21. “What About Us?” - P!nk #2
Presumably the rest of the security team thinks I’m still at the spa, although how long we can keep that ruse up, I’m not sure. We’ve already been gone for nearly an hour.
Davies catches my eye, then glances at his watch. “We really should be going, ma’am.”
I say my goodbyes to John Matthews and thank Amanda for helping him get in touch with me. Davies and I head back to the lift, my spirits strangely buoyed in spite of the tepid stench filling the place and the knowledge that John Matthews will never walk out of here.
In the lift, I turn to Davies. “Please see to it that his mother is able to take off work to be with her son. He shouldn’t be alone here.”
“I will do my best, ma’am, but it’s likely they need the money.”
“I will take care of the financial aspects,” I say. John Matthews’s mum should spend his last days with him, even if it means I have to use my personal spending budget.
Davies pushes open the back door of the hospital, and we are immediately greeted by both fresh air and a throng of reporters.
A dozen mics are shoved in my face as the newscasters yell over each other.
Davies yanks me against him and rushes for the SUV parked a few feet away.
Opening the door, he pushes me inside, then jumps into the driver’s seat.
The press is closing in when he puts the car in gear and drives away with a squeal. I’m half-scared he’s going to run one of them down. My heart is thumping so hard I can almost see it moving my bodice as I fasten my seatbelt.
Inside, the car is quiet. I can see Davies scowling in the rearview mirror.
“How did they find us?” I finally say.
“I don’t know.” His voice has a low, ominous tone. I wonder if he’s plotting revenge or hoping he doesn’t lose his job over this. “We have another problem, ma’am.”
I lean forward between the seats. “What is it?”
“They’re tailing us.” He flicks his eyes between the road and the rearview mirror.
“Who?” I ask, turning around. “The press?”
“Those bloody vultures won’t stop at anything to get a scoop. Hang on. This next part could get a little choppy.”
The car lurches to the side as he whips it around a corner. We sail down another street. When that still doesn’t shake them, he tries again. We fly through the city like Jason Statham on the run. The only thing missing is a gun fight, and that thought hits a little too close to home to be humorous.
After what feels like an eternity of tight corners and even tighter alleyways, we pull into the parking garage at the Atlantis. My stomach has never felt more relieved.
When we arrive on the top floor, no one seems the wiser about our shenanigans. “Thank you,” I whisper to Davies as he escorts me to the penthouse. “You were great.”
He nods as I step through the doors. “It was my pleasure, ma’am.”
An hour later, I’ve washed the hospital smell off and sent an email to Maisie, asking her to send a deluxe hardcover copy of the Beatrix Potter stories to John Matthews. I’m just pulling the ingredients for a chicken Caesar salad out of the fridge when Henry walks—or rather, stalks—into the room.
“What’s this?” Anger bleeds through the thin veil over his voice.
“What’s what?” I turn around to see him holding up his phone, a video playing on the screen. It’s footage of a car chase downtown, shot from a chopper above.
“Looks like a high-speed chase,” I say, before returning to my lettuce. I reach for a plate from the cupboard, but he slams it shut before I can grab one. “What is your problem?” I glare at Henry’s hand holding the door closed.
“Look closer.” He shoves the phone under my nose.
I yank it from his hand. This time I take a look at the headline scrolling across the top of the screen. Queen Visits Terminal Cancer Patient.
“Bloody hell,” I whisper, and hand the device back. I offer him a weak smile. Fuck.
“What. Were. You. Thinking.” He chops each word apart like an onion.
I hold my hands up, both in supplication and to keep him from coming any closer. “I can explain. Just promise me that you’ll listen and not jump to conclusions.”
His nostrils flare, and he looks at me with crazy eyes. I take this as permission.
“There is a little boy, John Matthews, who wrote to me asking me to come visit him. He’s only seven and doesn’t have much longer. It was the sweetest card, really. His nurse helped him mail it off, and—”
“I don’t care if it was hand-delivered by carrier pigeons!”
I stare at Henry, a slight flutter starting in my own nostrils. “You said you’d listen.”
“No, I didn’t. And now I’d like some explanation as to why you put yourself directly in danger, against my orders and against your better judgment.”
“He’s going to die soon, Henry!”
“Are you planning to put yourself in harm’s way for the thousands of others who also won’t see the end of the year?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shoving him aside, I grab a plate from the cupboard. I toss a handful of chopped greens onto it, even though my appetite has vanished.
“You think I’m being ridiculous?” He leans against the counter, propping one elbow on the marble, hedging me in between himself and the fridge.
I scatter pieces of grilled chicken breast over the bed of greens. “It does seem to be your default state of late.”
“I am trying to protect you. Why do you insist on making it so damn impossible?” He’s leaning even closer now, the heat of his breath tickling my neck.
“I had Davies. It’s not like I was without protection,” I say, ripping open the package of Parmigiano Reggiano.
“Davies.” Henry spits the name out between his teeth. “I hope you made it worth his while. He’s going to have a hard time finding another job in this city without a recommendation.”
I drop the cheese onto the counter and spin to face him. “You didn’t.”
“Fuck right I did.”
“He has a family, Henry!”
“He should have thought about that before he drove you around the city like he’s Tom fucking Cruise.” He crosses his arms over his chest, muscles nearly shredding the sleeves of his T-shirt. The veins in his arms are popping out like a drug addict’s.
“He didn’t want to,” I say. “I begged him. Please, don’t fire him.”
“He directly disobeyed an order, Celia. Besides, it’s already done.”
“Can’t you undo it? For me?”
Henry closes his eyes and doesn’t say anything.
I let out a shaky sigh, then place my hands on his arms. His skin is hot, searing my palms, and his eyes snap to mine at the contact.
“I thought—” I stop, trying to force the words out.
“I thought you loved me.” I move my fingers slowly back and forth over his forearms. The hair on them is soft.
I can feel his pulse jumping beneath my fingers.
His eyes flash with anger as he takes a step backward. My hands fall and hang at my sides. The line of his mouth is flat and grim. “I do.” His voice is a low growl. “But don’t you dare use that as a weapon against me.”