CHAPTER FOUR
JENNIFER
When I pull up to the cabin today, Seth is on the deck.
Not sitting with coffee as I expected. Not pacing with his phone. He's in black athletic shorts and a grey T-shirt, barefoot on a blue yoga mat, moving through poses with careful precision.
I grab my cleaning supplies and pause, watching through the windshield.
His eyes are closed, his breathing deliberate as he transitions from downward dog into warrior pose.
The morning sun catches the sheen of sweat on his leanly muscular arms. He looks.
.. peaceful. Focused in a way that has nothing to do with spreadsheets or board meetings, or whatever else a man who's worth billions thinks about.
It's hard to wrap my mind around that kind of money. He’s worth more money than I’ll ever see in my lifetime.
Even if I lived ten lifetimes, I couldn’t come close.
I should feel awkward around him considering he’s light-years away from me in terms of finances.
But my mom has a saying: rich or poor, men put on their pants all the same.
I strive to remember that and just treat him like anyone else. Part of me thinks he rather likes that.
I wince. Well, except when I get too nosy or pushy about his health. We didn’t end things on a good note last night, and for that I’m sorry. I’ve never gotten involved with a guest like this before, and I suppose that made me forget myself.
Okay, and holding his hand during lunch? How am I supposed to not forget my place when that happens?! That’s not normal and casual… Is it? I mean, I suppose friends can be close like that.
I blow out a breath and give myself a mental shake.
I need to stop staring because it’s not doing me any good either.
I’m getting all hot and bothered and thinking about things that will not end well at all for me.
He probably has women throwing themselves at him all the time, so why would he want a girl that cleans for a living and has split ends on top of her split ends?
Quickly I grab my stuff and exit the car, hoping the click of the door closing doesn’t disturb him.
“Good morning.” His eyes open, finding me immediately. He holds the pose. “Coffee's already made. I'll be done in ten minutes.”
“Take your time.” I slip inside, oddly touched that he made coffee before I arrived. Again.
The cabin smells like the expensive dark roast he prefers. I pour myself a cup, add cream, and resist the urge to watch him through the window. Instead, I start my routine, gathering laundry from his bathroom hamper.
That's when I see the pill organizer on his bathroom counter, one that wasn’t there yesterday or any other day this week.
It's one of those weekly ones, divided by day and time. Friday morning is empty; he's already taken them. But I can see the other days, each compartment filled with multiple pills. White ones, small yellow ones, and a pink tablet.
I shouldn't look. It's none of my business.
But my hand reaches out anyway, picking up the organizer. On the side, written in neat, precise handwriting, is a list: Lisinopril 40mg (AM), Metoprolol 100mg (AM/PM), Atorvastatin 80mg (PM), Aspirin 81mg (AM), Clopidogrel 75mg (AM).
I don't know what most of these are. I can’t even pronounce them. The only one I recognize is aspirin. I pull out my phone and quickly search for the first one.
Lisinopril: Used to treat high blood pressure and heart failure.
My stomach drops.
Metoprolol: Beta-blocker used to treat chest pain, heart failure, and to prevent heart attacks.
Oh no. No.
Mrs. Avery said Seth had a health scare, and that’s why he was here for a month.
She said he almost killed himself, but I thought she was being dramatic and joking, like working himself to death, figuratively not literally.
He even mentioned at lunch yesterday that he collapsed, and again, I thought with his crazy busy work schedule it was probably exhaustion.
Not this. Never this. Not again. I feel like a vise is around my own heart.
“Find everything you need?”
I jump, nearly dropping the pill organizer. Seth stands in the bathroom doorway, still in his workout clothes, his hair damp with sweat. His expression is unreadable.
“I'm sorry.” I set the organizer down quickly, my face burning. “I was just... I didn't mean to snoop.”
“It's fine.” He moves past me to the sink and picks up the organizer himself. “You were bound to see them eventually.”
“Seth... these are serious medications.”
“I know what they are.” He doesn't look at me, just sets the organizer back down precisely where it was.
“Heart failure medications. Blood thinners.” My voice comes out smaller than I intend.
“This is what happens when you work a hundred hours a week for fifteen years.” He finally meets my eyes, and there's something raw in his expression. “My cardiologist said my heart was running on fumes. Blood pressure through the roof. Early signs of left ventricular hypertrophy. At thirty-six.”
