Shifters of Grrr 1 (87 page)

"See, here's the thing. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this in the hospital and I’ve come up with something. I have a few connections here and there and I believe that with some help and speaking to the right people, you won't need to waste a whole year waiting tables, when I could clearly see you really wanted this."

"Oh, the crying..." she said embarrassed after a confused pause, "I'm sorry you had to witness that, I thought you were out from the drugs."

"It's ok, I understand how frustrating it is to want something so badly," he said and thought to himself
, don't I know it, really
, "So, I've devised a little plan."

"But I thought you needed help with your... condition?" she said and added breathlessly, obviously starting to feel even more unclear about why she was even there, "And how did you even manage to get yourself discharged so quickly? From what I saw on those images, I'd say it wasn't too smart to leave early. I'm sorry, it's just, your leg is a mess and I definitely don't have the necessary credentials, or the equipment and facilities to properly look after you." She took a quick sip of her water as if trying to shut herself up and not get ahead of herself. Brett knew he needed to be more convincing.
 

"Well, in fact that won’t be necessary," he started and to avoid answering the obvious question in her eyes, he continued quickly, “I told you I wasn't meant to end up in the hospital. I have a personal team of physicians to look after me, but there was a misunderstanding… Anyway, long story short, I don’t really have a
doctor’s
job for you, but I have something better in mind.”

He stopped for a moment to let the news sink in. Her body language screamed that she was now frightened and puzzled and was on the verge of getting up to leave. Before she could make up her mind and decide coming here was a mistake, he went on quickly:
 

“This condition I told you about… The thing you saw on the X-ray? For a while now I’ve been gathering research and compiling notes and interviews about the condition. Let me tell you, there’s not much out there. However, I lack the necessary knowledge to really understand the works of the very few scholars who have published the scant information available. I thought you could help me, while helping yourself. You could go through all the papers and walk me through the data, help me organize it, check for its consistency, et cetera. In the end, you could publish it under your own name as a study of the condition and put in the right hands, it might attract the attention of your professors and the medical society in general. As I mentioned before, this is not free help I’m asking for. I’ll compensate you generously, since I have a personal interest in this as well.”

When he finally fell silent, her eyes had grown large and round. She was completely still and didn’t emit any intention of leaving any more. He’d hit his target – her scientific hunger
and
the possibility to redeem herself after the failure. She tipped the glass to her dry lips once again, trying to hide her excitement.
 

“So, what do you say?” Brett asked.

“I’m in.”
 

Good
, he thought and smiled at her,
now if only I had all that research I just made up handy…
 

After all, he only had another five days to make her his.
 

Chapter 6: Simone

It was Simone’s third morning waking up early to go to her new job… or whatever that was she was visiting the grand home for. The first day had passed in merely another long conversation with Brett… Mr. Growley, in the elegant, spacious bedroom, where he’d set up a working table for her right by the side of his bed. The room hadn’t felt like a patient’s room at all. There had been quiet, relaxing music, sumptuous meals, a succession of refreshing drinks. Even the patient himself hadn’t looked much like a patient. If it hadn’t been for his cast and his propped up leg, he’d have looked much like a completely healthy man with his glowing face, ringing laughter and unquenchable enthusiasm.
 

He’d explained they needed to wait for the documents to be delivered from the various offices and centers he’d kept them at, as well as for his medical results from the previous day’s tests to be fetched from the hospital. She hadn’t minded in the least, his company perhaps a bit too enjoyable. She’d felt a pang of guilt for enjoying her time there too much, especially since she’d suspected it had nothing to do with the meals or the music. The alternative of staying home with the irritable and brooding Charles, who only looked for reasons to snarl at her, made her cringe.
 

This eccentric man was simply fascinating. It had seemed like the conversation had flowed without any effort on either side and she hadn’t even noticed the time go by. Little by little, Brett had revealed a life of luxury and adventure that was so foreign to her that for a moment she’d felt as if she had experienced barely anything in her modest existence, her biggest achievement to date being getting engaged. Yet, he hadn’t seemed to find her trivial and kept prompting her to speak about her interests, the books she’d read, the foods she enjoyed cooking, the films that made her think or cry or laugh.
 

The only thing that had cast a shadow over her visits were the inevitable parallels she’d drawn between Brett and Charles. The more she’d got to know this physically dashing and intellectually stimulating man, the more Charles had stood out with his pettiness and short temper, his lack of ambition and complete passivity towards life. His lack of sparkle.
 

Now, she sat in front of the vanity, running a brush through her long, shiny hair, lost in thought about the upcoming day. She didn’t even notice Charles had woken up and now traced her movements through narrowed eyes. She put the brush down quietly and looked inside her make-up case, picking out a shade of eye-shadow to match the emerald dress she intended to wear today. It hung on the closet’s door, sleek and elegant, and perhaps a tad too sexy for her style nowadays. On both previous days Brett had complemented her on the way she’d looked, which now made her a bit more conscious of how she would present herself. She’d almost forgotten that men could actually
notice
what she was wearing.
 

Lost in the routine of applying eye-liner and mascara, Simone wasn’t aware how her lips now stretched in a faint smile at the memory of yesterday’s visit to Brett’s house.
 

“Tell me why you want to be a doctor so much,” her employer had said, settling back into his pile of pillows and fixing her with eyes full of interest as if he’d invited her to share the long version of it. She’d told him how it had all started with her mother’s ambitions for her after her own fiasco as a nurse, but had unexpectedly grown into a passion and Simone had soon realized that she’d rather spend her days in the hospital’s corridors, examination rooms and labs than anywhere else. It had thrilled her to solve the puzzle of a new case, to work out a diagnosis, to be able to actually change someone’s life for the better.
 

