Chapter 1 #2
“You’re from Sinclair’s Angels?”
He almost scoffed at the name. “Yes…”
“Second floor to the right. Room 12.”
He nodded at her and left to the elevator.
The hospital looked more like a hotel, with immaculate corridors, beige, and grey colors, and white, and he wondered if rich people hated colors, because sure as fuck wherever he had worked there had been none, but these sad tones of faux luxury.
Second floor in the elevator playing some shit music.
To the right, Room 12. He knocked, thankful to have something to concentrate on.
Squaring his broad shoulders, he waited.
The door opened then, and a man gestured him in.
A man with grey hair, a small, neatly trimmed moustache, and black framed glasses, wearing a grey suit.
The man offered his hand. Firm handshake. “Welcome. I’m Henry Galloway, as you might know. And my wife, Martina.”
A slender woman had walked up to them, wearing a light pink dress, and the signature pearl necklace with matching heels. Her hair was down to her shoulders, dyed a creamy dark brown. “Nice meeting you.”
He shook her hand too. “My pleasure. I’m Duncan Lambert.” He had sort of pronounced his last name in French, but said the ‘t’ at the end because sure as fuck people started asking questions about the spelling then. And he was ready for the next one.
Martina perked up. “Oh! French?”
“My father’s side.” Hoping that would be enough.
“How fun!”
Henry gestured at the bed. “Here’s why I asked Sinclair to send us one of his best men.”
“It’s not like I’m not in the fucking room now, am I?” That voice, filled with scorn, the words slurred.
Duncan looked at the source of it, that human lying in that white bed, his eyes filled with hate under that layer of alcohol clouds.
Perfect… Dark eyes, watching them, dark brown hair, down to his shoulders in soft waves, pale skin, from what he could see on his arms and hands on the covers, that hospital gown askew, showing his slender shoulder.
“Manners, Spencer.”
“Fuck you…” He chuckled, mocking. “I don’t want a guard dog.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option anymore. Not with me being the target of constant threats, and you leading this life of zero control.”
“I’m fully in control…” Waving that feeble hand at them, he leant over the bed and threw up, hard. It exploded on the floor in a star of yellow goo, the stench of stale alcohol and stomach content flooding the room.
Martina hurried to open the window, and Henry looked at Duncan. “I’m truly sorry…”
Spencer laughed, wiping his mouth in the sheet. He leant back on the pillows, his hair dripping vomit. “Fuck your apologies… I’m the demon from the exorcist… Fear me…”
Martina threw the sign of the cross and rang for a nurse. “He’s drunk way too much. They pumped his stomach when he got here.”
“Still here… can talk…” He closed his eyes, lying back on the pillow, pale as the sheet.
A nurse came in then, but saw that disaster and hurried back outside.
Henry sighed. “Mr Lambert, you can still refuse this assignment… you wouldn’t be the first to walk out on us.”
Duncan’s eyes drifted back to that young man, fed up.
That anger bubbling in his chest, that some young men were struggling and working their asses off and that privileged fuck was throwing his guts up in a luxury hospital.
But… the money was too good, Sinclair had sent the details, and he would have a place to live. .. if he managed with this young idiot.
“It’s fine. I’ll manage.”
“Fuck you…” Soft, filled with that mocking hate, he had opened his eyes.
Duncan decided to ignore him, even if inwardly, he was boiling.
They watched a cleaner come in, and the nurse with fresh sheets.
The young man looked at them. “Get the fuck out… I don’t want to be… changed in front of all of you…”
His mother wrinkled her nose. “You need a shower too…”
“Yes, mother…” Mocking, his sharp lips curled up.
Henry looked at Duncan. “We might as well have a coffee and discuss the details. How soon can you start?”
Duncan thought about that silent flat filled with their memories. That empty bed filled with their scent. “Tonight. I need time to pack a few things.”
“Splendid!”
They heard a chuckle from the bed and turned back.
Spencer grinned at Duncan. “Welcome to hell, dog.”
Duncan walked close and leant over him, offering his hand. “It’s Mr Lambert for you, or Duncan. Not ‘dog’. And if you ever call me ‘dog’, I’ll make sure you’re welcome to hell indeed.”
Spencer’s dark eyes went to him. “Oh… I see… a tough guy…” His breath was heavy with alcohol and that stale sour smell of vomit. He took Duncan’s hand though, shaking it softly. “Alright, Duncan. I’m Spencer. And I hate you already.”
Duncan straightened. “That makes two of us.” He walked out then, and the parents followed.
Outside, Henry turned to Duncan. “I must say, this was surprising, but I’m thrilled that you told him off.”
“I can stop it, if you want. But I don’t allow clients to disrespect me.”
Martina waved at him. “Spencer is a brat. He deserves all the scolding he can get. I wonder sometimes how my sweet boy became such a monster.” She stifled a sob and took her phone out. “I have to cancel my gym session with the girls… I hope they’ll let him home soon.”
“They said tomorrow morning… Could you pick him up, Mr Lambert? I have to go back to work, and Martina is busy with organizing a fundraising party…”
“Sure.”
“You’ll get a car, of course. Spencer has an assigned car, and we expect you to drive. Come, let’s have that coffee…”
They walked to a posh cafeteria and sat down, ordering two coffees, and a cappuccino for Martina who was lost in her phone.
Henry twirled his napkin. “So… as I said, driving him around, taking him to events… Spencer is a painter, sort of… and he’s also a model…
when he can walk straight, because he also has penchant for alcohol and partying, as you might have guessed.
He lives at home, the house is big enough, and he’s free to bring whomever he wants home…
I’d just need you to check that they’re not a danger to him.
You’d go on his trips and holidays with him, and his events, but you know your job.
Your lodging, when you’re at the mansion, would be in the security building.
We have small flats for staff, I hope that’s fine. ”
He nodded, drained a bit. “I don’t need much…”
“Good. Of course, when you travel with Spencer, you’d sleep next door.”
“I know. I worked for clients like this before… well, not so much into drinking, khm…”
Martina looked up from her typing. “Oh, you can be blunt, Mr Lambert. Spencer drinks like a pig.” She shrugged.
“I always wanted a girl. I even cried at the gender reveal… but what can you do? He’s turned out to be a deception, but maybe with time, and his careers taking off, he’ll become better…
I’m not sure though.” She sank back into her phone.
Duncan met Henry’s apologetic smile. “He’s not a bad kid… just maybe gone the wrong way, somehow…”
Duncan couldn’t care less, his heart bleeding in his chest, silently.
Drinking that hot coffee, washing his tears down his throat.
He listened to Henry explain all the other details, nursing his cup, thinking of how his life had tipped in the blink of an eye.
His thoughts on those eyes filled to the brim with hate, framed by that lush hair.
That same hate in his heart, growing on the soil of his grief.