Works Like a Charm: Price Brothers Book 1

1. Connor

My field of vision is blurring, and everything around me turns into a soft-focus Glamour Shot from the 80s. Then comes what I can only describe as blue and silver sparkles shimmering everywhere I look. Honestly, it would almost be pretty if I didn’t also feel like there’s a hatchet getting lodged in my brain.

I’m not sure what happened. One minute I was sitting at my desk going over the file of a small company we’re trying to acquire, the next minute my assistant, Lisa, was by my side on the floor talking to me. Saying…something…what is she saying? Wait, why are we on the floor?

Not that it matters, because I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up. Nothing better than vomiting all over yourself in front of the person you work closest with.

“Trash can,” I mumble, but Lisa, being Lisa, is already running back over to me with one. I brace my arms on either side of it and hang my head, realizing too late that the smell of the sushi takeout container from lunch isn’t helping my queasiness.

Then, as quickly as it faded, my vision returns to normal. The sparkles leave and Lisa’s concerned face comes back into view.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asks assertively, as if she’s a trained first responder and not a high-level executive assistant.

“I’m fine,” I say, pushing the trash can out of my way as I attempt to stand up.

Her arm firmly pushes me back down to the ground, and she repeats her question. “Try again,” she orders.

I want to roll my eyes, but I’m afraid it’ll fuck up my vision again, so I just sigh and answer her. “Connor Price.”

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Tuesday.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three, are we done now?”

“How about now?” she asks, flipping me off. Lisa’s awareness of her value here at the company leads to her being a little more…I’ll say comfortable than most of the other executive assistants in the building. The days of “Yes, sir, Mr. Price” are a very distant memory.

“I’m okay, I promise.”

“What the hell happened? I was coming in to tell you I was going home for the night and you were white as a ghost with your head in your hands!” Her controlled demeanor is slipping a little.

“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “It was like my vision went crazy and then I got slammed with the worst headache I’ve ever had.”

“You scared the sh—crap out of me, boss. How are you feeling now? I know you say you’re fine, but you still look like you just went on a bender.”

“Well, maybe that’s the look I’m going for,” I deadpan. But I guess my timing is off because Lisa does not look amused. I sigh again. “My head is still killing me, but my eyesight is better.”

“Okay. Do you think you can stand up?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to let me?”

She doesn’t bother responding, but stands up first and helps me to my feet. “There,” I wince. “Like a brand new man.”

Lisa analyzes me before shaking her head. “I don’t like it. Come on, we’re going to the hospital.”

“What? No, Lisa, that’s ridiculous. It’s just a headache.”

“Just headaches don’t bring grown men to their knees. And they sure as hell don’t take out your vision. Now, since you can’t work regular business hours like a normal human and you feel the need to stay here until,” she glances at her smartwatch, “7:30 at night, the hospital is our only option. So you can either come with me and let me drive you there or I can call an ambulance to take you instead. It’s a fancier ride than my Altima, for sure, but a lot more expensive. Your call.”

We stare at each other for a while, neither backing down. Unfortunately for me, whatever is still splitting my skull in two is compromising my battle tactics. “This is really stupid,” I say lamely.

She grabs me by the elbow and gently pulls me towards the doorway. “Yeah, yeah.” Pausing, she says, “You’re not gonna puke, are you? I just got my car detailed after Georgie puked in it last weekend. That girl cannot hold her liquor.”

“I’m pretty sure I”m not going to puke.”

She looks at me skeptically. “Pretty sure? I need you to be 100% sure, boss. I will leave you on the side of the road, I swear on my life.”

“That feels like an empty threat,” I say, only half sure it is.

“What are you going to do, fire me?”

I grab my laptop bag and a bottle of water from my mini fridge before following her out, shutting off my office light behind me. “It’s not fair you can say that so flagrantly. What if I did fire you one day?”

She looks back over her shoulder at me and grins. “No totally. And what if Jason Momoa jumps out of a birthday cake in my apartment and asks me to marry him?”

The only thing more depressing than the hospital waiting room and the paper towel of a gown they gave me is the fact that Lisa refuses to leave my side, no matter how many times I tell her to go home.

Not ask.

Tell.

I tell her.

It isn’t like she’s a riveting conversationalist; she’s been pretty much staring at her phone the entire time. A typical 20-something, I guess. But she was sitting in the chair by my bed when they wheeled me out for a CT scan and she’s still there when they wheel me back in afterwards.

By the time the doctor comes in to release me, it’s almost 11:00. “Mr. Price,” he says, “how’s your pain level now?”

“Better. It’s a little dull, but much better than before.” I don’t know what they’re pumping in this IV, but I’m hoping they’ll let me take it home.

“Good. So the good news is that your CT scan came back clear. We don’t see any evidence that there’s a mass or a blockage that would have caused your symptoms tonight. My guess is that you had what’s called a complex migraine, or a migraine with aura.”

“What the hell is that?” Lisa chimes in.

The doctor gives a small smirk. “It’s a type of migraine that comes with the side effect of having blurred or compromised vision, similar to what your boyfriend was describing.”

She scoffs. “Oh god he could never be my boyfriend. I’d destroy him. But listen, he was seriously disoriented when I found him. Like I’m not even sure he could understand what I was saying to him for a couple of minutes there. Is that normal?”

The boyfriend comment doesn’t even offend me because it’s true, and the doctor’s lack of reaction seems to agree. “It can definitely happen, yes. Nausea is also a common symptom.” He turns his attention back to me. “I’d like you to follow up with your primary care doctor as soon as possible. He or she may want to send you to a neurologist as well. If you have any more symptoms tonight, though, please come back here right away. Do you have any other questions?”

