counters, “you’re going to agree to my demands and get a date at eight o’clock.”

I can’t stop the light laugh that appears. “Oh, now they’re demands ?”

“They’ve always been demands. You just unwisely believed there would be room for counters.”

“And there’s not?”

“Correct.”

Impressed by her tactic, I gesture a palm to my side to insist she continues.

“One, it will be a private date. This means no cameras. No phones. No Starfleet telecoms. Nothing that you can use to get you out of the awkward moments every first date has to deal with at some point.”

“I’ll alert Park,” comes out in between chuckles.

“Two, I will be in charge of coordinating the menu with Lucky. We have a love/hate thing goin’ on, and I don’t want that ruined because you decided to throw a wrench in the rotation.”

“Should I be concerned about your relationship with the head of my kitchen department?”

“Nope.”

Her blatant disregard of the statement receives more chortles.

“And three, I get to see you.” All of a sudden, her voice dips in tandem with a digit gingerly starting to trace my spine. “ All of you. ”

Its slow descent summons my eyelids to fall.

Breath to falter.

Dick to rise.

“I’m talkin’ eyes. Face. Frame.” She continues the gradual, downward movement. “There will be absolutely no hiding anything from me.” Bryn wickedly winding her finger along my lower back occurs at the same time she searches for understanding. “ Do you agree to my terms, Mr. Wilcox? ”

The single word is growled rather than spoken, “ Yes. ”

“Good!” An unforeseen spank to my butt is delivered. “Can’t wait to see if that ass looks as good it is feels.”

New waves of heat caused by both embarrassment and amusement burn my face so profusely that I’m left with no choice but to let my head fall forward in disbelief.

Wait.

What exactly did I just sign my soul away to?