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“Yes,” I answer. “I mean, it’s how I hired her.”
I can read the look on Edmund’s face without even turning to face him. He was beyond clear that all of my requests should go through Liz.
“At first, anyway,” I continue. “But that was weeks ago. And then she stayed?”
“Willingly?” Edmund chimes in in jest, a slight poke at Grant.
“Yes, you fucking asshole,” I quip.
“And this is the only contact you have for her?” Grant continues garnering information from me.
“She has an escort website,” I answer, “but this is her personal cell.”
“Not a burner?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t think so. She was always annoyed when I reached out to her this way.”
“You got him?” Grant looks at Edmund. “I’m going head home. Take a shower and dig into this; see if I can find out who Madame is. I’ll message you if I get anywhere.”
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” I look between Edmund and Grant.
“We disagree.” Edmund flashes a cheeky smile.
“For fuck’s sake.” I huff.
“I just want to get out of this bed so that I can feel the least bit helpful in all of this.” My voice hitches as I choke on my words, “I just want to fucking find her.”
Grant leaves, and Edmund takes a seat. Leaning back in the chair, he stretches out, crossing his feet against the edge of my bed like they’re his desk.
“Comfortable?”
“Quite.” He smirks. “You?”
“Funny.”
“So, Cora.” He raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “At what point are you going to fill me in on what’s been going on for the past couple of weeks.”
“So, Harper.” I turn toward him with a smug look on my face. “I know what she’s doing for all of us, but what exactly is she doing for you, Edmund?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he drops his feet to the floor and stands up. “I’m going to go find that doc. See what I can do about getting you out of bed.”
“Really?” I laugh, grabbing my side when it pulls at the stitches. “That serious, huh?”
Completely ignoring me, he leaves the room. Through the window, I can see him flirting shamelessly with one of the young, pretty nurses.
I should be heading home shortly.
* * *
Apparently, when you nearly die, the doctors are quite insistent on running a barrage of tests before agreeing to let you leave the hospital.
It’s been hours of watching my vitals, poking and prodding, changing bandages, and ensuring I would have someone to help me get around for a few days.
It's been fucking hours.
As of thirty minutes ago, they are putting together my discharge paperwork and finding me something to wear home beyond the sexy paper-thin cotton gown I’ve been wearing.
GRANT
