Hell on Heels (Hotel Rodeo #1)(5)

Work occupied most of their waking hours anyway. It was a decent match, all things considered. Although they weren’t exactly lighting the mattress on fire, sex and intimacy weren’t high priorities for either of them. Success was—and Evan lived, breathed, and bred success.

Evan continued to address the potential investors. “We only need to come to a decision on the proportion of cash, stocks, and bonds that will be utilized to fund this venture—”

A soft knock sounded on the door. Delores crept into the boardroom with a wince. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Davis, but there’s an important call for Ms. Brandt.”

Monica glanced across the table at Evan who speared her assistant with a deadly look. The interruption had come in the middle of a make-or-break-a-career kind of deal.

Evan glowered, his gaze black and cold as onyx, his displeasure palpable. “I thought I gave clear instructions to hold all calls,” he replied, tight-lipped.

Delores’s throat visibly worked as she swallowed. “They said it’s an emergency.”

“It had better be,” Evan retorted.

Absolutely nothing superseded business in Evan’s world—especially a deal of this magnitude. Even Monica’s status as his fiancée wouldn’t insulate her from his wrath. Although he’d been her mentor, and his sponsorship had provided her entrée to the investment banking team, their personal relationship always evaporated the moment they crossed the threshold of the boardroom.

Monica murmured a prayer under her breath and then faced the cadre of corporate moguls with an apologetic smile. “Please excuse me for just a moment, gentlemen. This won’t delay a thing. Michael will review the financial details in my place.”

Michael paled. “Certainly, Ms. Brandt,” he replied in a voice that sounded half an octave higher than normal.

Everything was already there in black and white. They’d covered all the details prior to the meeting. All he really had to do was parrot what they’d reviewed. She wondered dryly if he’d manage without squawking.

She crossed the boardroom with impatient purpose, the furious tap of her stiletto heels muffled in the thick, handmade, imported Persian rug. The moment the door clicked behind her, she spun on Delores. “Whatever the hell you pulled me out of that meeting for had better be worth risking both of our jobs for. Evan was pissed. He’s canned people for less.”

Delores’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry, but what else could I do? It’s your father, Ms. Brandt. He’s in the hospital.”

“My father?” Monica reached across the desk to snatch up the phone receiver. “Which line?” she asked, frowning at the panel of blinking lights. She then looked toward the boardroom, chewing her lip. A second later, she dropped the handset back down. “I need to take this in private anyway. Please transfer it to my office, okay?” Flinging the command over her shoulder, she headed briskly down the hall.

The phone was already buzzing by the time she hit the threshold to her office. Flinging the door shut, she rushed to answer. Although she tried to keep her cool, her hands trembled. “This is Monica Brandt.”

“Ms. Brandt? I’m calling from Desert Springs Medical Center. I’m so glad we’ve finally tracked you down—”

“I’m sorry. I was in an important meeting and had my cell turned off. What is it? What’s happened to my father?”

“Just one moment, please. I’ve paged the neurology resident. He’ll speak with you shortly.”

“Neurology? Oh God!” Monica’s hand flew to her mouth. “Did Tom forget to take his blood-pressure medication again?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m just the unit clerk. I can’t answer any clinical questions.”

“Then for God’s sake’s put someone on who can!”

“Excuse me? I understand your concern, but there’s no need to bite my head off—”

“Is your father in the hospital?”

“No.”

“Has your father been in the hospital?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t possibly understand,” Monica bit back. “Get me the doctor.”

“I’ve paged him for you. That’s all I can do.”

For precisely seven minutes and thirty-three seconds Monica was punished with the ear-bleeding torture of Barbara Streisand’s Memory and Neil Diamond’s September Morn before a new voice jarred into her Muzak-induced coma.

“Ms. Brandt? This is Dr. Chen. Our records show that you are Thomas Brandt’s health-care surrogate?”

“Yes.” She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. “I’m also his daughter. What’s happened to him?”

“I regret to inform you that he’s had a cerebrovascular accident and is currently under close neurological observation in our critical-care unit.”

“Oh God! A stroke? How bad is it?”

“It was hemorrhagic. That means he had some bleeding inside his brain. We’ve stabilized his intracranial pressure, but it may be some days and several tests before we can make an accurate prognosis. Of course we’ll need to consult with you regarding his follow-up care. In the meantime, there are a number of forms we need you to sign.”

“Of course,” she whispered. “You can fax them here to my office, but I intend to handle anything else in person. I’ll be there on the next flight.”