A Gambling Heart: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (5 page)

I must have been more tired than I thought. When I finally opened my eyes it was past noon. I remembered that I had the apartment all to myself. I wasn’t looking forward to being alone so I decided on what I wanted to do for the rest of the day. I would step out and grab a bite to eat, and then perhaps I could do a little shopping.

When I came home later tonight, I could do laundry and some house cleaning. I took a long shower, shampooed my hair, and felt better about myself.

The last drop of alcohol must have dissipated and I felt good. I hurriedly donned a pair of worn-out jeans and a loose shirt and stepped out of the room.

I almost had a heart attack when I saw a figure slumped on the sofa. I thought an intruder had gotten in.

“Chantal?” I cried out with relief and astonishment as I recognized her. She was the last person I expected to see. She looked up at me and I realized she had been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her nose was as shiny as a ripe tomato.

“What happened?” I asked worriedly as I sat down beside her.

“He was gone…they were all gone…I feel so stupid. He was just making fun of me,” she replied between sobs.

“What? Who was gone?” I asked, confused.

“Eric and his band mates.” she answered. “When I got back to the hotel, they had already checked out.”

Understanding came swiftly. The prick had no plans of bringing her anywhere for the weekend. He probably asked her pack some things so they could make a quick escape. “Oh, honey…I’m so sorry.” I wanted to tell her ‘I told you so,’ but she was so distraught I didn’t have the heart to. “Tell me everything,” I urged her.

Between sobs Chantal related how eagerly she rushed back to the hotel. She didn’t want to keep Eric waiting. She knocked at his hotel room and the door was opened by a cleaning lady.  Confused, she thought she had the wrong room and double checked the room number.

She asked where Eric went, explaining to the cleaning lady that she was his friend and was supposed to join him for the weekend. But the cleaning lady merely shook her head and explained that the band had left an hour before Chantal got there.

Chantal went straight for the lobby, although a sinking feeling told her something was wrong. She did ask the receptionist if Eric left her a note. The answer was as she expected.

No note, no message, nothing. The realization that she had been fooled drove her to tears. She wanted to hold on to her dignity as the receptionist stared at her. Chantal could read a lot of meaning in her look—mockery, amusement, boredom like this wasn’t the first time something like this happened, but most of all, pity.

Chantal fled the hotel before she could create a scene. She felt so foolish. She walked around the block before hailing a bus and deciding to come home.

“Oh, sweetie…I’m so sorry.” What else was there for me to say? “Look,” I eventually added, “consider yourself lucky he left when he did. You will forget him eventually. I mean…if you went with him over the weekend, then it would have been much harder to say goodbye…don’t you think?”

Chantal nodded, seeing the logic in what I said. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I-I’m not crying because he left. I’m crying because he made a fool of me and that hurts.”

I agreed and said, “He made you feel special. All girls want that. Plus he was a celebrity and the thought excited you.

He chose to be with you from among the legion of girls who could murder you over that. But it doesn’t change the fact that he was an asshole.”

Chantal giggled and I was glad she was feeling better. “He had flapjacks for an ass.”

I was confused before I caught on her meaning. I laughed and suddenly we were both laughing. “Come on, let’s grab some lunch. I’m hungry and we could do the mall right after.” She yielded meekly and rose to wash her face. When she joined me she looked more like herself.

We went to a small bistro a few blocks away. The noontime crowd had gone and we had the place all to ourselves. We both ordered from the menu before settling down to wait for our food.

“Are you alright now?” I asked her.

Chantal nodded and replied, “Yeah, I’m fine. You were right when you said not to expect anything much. In hindsight, I’m glad he left without me. I can’t really see myself as a groupie. He probably has a girl in every city they tour. Shit!”

I comforted her and replied, “It’s his loss. He’ll never find out what a wonderful person you truly are.”

Our food arrived and we dug in. I realized this was my first solid meal since we went to see The Krazey Aborigines two nights ago. I told her so. She looked at me and said, “And you still managed to report for work?

I hope it was worth it. You were probably slurring your way through Nurse Silva. Did she notice anything? Damn that hospital, we never get to meet anyone exciting.”

I choked on my food as she said that.

“What?” she asked. I shook my head as I grabbed the glass of water. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” One thing about her, she was perceptive.