Brett had listened, never interrupting, only nodding in understanding, and she’d felt as if he really
heard
her, instead of politely directing the conversation back to himself, the way people usually did. When Brett’s hospital files had finally arrived, she’d regretted the sudden interruption to a cozy, stimulating talk that had left her feeling invigorated and alive.
 

"What are you smiling so much about?" Charles's voice came from behind her harshly and unexpectedly and Simone jumped, drawing a long smear of eyeliner up towards her brow.
 

"Shit," she cursed quietly, not sure whether she was angrier at herself for ruining her effort or at Charles for sneaking up on her.
 

"What's all that?" he said, jumping out of bed at once and walking towards the green dress. "Who's that for? You?" A long, guttural laughter escaped his throat as he ripped the dress off the hanger. "Making yourself all pretty for Mr. Boss?" He came to stand above her, so she could see his contorted, mocking expression in the mirror.
 

"Look what you've done to my dress!" she cried, pulling the torn sleeve from his grip to inspect it.
 

"To your fucking
dress
?
That's
what you care about?" he said, now screaming. "Look what you are fucking doing to
me
! I didn't know fat-ass bitches whored around too, or I might have picked a hot girlfriend to begin with." The corners of his mouth had foamed with spittle and his rage was only intensifying.
 

"I'll pretend you didn't say that," Simone said with a stone-cold voice and expression.
 

"And I'll pretend my fiancée is not preparing to go fuck her boss, all smiles and hot dresses. What's this "
job
" you are doing there anyway? A blowjob?" he burst into uncontrollable laughter at his wit, while Simone breathed deeply and tried to calm herself down and finish her make-up. She wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. All these moods and burst-outs were now becoming the norm with Charles and she felt as if she was suffocating in their cramped bedroom.
 

"Listen to me," he hissed in her ear once the laughing fit had passed, "I won't let you make a fool out of me. I won't let you shake your fat ass in front of some rich guy and stand to watch it." He shoved the dress under Simone's chin and lifted her head with it, so their eyes met. "You are not going there anymore, starting fucking
now
."
 

Simone's face was burning with humiliation and rage. She stood up and tried to walk past Charles, but he grabbed her upper arm and clawed his fingers deep into her flesh, eliciting a sharp pain.
 

"Let me go, Charles," she whispered, "When you calm down, you'll realize what a mistake you are making right now. You won't tell me where I can and cannot go and what clothes I can and cannot wear." She tried to weave her way around him and break free from his tight grip, but a searing pain stopped her in her tracks. She realized she'd fallen back into the chair and her cheek and eye were now throbbing and sore. Just after she heard the bedroom door slam closed behind Charles, she realized he'd hit her. He'd never done that and the hurt was no longer just physical as she began to sob quietly.
 

***

"What's wrong? Are you alright?" The worry in Brett's voice was almost palpable.
 

She'd gone to his place anyway, if only to tell him she wouldn't be coming to work for him anymore. She'd thought it all over on her way here and had begun to see that there might have been a drop of truth in Charles' accusations. Not that she excused his monstrous behavior, but she could at least see where he was coming from. Perhaps she did hold some of the responsibility for their eroding relationship and she wasn't helping stabilize it by coming to work for Brett and spending what were the most thrilling hours of her day talking to a man who was not her fiancé.
 

When she'd entered the room, she'd spotted the piles of thick folders deposited on her working table next to the bed and her insides had shrank painfully at the thought that she had to bail on the opportunity before it had ever actually begun.
 

She sat in her usual spot by the window trying to avoid eye contact and looking for words that would deliver the news as smoothly as possible. How was it possible that after only three days she had grown attached to this stranger? She would miss the chance to expand her knowledge and work on her career, but she would miss his smile more, the rows off pearly white teeth and his laughter at her small jokes, the concentration with which he listened, his twinkling eyes and the feeling that she was being
understood
.
 

"I... I'm... I can't," she started uncertainly, but her voice soon wavered and all the horror of the morning came flooding over her. She couldn't stop the tears, and though she turned her face away, the teardrops soon washed down her carefully concealed skin and a patch of dark purple emerged under her eye. She stood up swiftly and covered her face with her hands, blindly making her way towards the door. It was a mistake. She shouldn't have come at all. What had she expected? And why had she felt this virtual stranger needed her explanations?
 

Suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks. A pair of strong, muscular arms now held her heaving shoulders and it took her a second to make sense of it and look up to see the man who was supposedly bound to his bed towering above her, staring at her black eye in deep pain and confusion.
 

"Did
he
do this to you?" Brett asked and his voice was quiet, but determined.
 

What was going on? How was it even possible? He couldn't have possibly lifted himself out of the bed, let alone walk the few feet to reach her that fast. Was this some elaborate joke? Were these fictitious documents they'd waited for for two days some ploy to get her to stay there? Who was this maniac and how had he managed to trick her into believing he was injured? Suddenly the fear gripped her tightly and she couldn't breathe. She had to get out of there and wrestling her way out of his loose embrace, she ran past him without ever answering his question.
 

As she hurried down the stairs, she was convinced that this had all been a lesson to open her eyes to just how gullible she was. She swore to never step foot in this gigantic mansion ever again and flew out the door and towards home. Towards the only man who should be in her life right now. Her Charles.