Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Wren stood in the middle of her living room and studied the thumb drive lying on her palm.
Two hours later, back at Elias’ house, she finished looking at Kit’s research, which came to the same conclusion she’d reached. She stared at the name on the screen as if it were at the end of a tunnel. Don Weisser. CEO of Milestone Hospital.
And a right bastard .
Then there was the second name, one she hadn’t thought of. But it all made sense.
Her head throbbed. Wren was beyond mad. Beyond furious.
She needed to talk to someone. To do something. Elias was busy with his shift and she didn’t want to bother him.
I’ll talk to him tonight. Maybe he and his friends can help . She grinned. They kinda owe me one .
She got up from the kitchen table and went to the couch. Chuck and Penny followed her. Chuck sat on the floor within ear-scratching range and Penny jumped up beside her.
“We need a plan, Penny.”
The terrier yipped in agreement.
“God, I wish you spoke English. Or that I spoke Dog. I bet you could think of something.”
Penny sneezed.
“Okay, I get it, you’ve already got it all figured out. But until I can speak Dog, I need to think of one myself.”
So she set her mind to planning.
When she came up with an inkling of a plan, she called Barbie and told her everything.
“I'm just so fucking frustrated that Weisser intimidated the publisher so badly that they killed the story.”
“Bribed is more like it, hun,” Barbie said, the voice of experience. “Or, maybe both.”
Wren paced back and forth, from the kitchen at one end of the house to the bedroom on the other, Penny clipping along at her heels while Chuck watched from the couch. “I can't give up on this story. It's way too important. I've looked into the eyes of these people who have been hurt by this man, people who were already at their weakest. And he took advantage of them. I can't let it stand.”
“So you need to get in to talk to him. Is that what I'm hearing?” Barbie asked.
“That's exactly what I'm saying. And I have no idea how to do it, not without tipping my hand.”
Barbie paused and Wren could practically hear the gears shifting in her head.
“I think I have an idea. Let me get my people to set something up.”
Wren stopped pacing.
I should have known .
“Barbie, I didn't call you to get you involved in this. I just called, I don't know, to bitch.”
“Wrenbird, don't worry about me. No, I think I know how to handle this guy, and I have the time to do it.”
“No. Way. No. Huh-uh. Penny, tell her she can’t jeopardize her career, or her safety .”
“Wait, Penny?” Barbie asked. “You’re at Elias’ house?”
“Yeah. That’s the other thing I need to catch you up on, after you tell me you’re not getting involved with my insanity.”
“Fine, I’ll set things up, then I'll let you do the dirty work. But I’ll worry about you the entire time and that’ll give me gray hair and I don’t have time for gray hair. So you better not screw up, hear me?”
“Promise.”
Barbie outlined her part of the plan. Halfway through, Wren’s head stopped throbbing. Her heart started pounding instead. When they were through, Wren looked up Milestone’s main phone number, took a deep breath, and called.
Once she got to an actual human, she said, “Yes, could you please put me through to Mr. Weisser?” Then she waited.
I can do this . I have to do this .
“No way am I letting you do this.” Elias grabbed his hair and pulled it into an even crazier mess than it already was when he got home. They were still sitting at the table right after dinner—a massive bone-in ribeye that cost a fortune and that Wren hoped would soften him up when she told him what she was up to.
No such luck .
“How ’bout we try that again?” she said calmly. “How about, no way am I letting you do this alone .”
“Well, that’s a given. You are not going up against the CEO of a massive hospital or his backer. Jesus, Wren. You have no experience. You have no guns?—”
“How do you know that? For all you know, I have a stack of rifles and I qualified for the Olympic biathlon.”
“Did you?”
“Well, no.” She folded her arms. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I can do this part of the plan.”
“No. Let someone else do it who is qualified.”
“I can’t. I already talked to him. He knows my voice. He’d be suspicious if he was suddenly dealing with someone else. But… I’d like you and your friends’ help with the rest.”
She mumbled her next words as she shifted her gaze away from his.
“What was that again?”
“I said, and Gina’s help.”
Elias blinked rapidly as he stared at her.
“Probably. If she can be helpful in that way. Which, from what you pointedly have not said about her former career, I think she can.”
He covered his face with both hands and blew out a breath between his palms.
“Furthermore, I think she’d want to, if she knew the full extent of how badly Evan and Matthew got screwed over. And it’s about to get a lot worse for many more people, according to Kit’s research. You want to read it yourself?”
“I don’t have to read it myself.” Elias dropped his hands. “You know your stuff and so does Kit.” He shook his head “I can’t stop you. That’s not a question, that’s a statement.”
“Right-o.”
“And Barbie’s sure she can make it happen?”
“Yup.”
Elias studied her, his expression unreadable. Wren stood her ground.
