“What the fuck,” he breathed.
The entire headboard dropped down to reveal a critical care setup, all of the monitoring equipment on swivel arms that could be extended out.
“And the supplies are here.” She went over to what he’d assumed was a bathroom door and opened things. “There’s room for more, too.”
Gus walked toward her and—“Fucking hell, Phalen. Why don’t you just move the whole lab up here?”
Squeezing by her, he entered a room that was big as the row house he’d been raised in. Not only were there portable X-rays and ultrasound machines, there was—
“Even an autoclave?” he muttered as he went deeper through the ER-worthy equipment.
“Anything you want. Anything I need. And there’s a surgical light that drops down from the ceiling out there.”
All of the machines and computers were first-rate and ready to go, and the nursing supplies were worthy of a teaching hospital’s larder, from the bandages to the IV bags.
“Who set all this up?” he asked as he put his hand on an EKG machine.
“I did.”
He pivoted and looked at her. She was half Phalen-ized, the bottom of her professional with those heels and slacks, but the top part was work-from-home casual in his baggy-ass fleece. But hey, the hair was back in order.
So maybe the look was three-fifths a Phalen.
And hey, she’d be perfect for a waist-down Zoom call.
“This is not going to work,” he said. As she opened her mouth to argue, he put his palm up. “It’s not that there isn’t a lot here, it’s the staffing. If something goes down, I’m going to need help. Unless you think I have an extra set of hands hidden on me? What if you go into cardiac arrest, for example?”
“We’ll get private nurses. There’s a suite right next door that sleeps three in a very comfortable arrangement.”
“With critical care training?” He noped the shit out of that. “I want my people and they’re downstairs. It’s in your best interest, and if you can’t recognize that, it’s my job as your doctor to insist on your standard of care.”
“So bring them up here.”
“That’s not feasible and you know it. I’ve got doctors I want on this, too.”
He could tell by the way she crossed her arms over her chest she was spoiling to give him a fight. So he went back out into her bowling alley of a bedroom. While she formulated some kind of defense against being reasonable, he wandered around. No pictures. No paintings. Another modern sculpture that looked like a high schooler with a power drill had hit a block of marble with everything they were worth.
The bathroom was across the way and he leaned into it. Nothing on the counter. No makeup. No brushes. No hair spray. Not even a towel. And the pair of sinks with their black metal faucets gleamed.
He couldn’t resist. He went over to the shower and opened the smoky glass door. One bar of soap, and a twinsie set of shampoo and conditioner with some fancy French name on it.
“So you actually do live here,” he muttered as he turned around.
“Fine,” she said over at the bathroom’s door. “I’ll do this down in the lab for as long as it’s medically necessary. After that? I come here—but there has to be some way to manage the talk. I don’t want any distractions in the lab or talk outside of it. The work has to continue and there can be no leaks.”
“Those people have been working on a secret drug for how long?” he said dryly. “You think they’re going to break their confidentiality agreements now?”
As she looked away with annoyance, he shook his head. She’d known all along that she was going to get to this critical juncture, when her disease tipped the scales and started to get away from her. She had planned everything, that bedroom out there a magnum opus of medical support no doubt set up as soon as she’d landed with all her one-note tables and chairs and her stupid-looking, pretentious sculptures.
Gus went over to her and put out his palm. “My rules. I’m just trying to make sure you survive this.”
In a sick way, he enjoyed how hard it was for her to submit. But that was the asshole in him who liked to fuck with people—and also maybe the romantic who felt like she was cheating on him with that guard. Which was nuts.
Somehow, though, if she’d been banging a guy from outside of the operation, it wouldn’t have bothered him so much.
Or maybe it would have.
Just before she shook what he was putting to her, he retracted his forearm. “One more thing.”
“What.”
“When it’s just you and me? I’m calling you Cathy.”
* * *
Well, wasn’t Gus St. Claire full of demands tonight, C.P. thought.
And she was beyond done with it.
“That hasn’t been my name for a decade. Maybe two. So I’m not answering to it.”
“Okay, Cathy.”
His dark stare seemed to bore through her, and although she was the last person to drop out of a game of eye chicken, she did look away first.
“And of course you’re going to do what you want,” she muttered.
“You got that right.” In her peripheral vision, that hand of his extended forward again. “Always.”
“Really?” She cocked a brow at him. “Like this is a deal?”
“Don’t kid yourself. We were in a partnership before, but this is all new territory for you and me.” He tilted in over his lean hips. “Unless you need a reminder, we rushed Vita’s development and the testing we did on those wolves was limited in scope. This is the Wild fucking West and your body is the battleground.”
Her gaze lowered to his chest. The t-shirt of the day was Schoolhouse Rock!, the bill who was going to Capitol Hill chugging up the steps, looking over his shoulder.
“Try not to let me die, Gus,” she said in a weak voice.
“That’s the plan.”
As they shook, she was aware that she didn’t want to let go of the man’s hand. And then he didn’t drop the hold, either.
“You going to tell your fuckboy about all this,” he said in a low voice.
“Who?” she blurted. When she realized who he was talking about, she broke the connection and stepped back. “No, I’m not telling anyone.”
“Not even your parents?”
“They’re dead, so they’re not answering their phones.” She crossed her arms again. “And no, I have no brothers or sisters. It’s just me.”
Gus mirrored her pose and shook his head. “Not anymore. You’re not alone as long as I’m around.”
C.P.’s breath caught. Funny how someone could say something and rip your defenses clean away. Then again, did she have any left when it came to her new oncologist? After the last however many hours when he did everything but give her a Pap smear?
“Thank you,” she said roughly.
“No problem, Cathy. I got you.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Why? Too close to home?” He took a step toward her. “You need to get ready for what’s ahead, and wasting time with me putting on some bullshit act is energy you and I are not going to have to spare.”