At the Brink (8 page)

Chapter Eight

Lily

I’d done it. I’d gone to that place, feeling like a soulless mercenary, against my better judgment and despite all my misgivings. I had worked through my fears to do something I’d never dreamed I could do. It didn’t help that it was Martin who made the appointment and gave me directions. I was still shocked. All through the making of the clip, I could think of only one thing: What would it feel like to have Josh Lane in me?

I returned to the apartment late that night with the memory stick in my pocket. It felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Thankfully, Martin wasn’t home. Preparing the email was easy. With a couple of clicks, the clip was attached and ready to go. But then I froze. I didn’t know what to write. I sat at my kitchen table, staring at the screen.

On the one hand, Josh Lane was handsome, intelligent and intriguing. And he was right: an extraordinary chemistry flowed between us. He had the means to solve my short term problems and he was willing to do it, something I couldn’t take for granted from anyone else in my life.

On the other hand, he wanted me not for my smarts, or for friendship, companionship or affection. If he had, I might have found some justification for my actions. But he’d made it clear he wanted me for a limited engagement, only for sex, and not just sex of the usual variety. I was a transaction to him, a pretty common one apparently, an object he could buy, use and discard.

But freedom was a powerful motivator when coupled with duty and the idea of making my own demands heartened me. My fingers began to click on the keyboard.

* * *

Here it is, what you wanted, how you wanted it, but I have four conditions of my own.

First, you’ll call off those people who keep following me around. Yes, I’ve noticed, and I’m sure you have something to do with it, so don’t deny it. I don’t need or want bodyguards.

Second, you’ll bring current proof of health to our first meeting. Just as you need to know that I’m safe for you, I need to know that you’re safe for me.

Third, you’ll limit your “activities” exclusively to me for the duration of this agreement. I realize this might be a hardship to you, but in the spirit of my second condition, safety first.

Finally, I require privacy. The content of any communication between us is confidential. The contents of the attached clip and any other products related to me are private. Failure to respect my privacy or to comply with the specified terms will result in the immediate unilateral termination of this agreement.

* * *

Take that, Josh Lane. He was not the only one capable of speaking legalese. Sure, I got my wording from
contract101.com
, but I’d made my point. At least I’d tried to even up the match. Somewhere far past midnight—technically after my deadline—I clicked on the mouse and sent the email.

At four in the morning, I gave up on the idea of sleeping, got up and took a shower. In an act of defiance, I groomed myself. No need to have strangers perusing my privates. I dressed in my standard uniform, black pants, black button-down shirt and the mandatory slip-resistant sneakers. I grabbed my old jacket and my polka dot umbrella and was out the door by five. I braved the icy rain and walked to work. Bree was already there. I told her I had to leave early to meet with Mom’s doctors, which was half true.

Her blue eyes bored into my skull. “Something’s bothering you,” she said. “You’re looking sickly this morning.” She studied me further. “Oh, my God, Lily. Are you pregnant?”

“No!”

“Thank God.” Bree exhaled in relief. “You’ll never get rid of Martin if you get pregnant.”

“Bree!”

“It’s the truth and you know it.” She donned her apron, adjusting it over her full figure and tying it at the back. “I can’t understand why you’re still with the idiot. But there’s something else. What is it?”

I shrugged. I couldn’t tell Bree, or anybody else for that matter, what I had done. Thankfully, our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the first customers spearheading the morning rush, which required our full attention for the next few hours.

I called the nursing home at seven, but no one picked up the phone. After that, I called every twenty minutes. The coffee house went crazy busy between seven and nine, and yet in between lattes, macchiatos, cappuccinos and mochas, I managed to leave six messages, explaining that I’d be in later today to pay the bill. I worried. I was over six months late and they didn’t have any reason not to kick us out.

After my sleepless night and frantic morning at work, exhausted, worried, and fueled by a stream of pure caffeine, I raced to Doctor Stevens’s office. I barely made it on time. The office was state of the art. The staff seemed friendly. Doctor Stevens was a tall, willowing beauty in her late thirties, a woman who exuded a rare combination of confidence and kindness. She made me feel comfortable right away. She asked many questions, all of which I answered easily, except one.

