His Sugar Baby (6 page)

Cathy’s gaze locked with the head nurse’s compassionate eyes. The first day Chloe had stepped foot in the hospital, Cathy had met Barbara Beasely, and they had become fast friends over the long, grueling months. “I’m just so tired, Barbara. I’m just so damn tired. Sometimes I—” Cathy’s voice broke, and tears blinded her. She hastily dashed them away. She would not break down. She would
not
.

“Just let it go, Cathy.” The head nurse gave her a quick, comforting hug. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“Chloe doesn’t have much in her life right now, you know?” Cathy explained wearily. “I brought her a few Skittles. They’re her favorite.”

The head nurse nodded. There was understanding in her eyes. “No one will take them from her, I promise. If Chloe throws up, it won’t be any different than what happens with the chemo. Don’t feel bad. We can deal with it, Cathy.”

Cathy nodded, already burning with shame over her outburst. “I’m so sorry, Barbara. Please tell that poor nurse, okay? I probably scared her to death. I’ll be at work this afternoon. I’ll come back after I get off. I want to talk to Dr. Richards.”

“Okay. I will relay a message to him.” The head nurse looked searchingly at her. “Cathy, are – are you all right? I’ve never known you to lose control like this.”

Cathy swiftly made an excuse. “I didn’t sleep much last night.” She suddenly recalled that she really hadn’t, and why, and warmth scorched her cheeks. Forcing back the untimely memory, she summoned up as bright a smile as she could. “I don’t sleep well most nights, Barbara, as you know.”

The head nurse nodded, ready sympathy flickering in her gaze. “I understand. I’ll look in on Chloe myself in a little while, okay?”

“Thank you, Barbara.” Cathy nodded again. “I’ve – I’ve got to go. I don’t want to be late to work.” She turned sharply away and left the ward.

* * * *

After work, during her second visit with her daughter, Cathy was able to talk with the oncologist about the possibility of her daughter going home for a few days. Dr. Richards explained kindly that he felt Chloe’s immune system was too fragile to allow her to be away from the hospital. He promised to keep the possibility under consideration since Chloe seemed to have responded better to the latest bout of chemotherapy.

It was left for Cathy to deliver the disappointing news to her daughter. As she watched the resignation fall across her daughter’s face, Cathy felt the sting of tears. She made an effort to be upbeat and teasing and silly with Chloe, so that before her visit was over she had the satisfaction of seeing the tiny smile that curled her daughter’s sleeping mouth.

After kissing Chloe one last time, Cathy eased quietly out of the hospital room and walked down the hallway. She was bone-tired, and she was glad to be heading for home. As she depressed the worn black button for the down elevator, she heard the sound of her name. She turned. Dr. Richards was striding toward her, his white lab coat flapping open over his dark-green scrubs.

Cathy waited for the oncologist, her body tensing with unease. They had already spoken earlier about Chloe and how she was handling the new course of treatment. In Cathy’s experience, any time a physician wanted to talk to her again meant bad news.

“I’m glad I caught up with you, Cathy.”

As she searched the oncologist’s face, the sharp pang of concern that she had felt strengthened. “Is there something wrong?”

“Not with Chloe. I’m not so certain about you.” Dr. Richard’s intelligent gaze was penetrating. “I’ve just spoken with Barbara Beasely and learned of your altercation with one of our staff earlier today. Why didn’t you mention it when we talked?”

Cathy was uncomfortable. She always was when someone asked about her. “It wasn’t important. It was stupid of me. I apologized at the time.” She fumbled nervously with her purse strap. She was still embarrassed by the way she had lost control of her emotions. She never did that.

“I also heard that you aren’t sleeping.”

Cathy tightened her lips, swiftly blaming her good friend for meddling. Ignoring the rise of anger inside of her, she took care to speak evenly because she knew how a show of emotion would be interpreted. “Is that so hard to understand? I have a sick child.”

Dr. Richards nodded, but his shrewd gaze remained fixed on her face. “Granted. But we’ve talked about this before, Cathy. You have to take better care of yourself. You need rest. What about the prescription I gave you? Have you refilled it?”

Cathy shook her head. “No, and I’m not going to. I don’t want to take the chance that I will be knocked out if… if there’s a call about Chloe.”

The oncologist frowned. “While I sympathize—”

“No,” said Cathy softly.

He sighed irritably. “You make my job just that more difficult when you don’t listen to my advice.”

“Just concentrate on Chloe. That’s all I ask. I’ll be fine,” said Cathy firmly. She changed the subject. “Chloe was very unhappy when I told her that you said that she couldn’t go home.”

“I still want to monitor her white count. If it stays stable, maybe in a few days we can talk about it again.”

“Thank you! It would mean the world to her. And to me.” Cathy smiled, truly grateful for the small extension of hope. Dr. Richards nodded, frowning. He seemed about to say something else, and Cathy braced herself. However, as the elevator door opened, he appeared to think better of whatever he had in mind. With a quick good-bye, Cathy made good her escape.

Chapter Five

Less than a week later, Cathy was scheduled to meet Michael again.

In the interim, there had been several emails back and forth between them, and Cathy had been busy. She had carefully thought out what she needed to do to protect her privacy as much as the surreal situation would allow.