Finally he said, “Okay. I’ll talk to my brothers. And Gina. We can both talk to her if you want. Pretty sure she likes you.”
Then he smirked. “You can go ahead and breathe again.”
Wren let out her breath. “So that’s why my lungs were burning. I had no idea.”
He snorted.
“One point for me. That was a laugh, mister.”
He grinned. “Fair.”
She gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”
His grin turned into a full-fledged smile. “No need to thank me, baby. I’d move heaven and earth to protect you.”
“I know. That’s not why I’m saying thank you.”
His smile turned to a perplexed frown. “Then why?”
“Because we just had a big argument and you didn’t raise your voice at me once. Not. Once. Not even close.”
He shrugged. “I told you. I don’t hurt the people I love if I can help it. So I’ll never raise my voice in anger with you, because it would hurt you.”
“I love you.”
“Enough to marry me?”
Wren froze. She stared into his lagoon-blue eyes. He was serious.
“Enough to marry you.”
She was serious, too.
“Ms. Greene? Mr. Weisser will see you now.” Don Weisser’s personal secretary glanced up from her desk and smiled at Wren.
“Thank you, Cherise. And please, call me Brooke.”
Wren smiled back as she set aside the demitasse cup and saucer Cherise offered her when she walked into the suite on the top floor of Milestone, ten stories up. The espresso sat sour in her stomach as she followed the secretary down a short hallway. Her brown-colored contacts darkened the hallway a little, like sunglasses. She adjusted her wig quickly before Cherise could see. The borrowed black Louboutins with their five-inch stiletto heels pinched her toes but at least she didn’t wobble. She’d practiced walking in them the entire week before the meeting. They changed her gait—which Gina told her was the point.
Gina had also coached her for ten days, then declared her a natural.
Wren had a better idea now what Gina used to do for a living.
Cherise opened a door at the end of the hallway and smiled at a man sitting behind a large desk. The surface was bare except for a blotter, a laptop, and a pen set—Mont Blanc if Wren wasn’t mistaken. Don Weisser’s silhouette was dark against the brutal, late-afternoon Colorado sun shining in behind him, making Wren thankful for the contacts. His window-lined office offered three panoramic views. To his left off in the distance rose Denver’s skyscrapers. Directly behind him, planes took off and landed at a regional airport while the distant mountains looked cut from blue-grey construction paper in the summer haze. To the south stretched the high plains dotted with strip malls and subdivisions.
Cherise closed the door behind her, sealing Wren in the office with Weisser, who smiled but didn’t bother to stand.
“Impressive view,” Wren said as she took a seat.
Weisser nodded as his eyes briefly flicked to her cleavage, enhanced by a padded bra that added two cup sizes. “Ms. Greene.” He folded his hands on his desk. “I understand you represent Barbie Gillis. I’m disappointed that she couldn’t come herself.”
I’m sure you are, she thought as she studied the man. Mid-fifties, neatly-trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, manicured nails, obviously worked out regularly. A little soft around the face with the beginnings of jowls on either side of his mouth. She was surprised he hadn’t done something about that yet.
“She’s disappointed not to be here too, trust me. Making this donation is a dream come true for her. If you know anything about Barbie, she came from a hard place. Not a lot of money growing up. She nearly died from a congenital heart defect as a baby and is grateful to the hospital that saved her life, thanks to its generous charitable funds.” Wren adopted a convincingly sad smile. “Unfortunately, that hospital no longer exists.”
“Probably wiped out because of those funds they gave out.” He chuckled. “Cardiac surgery has never been cheap.”
Wren took on an equally convincing, indulgent smile that said she understood perfectly where he was coming from. “Exactly. With the sale of her cosmetics company combined with the revenue from her latest Netflix series, she’s now in a position to offer a high eight-figure donation to be made into a trust fund that would help subsidize cardiac patient bills.”
Weisser’s smile brightened. “And of course we specialize in cardiac care, so it’s a match made in heaven.”
Wren held up her hand in a not-so-fast gesture. “So, to ensure that Coloradans in need can afford quality healthcare, Ms. Gillis is sending me around to interview hospital CEOs to help her make a final decision where to donate her money.”
His sudden frown was a beautiful thing to behold. “ Other hospitals? I was not aware that Ms. Gillis was considering other places for her donation.”
Wren pursed her lips. “Oh yes. She wants to make sure the right hospital is receiving her considerable contribution.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice as if Barbie were standing close by and Wren didn’t want her to overhear. “I have to tell you, right now she’s leaning toward splitting the money between the children’s hospital and CU’s medical program, to pay off student loans.”
Weisser unfolded his hands and grabbed the Mont Blanc pen out of its old-fashioned holder. He held it in his fist with his thumb clicking the end over and over like he was pressing the button on a remote desperately trying to change the channel.
