Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(81)

"Fifteen," Steven said, outbidding himself. He stood up and paced to the window.

His action jerked me into the moment. "Twenty," I said. "And my own office. I can wear what I want and no high heels. And five additional personal days off a year, no questions asked."

Steven crossed his arms as he turned. "Okay."

What? That was easy. "As a company-wide policy," I tacked on, gaining even more confidence. "We all need days we don't account for to deal with sick family members or unexpected appointments." Trina, the receptionist, could have done with those.

"Don't push it. You can have five extra. Anyone below VP level can have three extra."

Elation was ballooning up inside me, making me want to shout and scream in happiness, but with all my might I tried to keep a straight face. "Deal," I croaked and stood.

Steven's shoulders slumped. "I don't know where I can carve out an office."

"This one could probably be divided into two." I smiled broadly. "I do love the view." I nodded out the window to the courthouse. "Justice and fairness and all that. It's inspiring."

My phone that I still had clutched in my hand began ringing. It was David's facility number in Rockaway. "Sorry, I have to take this," I told Steven hurriedly. "And yes, it's a personal call." I turned and left. "Hello?"

"Emmy, it's Penny from Rockaway Nursing and Rehabilitation." My insides always lurched when I got a call like this, expecting bad news. If it was Penny who called and not D'Andre it usually wasn't good.

"Penny. Hi, is everything okay?"

"It's wonderful," she said. "Have you had a call from the facility in Summerville?"

I frowned. "No?"

"They're making room for David."

"What?" I covered my mouth with my hand. My eyes stung as relief swamped me, making me feel weak. I closed my eyes. "For real?"

"Yes. For real. They may be able to accept him as soon as next week."

"Oh my goodness. How . . .?"

"No idea. But let us know as soon as you speak to them because we'll have to officially stop his Medicaid here in order for you to apply for it there. There's no overlap."

"That's the scary part," I said. But oh my God, I'd just gotten a raise. I might be able to do this.

"Yes," she agreed. "But just think how happy David'll be to see you more often. It'll all work out. I made sure to let the administrator in Summerville know we needed to file the paperwork as quickly as possible."

My phone beeped with an incoming call. A quick check told me it was a South Carolina number. "This might be them on the other line, Penny."

"Okay, honey, call me back later."

"Thank you. Thank you so much." I switched over. "Hello?"

"Miss Dubois? I'm calling from Magnolia Meadows in Summerville."



* * *



To: tmontgomery

From: edubois

Subject: L?



* * *



Dear Trystan L. Montgomery

. . .

. . .



* * *



I clicked the small red X in the upper corner of the email. A pop-up box appeared. Did I want to delete this message? No. But I didn't know what the hell to say. Asking what the L stood for in his name was probably not the most appropriate way to start. I clicked Cancel and tried again.



* * *



To: tmontgomery

From: edubois

Subject: Thank you



* * *



Dear Trystan

. . .

. . .



* * *



Oh my God. Why was this so hard?





38





Trystan





Nobody should do anything that feels like base jumping. Ever. It may be exhilarating, an adrenaline rush like no other, but it's the world's most dangerous sport for a reason. Not many people can make a safe landing after that kind of jump.

In contrast to the highs I've woken up with the last couple of mornings, I have definitely miscalculated my landing. When I wake up in my apartment in New York on Sunday morning, alone, I feel hollow. Emotionally I’m lying at the bottom of a cliff.

And to be honest, waking up in my old life feels like waking from a dream where my whole life was thrown into a blender and I'm not sure if I really woke up because I feel so . . . shit.

I have no work to do to keep my mind occupied because my company is selling in four days and every single i is dotted and t crossed. Montgomery Homes & Facilities. That's something I can focus on.

I get up, make coffee, and shower then pull out all the financials I was given last week. After two hours I'm on the phone to Robert who's on the way out of mass.

"There's a discrepancy. . ." I begin when he answers.



* * *



I thought maybe I made the decision to go out to Rockaway and meet David in person almost to convince myself the previous week hadn't been some elaborate dive into the Matrix. But then it turned out I needed to anyway.

After finding the discrepancy on our available Medicaid beds and bothering not only Robert, but our two accountants, on a Sunday morning, they somehow miraculously found additional space at the facility in Summerville.