I don't know what that last part means, but the way he says it makes it clear it's bad.
“The doctor said if I didn't stop, I might have six months.” He leans against the bathroom counter, arms crossed. “Not six months to make a change. Six months to live.”
The words hit like a punch to the chest. “Six months.”
“Give or take. Heart attack, stroke, or full cardiac arrest. Take your pick.” His voice is matter of fact, but I can see the tension in his broad shoulders. “So yes, Jennifer. This is serious. This is me trying not to die before I'm forty.”
I don't know what to say. Or how to process the idea that this man- this vibrant and strong and so intensely alive man- was that close to death. And even that I might have missed out on knowing him. I still might.
“The rest,” I manage to force out from between numb lips. “The healthy eating, the yoga…”
“Doctor's orders. Thirty minutes of movement daily. Mediterranean diet. No screens before nine a.m. or after eight p.m. Eight hours of sleep minimum. Stress management techniques.” He ticks them off on his fingers like items on a to-do list. “And these pills, twice a day, probably for the rest of my life.”
“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I didn't know it was that bad.”
His smile is tight and humorless. “You weren't supposed to.” He pushes off from the counter, moves past me back into the bedroom. “It's not exactly first date conversation. 'Hi, I'm Seth. I'm a billionaire who almost died from being a workaholic.’”
I follow him, watching as he pulls a clean shirt from the drawer. My head is full to bursting with everything, and yet my heart is pounding from the word ‘date’. “Is that what lunch yesterday was? A date?”
He pauses with his shirt in hand and turns to look at me. His blue eyes clear and assessing. “Do you want it to be?”
My breath catches. “I don't know. Maybe?”
“Then maybe it was.” He tosses the shirt onto the bed. “I'm not good at this, Jennifer. Dating, relationships, or any of it. I've spent my entire adult life focused on one thing. And now I'm here, trying to learn how to be a person instead of just a CEO.”
I think of his fingers entwined with mine and the warm look in his gaze yesterday. “You're doing okay so far.”
His mouth quirks slightly. “I am?”
“Yeah. The yoga looks good on you.”
He laughs, and the tension breaks. “It's harder than it looks. I'm not naturally flexible.”
“You seemed pretty flexible to me.”
The words come out more suggestive than I intended, and his eyes darken. But before either of us can say anything else, his phone buzzes on the nightstand.
We both look at it. It buzzes again. And again.
“Do you need to get that?” I ask quietly.
“No.” He doesn't move toward it. “It's not an emergency. If it were, they'd call.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jennifer.” He steps closer, and I can smell his skin, clean sweat and that expensive soap he uses. “I'm sure. Whatever it is, my COO can handle it. That's why I pay him an obscene salary.”
The phone stops buzzing and then starts again.
I can see the tension returning to Seth’s shoulders and the way his already firm jaw tightens. His eyes flick to the phone despite himself.
“You want to check it,” I say.
“I want to ignore it.” But he's already moving toward the nightstand, picking up the phone. His thumb hovers over the screen. “I shouldn't. The doctor said-”
“One quick look won't kill you.”
The words are out before I can stop them, and we both freeze.
“Poor choice of words,” I mutter, feeling my face burn with a mixture of embarrassment and horror.
But Seth is already swiping open his phone, his expression shifting as he reads. I watch his jaw clench as his free hand curls into a fist.
“Problem?” I ask.
“The Beijing deal. It's falling apart. Our contact is backing out, and without him-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “It doesn't matter. Allen can handle it.”
Despite his words, his thumbs fly across the screen typing a response. I watch the transformation happen in real time-the peaceful and open man from the yoga mat disappearing, replaced by a steely-eyed CEO. His shoulders draw up, his breathing changes, and a vein in his temple starts to pulse.
I never should have suggested looking. I should have known that he wasn’t a man that could have a glance and be done.
“Seth.”
He doesn't hear me. He's pacing now with the phone pressed to his ear. I doubt he even knows I’m still in the room.
“Allen, I just saw your email. No, don't offer them better terms. That's not-” He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Because they'll walk all over us. We hold firm, or we walk. It's that simple.”
I stand there in his bedroom, watching him spiral, and something hot and angry rises in my chest.
He almost died. Six months, the doctor said. And barely five days in, he's right back to the thing that nearly killed him.
I walk over and pluck the phone from his hand.