“I see. You’re here to see what Ms. Gillis gets for her money.”
“Gets for her money?” Wren played dumb.
“We’re expanding the hospital as well as adding clinics and ERs around the city. Would she like one named after her? Maybe one that specializes in pediatric services? That would be good publicity for her. Or, if she’d like, we could name the new wing after her.” He set the pen down and opened his desk drawer. “I have some architectural renderings in here I was planning on framing, but if she’d like to look them over and choose?—”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Barbie isn’t looking to put her name on anything.”
He closed the desk drawer as he looked up, confused. He picked up the pen. “I don’t understand. This is an anonymous donation?”
Wren’s lips curled into a devious smile. “Barbie Gillis didn’t get to where she is now by giving away things for free, Mr. Weisser. She made deals, both personal and for her business. She doesn’t lift a finger for someone else unless she can get a substantial return on her investment.” The lies about her sweet bestie tasted bitter in Wren’s mouth.
Weisser took the bait. “Kudos to her PR team then. She comes across as an angel.”
Wren looked offended. “Thank you, but she is a very good person. She knows that this will benefit patients who have no recourse otherwise.”
“Of course.”
“But you can’t expect her not to want something in return. Her empire didn’t build itself on charity.”
“Despite what the media says? You’re giving me a different picture of Ms. Gillis. I was under the impression that she donates the majority of her income to good causes.”
Wren tsked. “And yet she still has more to give. No one ever does the math. They just see her carefully crafted persona and think she’s a selfless sweetheart with a money tree hidden away somewhere.” Wren narrowed her eyes. “She makes deals, Mr. Weisser. And I broker those deals. I have a tremendous amount of influence over her.”
Understanding dawned on his face. “Ah, I see. You broker your own deals alongside hers, don’t you.”
Got him! Now to reel him in carefully.
Wren crossed one leg over the other and sat back in her chair. She looked past Weisser to watch a plane coming in for a landing against the blue-gray mountains beyond. “I never take more than what I’m owed from her donations, for doing good business. Call it a finder’s fee.” She looked back at him, capturing his gaze. “I’m discreet. I have to be, or I’m out of business as well. But, I look for opportunities where I can make a little more on top of that.”
He blinked slowly, considering. “What is it you want to see that would convince you—I mean, Ms. Gillis—to bestow her donation on us?”
“Numbers.”
“You want a shareholder’s report for our parent company? I can get you that,” he scoffed like she was wasting his time.
Wren smirked as if she were talking to a very dense person. “Let me tell you a story, Mr. Weisser. My uncle ran a dealership in Washington state,” she lied. “He sold cars, both new and used. His salespeople used to practically break down in tears in front of customers during negotiations because my uncle worked on such a thin profit margin that he was practically giving cars away at cost. To get that amazing deal, all a customer had to do was take out their loan through his dealership. Sign on the dotted line and drive off the lot with a car they practically stole.”
Weisser’s growing smirk told her she was speaking his language.
“My uncle wasn’t really selling cars, Mr. Weisser. He was selling high-interest loans. But his customers were so bedazzled by the low prices and the salespeople’s theatrics—sellers who, by the way, did quite well on the back end—that they didn’t stop to check the math or read the fine print.”
The pen clicking sped up, like maybe it was now the button that detonated a nuke and he couldn’t wait for doomsday. “What does this have to do with me, Ms. Greene?”
She swept her arm through the air. “You have a fine hospital here. The personnel, the doctors, the nurses, they’re doing an amazing job saving lives, and from what I hear, they have a good bedside manner to boot. They’re using cutting-edge technology in the cardiac unit. Everything is top-notch. I’d send my parents here. Heck, I’d seek treatment here if I needed it.” She lowered her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “But I’d let myself die before signing a loan with the sharks the hospital’s website sends patients to.”
Wren watched him squeeze the pen and was surprised he didn’t dent the metal. Before he could kick her out of his office—or maybe throw her through one of the windows and watch her plummet to her death—she gave him another devious smile.
“I would, however, love a little piece of that pie. I’d even be willing to buy in with my cut from the donation.”
“How much is that?”
“Above board, three percent. Below…another two percent. Which I’d happily turn over, in cash, as a buy-in.”
She watched him do the math. Then she watched him bluff.
“One-point-five million is a substantial amount of money, but it’s short-term. What you’d get in return is long-term, and frankly, a much larger sum. I’m not sure that’s going to work for me.”
Wren nodded as if she fell for the bluff. She ignored the bile in the back of her throat for what she was about to say.
“Barbie would love to come and visit the hospital and hold a press conference. It’s great publicity. She’d get her fans to match contributions. They love that sort of thing. Before you know it, that donation grows all by itself.”
She reached across the desk, wrapped her hand around his, and the clicking pen stopped. “And all it would take is letting me in.”
