Chapter 5
Iroll my shoulders, trying to loosen the tension that always seems to take hold after another round of verbal spars with the old man.
Being dressed down by him about legacies and duties makes me miss the clarity of military life. Out in the field, you know the mission and do what you have to.
Though his expectation is straightforward enough.
Get married and have a kid.
There is no mincing of words, no double meanings.
But finding a wife and fathering a child on this short of a notice?
Frustrated, I brush off my father’s foolishness. It’s true I need the backing of a tech giant like Whitmore to pursue the frontier of virtual reality application in medicine.
But will he really remove me as the CEO if I don’t deliver by the end of the year? If he does, I will find another way to pursue the VR program. With Whitmore, it will be easier. Without Whitmore, it will still be possible.
It’s only eleven in the morning. Either I need a change of scenery or a scotch.
On instinct, I grab my keys off the sleek desktop. Maybe I”ll find some clarity of mind uptown with Marc. We went through hell and back together. With him, things are uncomplicated. The brotherhood of having stared down death never fades.
I storm out of my office, still cursing my father under my breath. Normally, Cade would come along, but I decide to go alone today. As I jab the elevator call button, willing its arrival, Amanda from PR rounds the corner with Maddie in tow, all endless legs and cascading hair.
I remind myself to talk to HR about a dress code.
Skirts this tight and heels this high are not good for productivity.
“Oh, Mr. Whitmore!” Amanda exclaims, waving a manicured hand at me. “Maddie and I were just headed to the programmers. I”m giving her a tour of the various departments.”
Programmers?
I nod, teeth grinding.
We step inside the tight space. Amanda chatters on about our cutting-edge VR software for PTSD treatment in veterans while I try not to stare at Maddie in her silky blouse. How does this damn woman make a plain white shirt look so enticing? I bet I could rip it in half with one swipe of my hand.
On the twentieth floor, the elevator dings open, and I”m slapped by a wall of testosterone thick enough to cut with a knife. The expansive room is dotted with computer stations manned by engineers—male engineers—who all happen to be under thirty and are staring unabashedly at Maddie”s tanned legs.
Even though I was heading uptown, I change my mind in the blink of an eye and step out of the elevator with them.
Like hell I’m leaving Maddie alone with these drooling dogs.
Amanda raises an eyebrow at me.
“Just thought I’d . . . join you,” I mutter unconvincingly.
I swear the software bros sniff the air, their nostrils flaring as they detect a young female entering their lair. Within nanoseconds, they swarm closer. They offer her seats, drinks, even a few suggestions to “see their hardware.”
My hackles rise, watching this uncouth display. She”s like a juicy gazelle who has stumbled upon a den of lions. Don”t these jackals know she is here for a business tour, rather than speed dating?
Damn it, don’t these idiots realize she’s mine?
Amanda shoots me a “control your people” glance while Maddie politely smiles under the attention, throwing confused glances at me and her boss.
Amanda’s chaperoning presence doesn”t feel like a strong enough barrier. An electric fence would be more appropriate.
And obviously, Maddie has never dealt with a room full of geeks.
My instincts scream to protect what is mine.
She’s not yours, you moron.
But she was lying naked and sated in my arms less than a week ago.
Clenching my fists, I resist the urge to forcibly shove the nearest code-slinger away, whose eyes keep wandering below Maddie”s face.
No, I haven’t forgotten the hundred ways to maim a man.
If these horny boys lay one finger on her silky skin, I’m going to put up a fence around her that will make the Great Wall of China look like a picket divider.
Fists clenched so tight my knuckles could shatter, I trail Amanda and Maddie around the cutting-edge VR department, where teams of graphic designers and programmers work on various 3D simulation projects. Chad, the VR project lead, with his stylish glasses and hipster chambray eagerly demonstrates a PTSD treatment program. Of course, Maddie bats her eyes and gushes over his nerdy explanations.
My stomach twists as Chad helps Maddie into a headset, gently brushing back a stray coil of hair to adjust it. I watch his fingers graze her cheek, adjusting the straps along her delicate jawline. Once the simulation begins, her face lights up like it’s Christmas morning as the demo transports her to a tranquil beach landscape.
“This is incredible!” she exclaims after surfacing from the simulated waves and sand. “The graphics are so realistic.”
Chad beams, thrilled at her impressed reaction. Meanwhile, I”m boiling inside watching this smooth-talking dude dazzle Maddie, and something primal in me snaps.
“I think that”s enough for Ms. Emerson to get a sense of what the product line is about, don”t you?” I clip out tersely.
Both Amanda and Maddie eye me like I”ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. But Chad backs away quickly as realization sinks in. “Of course,” he says with a curt nod, a hint of a smirk dancing in the corners of his lips. “We should all get back to work.”
“I should escort you ladies back upstairs. Lots to do on the marketing front, I”m sure.” My tone leaves zero room for argument. Although I’m certain that Chad will not attempt to cozy up to Maddie anymore, I don’t trust the other guys.
We make our stiff pleasantries, and I usher them to the elevator at a pace just shy of an Olympic sprint.
Before Maddie steps into the lift, she pauses to give me an infuriatingly knowing look. One sculpted eyebrow arches as her lips quirk.