“No, thank you, doctor,” I say. Then he turns his attention to Lisa.

“I’m good, thanks,” she replies.

Feeling safe to leave the room, he tells me to have a good night and passes my nurse as she’s coming in with the discharge paperwork.

After the embarrassing task of getting dressed while my assistant is on the other side of a thin curtain, Lisa and I walk in silence out of the hospital into the biting November air to her car.

Since she’s uncharacteristically quiet as we drive back to the office, I decide to make a quick schedule change. I’m supposed to meet my brother, Chris, for a game of tennis in the morning, but I know I’ll never wake up on time after all that’s happened tonight. So I update the alarm on my phone to 7:00 instead of my usual 5:45 and send Chris a text.

Connor:

I’m not going to make it for tennis tomorrow. Late night.

Chris:

Pls tell me its bcuz ur with a woman right now.

I glance over at Lisa and shrug.

Connor:

I am, actually. And can you write a text like a normal person? You’re a 37 year old man, not a 12 year old girl.

Chris:

Lisa doesn’t count, dickhole. ill rite how I want. r u ok?

Connor:

I’m fine, ass clown. See you on Thursday.

Chris:

??

“You missed the turn,” I point out when our exit flies by as Lisa speeds down the highway.

“No I didn’t.”

I take a moment to think. That was the exit, right? I haven’t lost my memory on top of everything else?

“I’m taking you home, not back to work,” she supplies.

“But I need to get my car.” I’m so tired I’m almost whining.

“No you don’t. It’s a gated parking lot. Your car will be there in the morning, don’t worry.”

“Lisa—”

“Do you really think, after what I saw tonight, that I’m just going to let you get into your car and drive? What if you get hit with another migraine? What if it’s not just a migraine? What if it’s a stroke? Or a heart attack? Or Leprosy or something?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not?—”

“I know it’s not Leprosy, I’m not an idiot. But holy crap, boss, you were down, okay? Like on the ground, pasty, in pain, and totally out of it. So no, I’m not sticking you in a two ton weapon and sending you out on the—oh my god I sound just like my parents. Look what you’ve done to me. Are you happy now?”

I wait for her to take a breath and then I process the fact that she’s genuinely scared. In the last three years working with her I’ve seen her mad, I’ve seen her happy, I’ve seen her depressed…but I can’t think of a time I’ve ever seen her afraid. “I’m sorry,” I apologize. “And thank you. For everything you did for me tonight. I’m lucky you were there.”

She pinches her lips together and we ride the rest of the way home without a word. She pulls in front of my condo building and puts her car into park, but leaves it running and turns to look at me.

“You should take the day off tomorrow,” I offer. “You were working late enough as it was, anyway. Just relax and enjoy some time before the Thanksgiving madness takes over.”

“You know who else should take some time off, right?”

I let out a brief laugh. “I don’t have time to take time off.”

She pauses for a moment, like she’s searching for the right thing to say. “Listen, boss, I don’t usually have a problem being direct with you…”

“I’m painfully aware, yes.”

“I’m probably out of line here, but I think maybe you need to make time to take time off. You work what? 70 or 80 hours a week? The only person you do anything with is your brother. I just wonder if the stress of ‘all work and no play’ might be what caused this?”

My jaw muscles tighten and I turn to look straight ahead, carefully measuring my response. She really did go above and beyond for me tonight, but it’s hard not to get defensive over her accusation. Yes, I work hard, that’s the job. It doesn’t allow me the luxury of a ton of free time to go on dates or out with friends. But that’s a sacrifice I’m making now so that I can have the money to provide for all those things later. I have a plan and a timeline and so far, everything is falling into place. Tonight’s just a minor speed bump.

Her voice softens. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m not trying to be difficult, I just…it freaked me out, seeing you like that. And I’m really glad I was working late, and I was there for you tonight. But what if it had been worse? What if I hadn’t been there? Maybe this happened as a sort of wake-up call, you know? You’re not getting any younger.”

“I’m only 35,” I protest.

“You’ll be 36 in April.”

“That’s six months away!”

“Are you really going to be doing anything different six months from now?”

I stare at her. “You’re really very lucky that you’re so good at your job, you know that, right?”

She flashes an overly-toothy smile. “I know.”

“All right, well, just for calling me an old workaholic, I’m revoking your day off tomorrow. But sleep in at least. Come in an hour or two later than usual.”

“You’re firm but fair as always, boss.”

“Thanks again for helping me out tonight.”

“Thanks for not dying. And also for not firing me, I know I was close there.”

“You were,” I agree as I got out of the car. “Please be safe driving home,” I tell her before shutting the car door.

She gives me a salute and drives off.

The fatigue doesn’t really hit until I close the front door of my condo behind me and step out of my shoes. I strip off my clothes and separate them into the appropriate hampers, then get into the hottest shower I can handle.

Even as exhausted as I am, I spend the entire 120 seconds brushing my teeth with my eyes fixed on the empty sink next to mine in the double vanity. I purchased this place seven years ago, and no one has used that sink even once. It’s not like I’ve never had a girlfriend, I justify to no one in particular, as Lisa’s words bounce around in my head. I’m just really busy. But once I’m Managing Director, I’ll have more flexibility with my time to start dating more seriously.

I’ll find the right person for that sink, I think as I crawl under my sheets. Luckily I fall asleep quickly so I don’t have to worry too much about headaches or sinks or whether my timeline needs rearranging.