Weisser’s face went blank as he studied her. “How well do you know Barbie Gillis? How close are the two of you?”
Wren tried not to crumble under his gaze. Was he seeing through her lies and trying to call her bluff?
“She trusts me implicitly. She doesn’t make a business move without talking to me first. If I don’t like it, she doesn’t do it, period.”
“Hmm.” Weisser pulled his hand back and dropped the pen into its holder. “Then I want a meeting with her in person. Before any press conference gets announced.”
“Of course.”
“Alone.”
Wren couldn’t stop her eyebrows from shooting up, but she quickly got her face back under control. “Define alone, Mr. Weisser.”
He gave her a lascivious smile. She could practically see the drool just waiting to spill down his chin. “I want proof that you are who you say you are to Barbie Gillis. I want you to call her up right now and tell her where you are. And I want you to set up an in-person meeting.”
Wren sniffed. “Barbie can choose to donate her money anywhere. I’m not a madame, Mr. Weisser.”
“Sure you are. Or if you aren’t, you will be, if you want a piece of pie.” He folded his arms and leaned back. “I want my pie, too.”
Ugh! So gross.
He massaged his chin. “And you just told me you hold sway over Barbie, that she won’t make a move without your approval. Do you want a deal for yourself or not?”
Wren sighed and frowned. “Fine. But we’ll talk numbers first. Five percent of every loan for five years. We’ll renegotiate after that.”
Weisser laughed. “You think you run the hospital? That’s what I get.”
Ha! Thanks for telling me that, idiot .
Wren laughed to cover her glee. “You can’t blame a girl for high-balling. How about two percent?”
“How about half a percent, the one-point five mil, and a meeting with Barbie?”
“How about the money plus that meeting alone with Barbie, for one percent?”
He pulled the Mont Blanc back out of its holder and squeezed it. “Call her. Right now. I want proof this can be done.”
Without breaking eye contact with Weisser, Wren reached into the Birkin bag tucked at her side and pulled out her phone. She tapped in her code to unlock it. She hit one button and put the call on speaker. Three rings echoed in the office before Barbie picked up.
“Brooke? Have you got good news for me, sweetie?”
Wren smiled triumphantly. “I do. Mind if I put you on screen? I’m in Don Weisser’s office. Milestone Hospital.”
“Right. Yeah, absolutely.”
Wren hit another button and Barbie’s face filled her phone’s screen. She turned it around to show Weisser, who was turning bright red and trying to smooth his hair back.
“Mr. Weisser?” Barbie purred as she looked him up and down. “So lovely to actually see you.”
“Don, call me Don.”
“Of course. So, has my incredible Brookie talked you into taking my money?” Barbie laughed.
Weisser chuckled. “I think we’re closing in on a deal, yes. But, I’d love to do this in person. It feels so cold making this deal without you here. I’m a caring person, that’s why I got into healthcare.”
Wren tried not to gag.
“Oh, me too!” Barbie said. “Sure. When would you like me at your office? I’m tied up today and tomorrow, but I can get Brooke to set up a date.”
“Well,” Weisser drawled. “I was thinking it would be more comfortable to have you at my house. I can cook. I’m an excellent cook.”
Gag gag gag!
“Oh!” Barbie trilled. “I love a man who can cook. Brooke? Can I see you for a sec, hun?”
Wren turned the phone to face her. “Yeah, hun?”
“Are you good with him?” Barbie let a little insecurity into her voice.
“Absolutely. We’ve been discussing how the money will one-hundred percent be used for the patients, minus my fee, of course.”
“Okay, good. Not like that last offer you told me about.”
“Nope, that was a bad one. I feel good about this one. About Don.” She looked up and gave him a playful wink.
“Okay then. Set it up and tell me when and where to sign.”
“Perfect. Love you, sweetie.”
“Love you more! Gotta go. Mwah!” Barbie disconnected.
Wren’s smile turned smug as she quietly placed the phone back in the Birkin. “There, see?”
“And you say you aren’t a madame.”
“I’m not. Barbie’s a big girl and she’s coming off a nasty break-up. She just said she likes a man who can cook.”
“Did I look all right?” He frowned. “I wish you’d given me a warning.”
“You look very distinguished. She likes that in a man, too.”
She also likes men who aren’t narcissistic monsters, so good luck with that, chump .
Wren folded her hands on Weisser’s desk as if it were hers now. “Let’s talk about my one percent. I also want assurance that the loans will go up over time.”
Weisser was still high from talking to Barbie, judging by the color in his cheeks. “Between you and me, those loans are about to skyrocket.”
“With the new hospital wing?”
He looked at her like she was a na?ve child. By now, she felt blanketed by his constant condensation. “Oh no, Brooke. Like you, I have my own well-placed friend. And he’s working on doing me a favor that will benefit us.”