But I can’t help wondering, if he would make good on his promises. If he’d show me the pleasure I’ve never felt before.
What would happen if I just said yes?
* * *
I go stop by the hospital after work to visit Mr. Ashcroft. He’s in his own suite on the VIP floor, wheezing through the tubes he’s got hooked up from his nose and throat. He’s so weak, he can barely speak, but he gestures me closer to the bed.
“I just wanted to check how you were doing.” I take in his pale skin and all the machines -- he doesn’t look good. “Did you get the paperwork signed OK?”
“Signed and sealed,” Ashcroft says weakly.
“Do you need anything?” I hate seeing him like this. The hospital, the wires and tubes, it brings back too many painful memories of my parents after the crash. The doctors did everything they could, but it wasn’t enough.
“No, thank you, sweetheart.” He grips my hand. “My kids are round here somewhere. They flew in as soon as they heard. Waiting around for me to die.” He coughs again, an ugly hacking sound.
“Just relax,” I tell him, but he grips my hand tight, pulling me closer.
“I need to tell you something,” he says, between the coughs.
His voice is faint. I lean in.
“I should have told you... You need to know--”
“Who the hell are you?” We’re interrupted by an angry voice. A man comes striding in the room. He’s in his late twenties, maybe, with dark hair and an expensive suit.
“I’m Keely Fawes, from Mr. Ashcroft’s law firm,” I reply. “And you are?”
“Brent Ashcroft. His son.” Brent doesn’t hold out a hand to shake, so I turn back to Ashcroft. “What is it?” I ask gently. “What did you need to tell me?”
But he just blinks at me, his eyes watery and confused. “I don’t remember.”
“He’s tired. He should be resting.” The man sounds more pissed than concerned. “This area is for family only.”
“I was just leaving. Call me if you need anything at all,” I tell him.
“We’ve got it covered,” Brent interrupts. “Thanks.” He pulls out his phone to send a text, clearly ignoring me, so I give Ashcroft another smile and then leave.
Outside, I find his nurse, June, getting coffee from the vending machine. Her dyed red hair is frizzing in the heat, and her blue smocked outfit clings to her heavy frame.
“He’s not doing so great, is he?” I ask, with a pang of premonition.
“No, sweetie.” She pauses. “Did he talk to you at all?”
“A little. He was kind of confused,” I explain. “He said he needed to tell me something, but then... We were interrupted. Do you know what it was about? He shouldn’t worry about the legal stuff. We can deal with his business managers from now on.”
June gives me a strange look. She glances around quickly, and moves closer. “It’s not about that. He’s worried about his kids.”
“You mean, that they’ll find out he disinherited them?” I ask quietly. She shakes her head, her eyes wide with something that looks like fear.
“No. Not that.”
“What then?”
“You should come back tomorrow,” she says. “Promise me.”
“Brent says it’s family only.” I’m beginning to get weirded out by all of this. I shouldn’t have come by in the first place; it’s not exactly professional to get so involved with clients, but Ashcroft has always been sweet to me -- if a little strange.
“Call me, I’ll let you up,” she insists urgently. “He needs to talk to you.”
I nod. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” I say, reaching into my purse. “Ashcroft left this in the office.” I hold out the jewelry box with the diamond bracelet.
June’s eyes widen. “But that’s for you,” she says.
“And I told him I can’t take it.” I press it into her hands.
“June!” Brent’s voice cuts through the hallway. June whirls around, hiding the bracelet behind her back. “I thought I asked you for coffee.”
“Yes sir,” June mutters. “I was just on my way.”
His gaze slides back to me. “Do we have a problem?”
There’s silence. “No, sir.” June says quickly, then she turns and scurries away.
I hit the button for the elevator. Brent comes closer.
“Did you need something?” I ask politely.
He looks me over, his eyes sweeping from head to toe in a way that makes my skin crawl. “My father talks a lot about you,” he says slowly.
“He’s a great guy,” I reply. Actually he is a true gentleman. A dying breed. One in a million.