Too bad she didn’t use that on her choices of men. I shook my head once again. “You’re keeping secrets from me.” She pouted.

“Alright, alright,” I admitted, “there was something but I didn’t want to talk about it because it’s…nothing.”

I gave her a rundown of what happened and how sick I was on the train on the way to the hospital. The bitch had the audacity to laugh.

I told her how I tried to get away from Nurse Silva’s probing eyes by pretending exhaustion. “She actually told me to go home and take the rest of the day off after I went to see the last patient on my chart.”

“Then…then what?” Chantal pressed. I couldn’t help but tell her about my impression of ‘John Smith’ and how good-looking he was. I proceeded to tell her about falling asleep and waking up to him calling me and asking help to pee.

Chantal’s eyes were wide as saucers as she heard the rest of the story. “He is staying at the BHH floor? Jesus, he must be a celebrity or something. Is he rich? Did you ask him what he did for a living?”

I stared at her, aghast, and replied, “No, of course not. But I found out his real name just before I left the room. It’s Gareth.”

“Gaarreth!”

Chantal said his name like a caress. I resented that and thought I was crazy. “Will you see him again?” Chantal wanted to know. I shook my head as I renounced the optimism I felt. I really wanted that. But this was the real world. I wouldn’t see him again. Period.

I knew better than to expect she would leave it at that as she fired off a couple more questions. I felt annoyed simply because I didn’t have any answers. She frowned before saying, “Okay…tell me what he looks like…at least.”

I aimed for nonchalance as I described Gareth’s hair as dark brown when I really wanted to say that it looked like the color of leaves in an early autumn afternoon. I said his eyes were blue when in reality they looked like the ocean on a clear day.

I couldn’t tell my best friend that touching his skin was like putting my hand in an open socket because every hair in my body stood on end. I couldn’t tell Chantal that holding him was like coming home.

“Hmmmm…I’m intrigued,” Chantal said. “I wish I get to see him on Monday.”

I wished that too. “I don’t think so. A man came in. I don’t know who he was but he had a group of specialist doctors with him. They’ll probably have him transferred to a fancier hospital.”

Chantal accepted that.  A look of disappointment crossed her face. Before she could ask any more questions I said, “C’mon, lets pay up and hit the mall. Nothing like good ol’ retail therapy to mend a broken heart.” Her eyes lit up. She took it to mean that I was referring to her broken heart over the Eric brouhaha.

But strangely enough I knew that I was also referring to mine. Honestly, even I if tried hard to ignore it, there was a lump inside my chest that had everything to do with Gareth and how I would never see him again. It felt like I was nursing a broken heart.

Monday morning came bright and early for me. Chantal and I spent the whole of Sunday just lounging in the apartment, watching old movies and ordering pizza for dinner. She seemed to have recovered and I was happy about that. By 8:30 p.m. I was having a tough time stifling my yawns and by 9 o’clock I called it a night.

I was up at the crack of dawn, feeling refreshed and raring to go. I was totally Zen as I ticked off in my mind what I needed for the nurses’ evaluation to earn a five-star rating from Nurse Silva. It would be a boost to my career.

I must have done a good job convincing myself that I would never see Gareth again because I barely thought about him, well…that was until I switched the TV to CNN.

“…unconfirmed reports about an accident involving Formula One race car driver Gareth Westbrook said that he was behind the wheel of his own car when it hit a railing and went flying into the air, leaving the car a total wreck. Calls to his manager, Steve Truman, have remained unanswered. Westbrook is currently ranked number one in the racing circuit and countless female fans have given him the moniker Mr. Heartthrob. Mr. Westbrook has remained single yet there seems to be no shortage of women who will give anything to change that…”

A still sleepy Chantal popped out of her bedroom just then and was startled when I let out a shriek. “That’s him! That’s him! Gareth! The guy at the hospital.” She grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

The correspondent went on to narrate all his achievements as we stood there with our mouths open. Gareth’s face was plastered all over the screen, making me remember exactly how gorgeous he was.

“That’s the Gareth you were talking about? The guy whose room you fell asleep in?” Chantal asked in amazement.

“Yes,” I replied, wondering why it sounded like a huge deal to her.

“Bitch, which planet did you come from? You’ve never heard of Gareth Westbrook?” Chantal asked.

