LEONARD REED WAS IRRITATED. HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ON his way to Sissy’s apartment, but his wife had called and insisted he come home immediately. He’d had a long day and had been looking forward to one of Sissy’s long massages that ended very happily. He pulled out his phone and sent a short text to Sissy. Can’t make it. Something came up. He could have explained that he had a situation at home, but he preferred to be vague. It would keep her on her toes. Let her wonder if he was seeing someone else. He also could have refused his wife, Patrice, but the grief he would have to endure wasn’t worth it. It was easier to go home and deal with whatever drama she had drummed up. He had to play the good husband; otherwise, she’d go into another one of her fits of depression, upsetting the whole household. And while he might not give a crap about her, he did dote on his eight-year-old twins who were, unfortunately, very close to their mother.
Before he left for the day, he unlocked his center desk drawer and pulled out his burner phone. He dialed the number, put in the code, and hung up. A minute later a second burner rang and he snapped it up.
“It’s Reed.”
“Well, this had better be important. I was just about ready to cut into a six-inch filet,” Vice President Brody Hamilton boomed through the receiver.
“I just wanted to double-check that we’re still on in two weeks for the event.”
“Why wouldn’t we be? I told you last week it’s on. I swear, you’re more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
Leonard rolled his eyes. Hamilton and his stupid expressions. Did he really think anyone was still buying that corny southern crap? “I’m being thorough, that’s all. Our boss wants to make sure that everything stays on course. You know as well as I that the president’s schedule is volatile. We need to make sure this is nailed down, rock solid.”
“Well, I ain’t the president’s chief of staff.” Hamilton’s laughter came over the line. “But lucky for us, she’s under my thumb, among under things. Don’t you worry. It’ll go off without a hitch, and if some national emergency crops up and we have to reschedule, I’ll let you know. Now, if there’s nothing else, my steak’s getting cold.”
* * *
Leonard pulled up to the gated driveway of his Stamford, Connecticut, home and hit the button on the visor of his BMW 740e. The iron gates swung open and he made his way up the long driveway to the white plantation-style house. Pulling into the four-car garage, he killed the engine and got out of the car, steeling himself for the crisis du jour. The garage door entrance led into the kitchen, where the twins, Dolly and Darcy, were sitting at the enormous island, eating spaghetti, while Lena, their housekeeper, was doing dishes.
“Daddy!” They both jumped down from their stools and ran into his arms.
“How are my two princesses?” he asked, enveloping them both in a hug.
Before they could answer, his wife, Patrice, walked in and cut them off.
“Darlings, I need to talk to Daddy. You can tell him about your day later.” She turned to Leonard. “I’ve got a drink waiting for you in the library.”
He sighed and followed her. Despite his annoyance, he had to admit that the sight of her backside in those tight pants was arousing. But sex with Patrice always exacted a price, and he was in no mood to pay. It was easier to go elsewhere, and more fun anyway. He walked into the library, a room that never failed to impress guests with its shiny oak floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with first editions. A wooden staircase led to a second-level balcony for reaching the books on top shelves. The furniture was Queen Anne style but the focal point of the room was the antique wooden desk that he took pleasure in telling guests had belonged to Thomas Jefferson. The Oriental rug covering the shiny hardwood floor had cost him a fortune. He took a seat in one of the leather club chairs in front of the library table, where Patrice had placed a glass of port. He took a long swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Patrice rolled her eyes. “There’s a napkin right there. Honestly, Leonard, a man with a bank account your size should have a little more couth.”
He resisted the urge to tell her where she could put her couth and instead pressed his lips together. “Okay, I’m home. What’s the big emergency?”
“It’s my mother. Her doctor wants to do a scan to make sure her cancer hasn’t come back. She wasn’t due to have another scan for three more months, but she hasn’t been feeling well lately and her symptoms are worrying the doctor. But they can’t do it now because her health insurance company—your company—denied the procedure.”
He narrowed his eyes. “How was her blood work? Did it come back normal?”
Patrice began to pace, wringing the napkin in her hands. “I guess it was normal. It didn’t show any markers of cancer. But you know as well as I do that’s not a guarantee that the cancer’s not back. Obviously if blood work was the be-all and end-all, they wouldn’t do scans and MRIs. Her doctor says if there’s something brewing and they catch it early, she has a better prognosis. What is she supposed to do, wait three months to find out that it’s back but that it’s spread because they didn’t treat it? It’s ridiculous!” Her face was red, and her eyes were practically bulging out of her pretty little head.
He felt the heat spread to his face. “What are you bothering me with this for? Her doctor should just appeal the denial and explain why they need it sooner. I can’t get involved at this level. I’m the frickin’ CEO for crying out loud.”
Her face turned redder. “Yeah, I know that. What I want to know is when your damn company changed from an insurance firm to a medical practice. What the hell do your claims people know about what’s necessary and what’s not? They should leave the doctoring to the doctors. It’s disgusting.”
“Disgusting?” He stood up and pointed around the room. “You like living here in this nice house? Driving that top-of-the-line Mercedes and having our children in the best school in the state?” She was just staring at him. “How about that expensive nanny, or the housekeeper, or the Pilates instructor that helps you keep your ass so tight? Well, you wouldn’t have any of that if I didn’t do my job and make my company money. So if a few people die a few months earlier than they night have otherwise, that’s the cost of doing business.”
“You can’t be—”
He put a hand up to silence her. “Tell your mother to have the test. I’ll pay for it. She can afford to pay for it herself, but never mind. Put it on my tab, just like everything else.” He shook his head. “That’s what’s wrong with the country. People always looking for a handout. Blaming us. How about people take better care of themselves? Half the problems people face are of their own making. My company should pay for diabetes meds for people who won’t lose weight? Or lung cancer treatment for smokers?”
“Are you saying that it’s my mother’s fault that she has cancer?”
“No. But what I am saying is that this is what happens when we have to pay the price for other people’s poor choices—it ends up costing everyone. I have to look out for my stockholders. I have an obligation to them. And you certainly have benefited from my ability to do a good job. So get off your high horse.”
“How dare you blame me for your soulless decisions about people’s lives? I never asked for any of this.”
He snorted. “Yeah, well, you never turned it down, either.”
“I wish—”
“Save it. I know what you wish. That you could have a divorce. But I’ll never let you have the kids. You can walk away, but they stay.”
Patrice turned and strode from the room without another word. With his money and connections, Leonard knew that if she ever left, she’d be lucky to see the girls on the weekends. It was the only leverage he had to keep her from divorcing him. He really wouldn’t have minded so much if she did, but he liked the appearance of the happy family she provided. He was the benevolent face of Jefferson Health Care and their Christmas cards wouldn’t look as wholesome without a wife in the picture.