“When was the last time you experienced intercourse?”

“Um...it’s been a while.”

“Can you be more specific?” she said.

“Oh, I don’t know, a couple of years, maybe?”

If she found my answer odd, she didn’t say so. “And everything was fine? You didn’t experience any pain, difficulties or discomfort?”

“No,” I lied. Sex with Martin had been unpleasant at best, but I wasn’t willing to talk about it.

Despite all my misgivings, I liked Doctor Stevens. She did a thorough exam, checked the birth control implant under my arm, and ran a battery of standard tests, before she declared me healthy and fit.

“Please call if you have any questions,” she said in parting. “And Lily?”

“Yes?”

She winked as she walked out of the room. “Enjoy.”

No doctor I’d ever visited had said anything like that to me before.

I was out of the doctor’s office by noon. A cold wind joined the rain, slicing through me as if my coat was made of toilet paper. The same wind savaged my little umbrella. I pitched the tattered remains in a trash can as I rushed by. I called the nursing home several times from the bus, but I only got through once and the connection was terrible.

“I’m on my way to pay you,” I shouted into the phone.

“I’m very sorry,” Mrs. Ambrose, the administrator, said right before the call fell through.

I was beside myself. I knew they couldn’t just put my mom out on the streets, but the thought that the eviction process had begun had me in tears.

I ran the last few blocks to the nursing home, oblivious to the soaking rain. Glenview was the only care I’d been able to afford for Mom. It was far from modern or luxurious. The location wasn’t ideal, the facilities were outdated and the building was old, but the staff cared, and it was much better than the alternatives. It had taken us almost a year on the waiting list to get in. I couldn’t let them kick us out.

By the time I bolted through the reception room, I was fueled by a caffeine rage and a righteous sense of social justice. Staff and visitors got out of my way as I marched down the hall. My sodden shoes squished, leaving a watery trail on the worn carpet.

“How dare you?” I said to Mrs. Ambrose, who came out of her office as soon as she heard me raising hell at the desk. “How can you evict my mom when we have no other place to go?”

“Allow me to explain,” she said, wringing her hands. “We moved your mother to—”

“You did what?” I roared like a tiger. “You can’t do that without my authorization!”

“You see, we were under the impression you’d given consent.”

“I’ve done no such thing. I left messages. I have this.” I slapped the American Express on the counter. “I want you to put my mom back in her room. Right now.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Ambrose said. “I can’t do that.”

“Oh, yes, you can.” I banged my fist on the desk. “You people can’t just kick us out in the streets for no reason.”

“We didn’t—”

“Lily?” The voice came from behind me, familiar and yet totally misplaced. “What are you doing?”

I whirled around to see Josh Lane, leaning on the whangee handle of a classic British umbrella. He looked like an alien from a different world standing there at the nursing home, wearing a dark suit beneath his elegant coat, spared by the rain as if untouchable by the elements.

“Christ, Lily.” He stared alternatively at me and at the puddle of water collecting at my feet. “What the hell happened to you?”

The world unhinged about me. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend why he was at the nursing home. Had he come to find me? If he had, he hadn’t wasted any time. I shuddered. The last of my strength wavered under those implacable eyes, but I squared my shoulders and straightened my spine.

“Rain happened to me,” I spat out. “And life, too, but that’s beside the point. I’m afraid I can’t talk to you right now. I’m busy.”

“Busy?” He glared at me as if I’d somehow insulted him. “Look at you.” He pried me away from the desk. “Mrs. Ambrose, could you please get us some towels?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Ambrose rushed to do Josh’s bidding.

It didn’t escape me that everyone in the nursing home was ogling Josh and glaring at me as if I were a demon.

Josh dragged me into a small alcove off the reception room. “You need to listen to me.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I have to talk to Mrs. Ambrose.”

“Sit down,” he said curtly. “I’ve already done that.”

“What?”

“I’ve already talked to Mrs. Ambrose and settled your mother’s account.”

Just then, Mrs. Ambrose bustled in carrying a pile of towels.

“Is that true?” I asked her.