“Well…the reporter said he is a race car driver. That explains his chart which said the patient was in a vehicular accident.” Chantal shook her head incredulously like I was some kind of stupid.

“At least now we know who he is…Mr. Heartthrob?” I added lamely. “I-err-he was really good looking.” I shrugged my shoulders, wondering if Chantal knew more than what was reported on TV. “Is there more that you know about him.” I feigned innocence.

“Duh…only that he happens to be filthy rich having inherited his dad’s fortune. He doesn’t have to work a day in his life but his passion is racing. He earned millions endorsing products. Every manufacturer in the US and Europe wants his mug on their brand. Gee, Sienna, you really should get interested in other things than just the hospital, you know.”

“Humph! Let’s get going, Miss Know-It-All. No use talking about someone we’ll never see again.”

She rushed back to her room, remembering she had some making up to do with Nurse Silva. She came out with a sneaky smile on her face.

“What?” I asked, suspicious of her. I knew that smile. She was up to no good.

“You said he asked help to pee. Jesus. What I would have given to be you at that very moment.” Chantal giggled.

“Idiot,” I replied, “he just came out of sedation. Probably doesn’t even remember a thing about me.”

Chantal giggled like a crazy school girl. “Well, I’m sure you would have remembered if you got to hold his dick.” I gasped in shock.

“Chantal you are so gross,” I said, giving her a shove out the door. But she was so close to the truth as I remembered the erotic dream I had about the guy.

The trip to the hospital was uneventful until we rounded the corner. We were met by a crowd of photographers. There were TV news vans parked along the sidewalk and we had to walk past them before we could enter the hospital premises. One reporter followed by a camera man approached us and shoved a microphone in Chantal’s face.

“You work in this hospital? Is there anything you can tell us about the condition of Gareth Westbrook?”

Chantal was taken by surprise, which immediately turned to excitement about the thought of being on TV. “No, but my friend here was inside his room two nights ago.”

I was taken aback by her response, which was heard by other newsmen nearby. Before I even knew what was happening, I had a slew of microphones in my face. Instinctively I knew we had to get out of there.

“No comment…No Comment…” I muttered as I elbowed my way out of the crowd. Chantal must have realized her faux pas because she was pushing me forward and away from the reporters. We barely managed to escape as we dashed for the safety of the hospital entrance.

“You idiot. Why did you say that?” I berated Chantal as soon as we were out of earshot.

“I’m sorry…” She replied with a look of contrition. “The thought of being on TV seemed appealing….I forgot for a moment.”

I could literally punch her in the head. The hospital had a strict code about patient confidentiality. We didn’t just give out information without the patient’s go-ahead. Any announcement was done by a hospital representative. It could get us into a lot of trouble or even get us fired.

“Chantal, you’d better hope Nurse Silva doesn’t hear about this,” I warned her.

“But you said he’d be gone by now,” she argued.

I didn’t have a chance to give a sharp retort. Nurse Silva appeared from around a corner and approached us.

“I’m glad you’re both here. There is an emergency meeting at the conference room in fifteen minutes. I want you both there. Stat.”

We didn’t ask any more questions. When Nurse Silva says
stat
, that usually meant not a second late. My mind was in a whirl. The horde of photographers and news people outside could only mean one thing. Gareth was still here. My heart did a skip, hop, and twirl as we proceeded to the meeting.

There were already a few nurses inside as we entered. Chantal and I made a beeline for the coffee table. I noticed that croissant and doughnuts were added. That confirmed my suspicion that this was no ordinary meeting.

“Have you heard?” one of the nurses asked as I made my way to a seat.

“Heard what?” I feigned ignorance.

“Gareth Westbrook! He’s a patient here!”

Chantal pulled a chair beside me and eagerly replied, “Yeah…Sienna…” I swear this woman had a mouth as big as her pussy. I poked a well-aimed elbow to her ribs and was rewarded by a resounding grunt I took a sip of coffee as I strived for a poker face. “S-Sienna…and I were wondering what the fuss was all about,” she added lamely while giving me a dirty look.

The door opened as Nurse Silva marched in. I was surprised to see the nursing director, Dr. Steven Newell.