“Thanks ever so much for the thorough tour, boss,” she drawls, equal parts sarcasm and silk. Speechless, Amanda watches our exchange. As the doors slide closed on Maddie”s grinning face, I punch the down button, silently swearing and wondering how long I will be able to hold back.
* * *
I slideinto the buttery leather seat of my midnight black Mercedes, the engine purring to life. Weaving through noontime Manhattan traffic, I make the drive up to the Bronx VA hospital in less than forty minutes. A record time for a weekday.
The 1960s concrete beast of a building has never won awards for cheery ambience. Striding inside, the smell of bleach fails to cover the quiet despair that permeates the halls. Still, friendly faces greet me at the nurses’ station now familiar from months visiting Marc.
“He’s in VR therapy, phantom pain work today,” Nurse Kowalski updates me. I nod, my jaw tightening. Marc suffered severe nerve damage when the insurgents’ beatings crushedparts of his left leg, breaking his thigh bone and damaging his femoral and sciatic nerves. The limb survived, but chronic pain signals bombard his brain nonstop. Graded motor imagery should retrain his neural pathways, tricking the mind to expect a healthy leg again.
I find Marc sweating inside a virtual reality headset, teeth gritted in concentration as he practices coordinated motor tasks meant to mirror a healthy limb. Frustrated, he rips off the gear, attempting a pained smile once he notices me. But behind the fatigue, his eyes still glint with the trademark SEAL spark. My brother-in-arms is a fighter all the way.
“Supposedly, this gadget will rewire all the misfiring signals from my jacked-up nerves. But so far, it just gives me a new flavor of migraine.”
I clasp his shoulder. “I”ve seen research on similar virtual treatments making progress in healing chronic nerve pain. The tech is still early, but the approach is sound.”
I share details on the experimental simulation therapies and motor rehab programs my team have been exploring with NYU. Marc half-listens, scratching at his left thigh brace with shaking hands.
“I’m trying to be optimistic. The cutting-edge tech and the right mindset will fix this mangled mess for sure. I appreciate you being in my corner, brother.” He averts his eyes, pain carved into his face. The Marc I know always beamed sunshine, even during disaster relief efforts in the direst conditions. Now he is slowly regaining his old self, battling the painful aftermath of months held in captivity.
I crouch down, forcing his gaze to meet mine. “The biomed techs at Whitmore are consulting on advanced nerve interfaces. We”ll have you tap dancing a two-step before long.”
That surprises a wheezing laugh from him. “No wallowing in the past,” I add firmly. “We will beat this. Supporting the vets is a Whitmore Tech priority now.”
The shadows behind Marc”s eyes lighten just a fraction. “Look at you, CEO-in-training. Well, get me mobile, so I can walk out of here and get on with my life soon. I’ve got big plans, you know.”
I squeeze his shoulder, holding back on telling him about Maddie for now. “Focus on healing. The rest will come later.”
“So, how”s that at-home VR simulation therapy working out for you?” Marc asks, rolling his neck with a wince. “I gotta say, willingly immersing into fun times down memory lane is brutal. I prefer the mobility therapy, to be honest.”
I let out a harsh chuckle. “It”s no picnic. But facing it head-on reduced my nightmares quite a bit.”
“Whatever gets you through the night.” Marc grows thoughtful. “We shouldn’t have to bear these memories forever. We deserve some light after that fucked up ordeal.”
I clasp Marc”s shoulder. He searches my face, and I keep it carefully blank. We sit in companionable silence then continue chatting through details of his rehab routine. I keep the conversation firmly rooted in the present.
But my father”s demands from this morning sink back in, and I decide to share them with him.
“The old man is relentless about me settling down,” I grunt. “As if a wife could somehow exorcise the demons.”
Marc gives me a wry smile. “Don”t trap some poor woman into eternal misery for your old man”s sake.”
I give a noncommittal huff, though thoughts of Maddie”s laughing eyes from our night on the trail keep popping up. She stirred something inside me I thought was dead after my return home. Pure, unabashed desire, for one, but also something more, long forgotten.
A damaged soldier like me has no right to a girl like her. The torture I endured—that we endured—seeing my team slaughtered in front of my eyes, has me clinging to darkness. I need to steer clear of her, let her enjoy a man who will appreciate her fully. But like a moth to her flame, I would give anything to bask in her glow, if only for a moment more.
Even though I try to push away the thought, the seed of an idea has formed. Maddie had mentioned she needed money. And I need to accelerate my standing as the Whitmore heir to allocate resources toward wounded veterans like Marc.
It would be a win-win.
If Maddie agrees to a temporary arrangement, a mutually beneficial contract of sorts, it could ensure us both getting what we need. And even though I have no right to selfishly claim her for myself, the thought of her with another man makes my blood boil.
“I should get back to the office,” I say to Marc. “And you should be getting back to your exercises. But keep your schedule clear. The first dance at my wedding might be on the books soon enough.” I throw him a pointed wink.
Marc just shakes his head with an amused grin as I stride out.
This could work. I just need to convince Maddie that an engagement of convenience might be her best bet too.