Mrs. Ambrose gazed adoringly at Josh. “A wire transfer hit our account in the early morning hours for all outstanding charges, including late fees and other penalties. And just now, under Mr. Lane’s personal supervision, your mother was transferred to Parkview, which as you know, provides our highest level of care. Mr. Lane produced paperwork signed by your husband authorizing the move and, frankly, I didn’t think you’d object.”

My caffeine-propelled boost and my knees gave out at the same time. I plopped down on the chair. Parkview would have been my first choice for Mom, if I had oodles of money and some influential friends to help me get around the long waiting list.

“Do you believe me now?” Josh handed me a towel. “Or are you still too busy to talk to me? Thank you, Mrs. Ambrose. That will be all for the moment.”

He took a knee before me and, after peeling off my soggy shoes and drenched socks, wrapped my shriveled feet in a towel. I was suddenly too cold to think and too tired to function. The sight of him on the floor and me on the chair was somehow wrong. This is what it must have looked like when Jesus washed the disciples’ feet.

“Really, Lily, don’t you own a better jacket?” He helped me out of my soaked coat. “You’ve got to stop doing stuff like this. You’re going to catch pneumonia.”

“I can’t believe you did this.” I wiped my face and discovered that my admittedly inexpensive mascara was anything but waterproof. “Why?”

“We made an agreement,” he said, drying my hair with such fervor that my scalp burned. “You did your part and now I’m doing mine.”

For once, I was speechless. I hadn’t realized that Josh Lane would act this quickly. He was as fast and nimble as the Roadrunner, whereas I felt as clumsy as Wile E. Coyote. I couldn’t believe his level of efficiency. My mom was at Parkview. Parkview! I felt as if I could breathe again. Instead, I sneezed.

“Jesus Christ.” Josh handed me an immaculate handkerchief. “I swear, if you get sick, I’m going to spank you for being so careless.”

The expression on my face must have been telling, because he shook his head. “It’s just an expression, Lily, one of frustration. Let’s go.” He scooped me out of the chair and into his arms with very little effort. “I’m afraid that short of tossing you into an industrial size dryer, we’re not going to make much more progress here.”

“Hey,” I said. “I can walk. Put me down!”

“You’re barefoot,” he said. “These floors must be crawling with germs.”

“Wait,” I said. “My shoes!”

“They’re done,” he said, tramping across the reception room, oblivious to the bewildered staff and visitors.

“I can save them,” I said. “I’ve done it before.”

“Too many times, apparently.”

“But—”

“No buts, Lily,” he said in his obdurate tone. “We’re out of here.”

With me trapped in his arms, Josh stepped through the doors and out into the curb, where his driver opened the door to the sleek Audi. I realized that I’d been in this car on Wednesday night, but it looked completely new to my dazzled eyes.

“Where are we going?” I asked as Josh deposited me on the back seat.

“You’ll see.” He slammed the door shut.

By the time he swaggered around and got into the car, he was on his cell, giving instructions. He motioned for the driver to go, reached into a compartment and pulled out a fine Scottish tartan. Balancing the phone on his shoulder, he shook out the blanket and wrapped it around me.

The warmth in the car began to defrost me. The blanket around my shoulders helped. It was all very surreal, the heated seats, the plush leather and polished paneling; the people toiling through the relentless rain outside the tinted windows; Josh Lane in all his glory, spewing facts and figures into his cell while I sat beside him, ignorant, wet and barefooted.

But my mom was at Parkview. Parkview!

I took out my new cell and typed a quick email to Mrs. Ambrose, apologizing for my rash behavior. I added a signed directive to ensure that Martin didn’t have authority over my mom’s affairs anymore, just as I’d done with my bank account months ago. Then I waited until Josh hung up from his call.

“I appreciate what you did for Mom.”

His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t believe I’d follow through with our agreement?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“I’m a man of my word, Lily.” He flipped open his tablet and brought up his email, the Wall Street Journal and some dizzying number-streaming application all at once.

I hadn’t doubted Josh before. In fact, for reasons that eluded me, I’d believed everything he’d said from the offset, no matter how outlandish or difficult it was to hear. I just hadn’t understood how fast he would act on his promises and how thorough he’d be. For good or bad, I was used to taking care of myself. I wasn’t used to decisive action or astonishing efficiency, and I certainly wasn’t used to anyone else taking action on my behalf.