I immediately had an inkling that his presence this morning had something to do with the horde of media outside. Another man followed directly behind him. Recognition kicked in. “That’s the man who was in Gareth Westbrook’s room,” I managed to whisper to Chantal.

Chantal whispered back, “It’s confirmed, then.
He
is still here.” I didn’t appreciate the look of anticipation on her face.

Dr. Newell took the podium and said, “Good Morning, ladies.” A smattering of ‘good mornings’ echoed back. “I understand if most of you are a bit confused why I am here today. Your daily morning briefings are usually conducted by Nurse Silva. However there’s a reason why my presence is required. We have inside our hospital building a VIP. That explains the presence of the media just outside the premises. I cannot reiterate clearly enough that no one among you is allowed to talk to them.

No one. Whether they ambush you on your way out or stop you anywhere else, no one is allowed to give any information about the patient in question. Is that understood?”

We all nodded in agreement as Chantal muttered an inaudible “shit.” I knew she was worried about what happened earlier when we arrived. If word reached Dr. Newell she would be in deep shit.

I hoped nothing about that encounter would come out on TV or the newspaper. The other man took the stand and introduced himself. I was eager to hear what he had to say.

“My name is Steve Truman and I am the manager of Gareth Westbrook, the patient that Dr.

Newell referred to. I asked Dr. Newell for strict privacy about Mr. Westbrook’s condition. His health and wellness is a sensitive issue that I will personally address with the press after all the tests are done. As nurses, you are well aware that some injuries are evident. Although Mr. Westbrook seems to have suffered only a mild contusion, there are other soft tissue injuries not immediately apparent at the time of the accident.

Dr. Newell and a team of specialists are observing him for signs of severe or chronic headaches, and even mild brain injury for the next few days. Ladies, on a more personal note, you may be aware that Mr. Westbrook is a famous race car driver.

He has endorsements from some of the most well-known brands in the planet. We do not want to create panic among his sponsors.

That is the reason why we are forbidding anyone to talk about his condition to the press as he is being observed for signs of post-traumatic stress. Is that clear to everyone?”

We all nodded. Then Dr. Newell and Steve Truman left the room. Nurse Silva took over the rest of the briefing. Now that we were alone with her, the rest of the nurses felt freer to talk and gossip about the patient at the BHH floor.

“I’ll take the first shift, Nurse Silva.” This was from Melinda, the nurse who often muddled her patients’ prescription. “I wouldn’t mind making it a double.”
Swell
, I thought. She would have two chances to kill the guy. “I’ve seen photos of him and he is a fine piece of ass.” I wondered where I could get hold of those same photos.

“Dream on, bitch,” another nurse intervened. “We’ll draw lots and see who takes the shift.”

“Is it true he is filthy rich…and still single? I wouldn’t mind being Mrs. Gareth Westbrook.” This made us all crack up. Wanda was the oldest nurse at 75 years old, widowed three times over, and obviously still had some life left in her.

“I think he just signed an endorsement deal with an airline from Saudi Arabia. That must be the reason why his manager wants to keep everything hush-hush,” another nurse offered.

There was an uproar as the nurses chattered, speculated, and ventured about what they’d heard or read of Gareth Westbrook.

The gossip was tinged with sexual innuendoes that sent most of the girls swooning and giggling.

“Ladies, ladies…” Nurse Silva raised her voice above the din. “Please, let me remind you that you are supposedly professional nurses and not a bunch of pussies in heat.” Laughter followed that remark. Inwardly I was hoping to get a chance to see Gareth again but didn’t have the guts to stake a claim.

Besides, I knew Nurse Silva would assign nurses the way she always did… her way.

Still, I was disappointed when his chart was not among those assigned to me that day. The squeal of delight coming from a young pretty nurse was all the confirmation I needed that his chart was assigned to her. She left the room like a rooster flapping its wings.

“Oh well,” I consoled myself as I began my rounds, “maybe it’s for the best that I don’t see him again.” I remembered the erotic dream of him naked.

I may just end up molesting the gorgeous bastard. I was glad I never mentioned to the rest of the nurses that I was first in his room when he was admitted.

Nurse Silva knew that but she never mentioned it either. Thankfully Chantal was still worried about her faux pas earlier and was unusually quiet.

I was determined to focus on my patients for the day, but I constantly battled with the desire to take the elevator to the BHH floor just to be near him again.