For starters, she opened a second checking account using the two hundred dollars that she had already received from Michael. It relieved her to put the money away into the separate account. She felt distaste for co-mingling the funds that she received from Michael with her own hard-earned salary. It was totally illogical, which she readily admitted to herself. It just made her feel better to deal with it that way. It was the routing and account information for the new account that she emailed to Michael for the direct deposit he had proposed.

Cathy reread every e-mail correspondence that she composed before she sent it. She was very cautious about relating anything that could be used to trace back to her real life. She was thankful that she had had the sense not to give her real name to him. She had not and would not tell him where she worked, what profession she was in, or where she lived. It was to his credit that he never pressed her for those details. He seemed totally incurious, other than to establish that she did work and how their separate schedules could be made to mesh.

Michael emailed that he had tickets to the premier of the ballet on Wednesday night. She agreed to accompany him, believing that she could merely join him there. Then he informed her that it was a black-tie affair and that he would take her shopping on the Saturday before in order to choose a suitable gown for her to wear. That communiqué caused her a few gut-churning moments. However, she knew that she had nothing in her closet that could even pretend to be evening wear. Worse, it was obvious that he had guessed it. Reluctantly, she acquiesced to the shopping expedition.

Cathy dressed carefully for her second meeting with Michael. She wanted to look attractive enough for her role but not as though she was trying to draw attention to herself. After trying on several pieces, she finally paired a pale-blue boat-neck knit top with well-fitting jeans.

Naturally, she couldn’t help thinking about the possibility of a rendezvous at his house. The vivid memories of what had already transpired there made her excruciatingly tense about the upcoming outing and what he might expect of her. It came as a considerable relief to her when he suggested that they meet at the mall’s food court.

Despite the crowd in the food court, Cathy almost immediately caught sight of him. Michael was seated at one of the white plastic tables, lounging at his ease in the chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him. She weaved through the occupied tables toward him. When he saw her, he stood up to greet her. Just as he might have done with any female acquaintance, Michael lightly touched her arm and bent his head to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

Cathy felt the tension in her shoulders loosen slightly. She mentally scolded herself. They were in a public place, for heaven’s sake. What had she expected him to do, grab her and push his tongue down her throat?

“How are you, Winter?”

Cathy was momentarily disconcerted by the name. She did a mental shuffle. She had to remember the role that she was playing. She had to start thinking of herself as Winter. When she was with Michael, Cathy Somerset and her searing life problems did not exist. She covered her confusion by making a procedure of setting her purse down and sinking into the chair opposite him. She offered a quick smile. “I’m fine.”

Michael pulled a cell phone out of his shirt pocket and held it out. “I’ve programmed it. The bill will come to me. My cell, my direct office line, and my home numbers are in the contact list.”

Cathy reached out to take the phone. Her fingers brushed his, and she felt a tiny spark tingle through her fingers at the incidental contact. Very formally, she said, “Thank you, Michael.”

His striking light-colored eyes gleamed with sudden humor. He smiled and politely responded. “You’re welcome.”

After ascertaining that she didn’t want lunch or anything to drink, Michael suggested that they move on to an expensive, upscale boutique. In very short order, Cathy was modeling dresses and gowns for him. She was uncomfortable at first. It felt awkward to walk out of the dressing room to pivot in front of him while his gaze slowly traveled over her. But his comments were never off-color or suggestive, so she was able to get over her stiffness.

The saleswoman who waited on Cathy was attentive, having already scented a good sale, and she scurried to pull another color or design as needed. Michael was particularly taken with a fern-green clingy jersey. “Try that one.”

Cathy nodded and took it back into the dressing room. As soon as she put it on, she knew that it complimented her. Her auburn hair was a beautiful contrast to the fern-green jersey. The halter neckline plunged deep, making it impossible to wear a bra with the gown. The gown hugged her curves, flaring at the hips and falling in graceful folds to her ankles. A slit from hem to high on her left thigh showed a good flash of leg when she moved. She exited the dressing room.

At sight of her, Michael straightened in his chair. His ice-blue eyes lingered on the exposed swell of her breasts. Her nipples involuntarily pebbled under the thin fabric. When he lifted his gaze to meet hers, there was banked heat in his eyes. “I think that’s the one.”

The smiling saleswoman preceded Cathy back to the dressing room. As she unlocked the dressing room again, she remarked, “Your husband has very good taste.”

“He’s not my husband,” Cathy blurted. She felt heat scorch her face. Ducking her head, she hurried into the dressing room and shut the door.

The saleswoman did not appear to notice her flush. “Oh, sorry. Your boyfriend. It’s obvious that he adores you. Just hand out the gown whenever you’re ready, and I’ll go ring it up.”

Cathy took off the gown and handed it over the door. The saleswoman’s tapping heels retreated. Cathy pulled on her street clothes, reflecting on the saleswoman’s assumption. It was foreign for her to think of Michael even as boyfriend material. It bothered her, more than she had been consciously aware of it, that she could not readily define their relationship.

However remote the possibility might be, she could run into an acquaintance and be placed in the position of having to introduce Michael. It would be so much better to say, “Oh, this is my boyfriend, Michael. So nice to see you. Sorry we have to run.” Instead of, “This is the man who is paying me to have sex with him.”

All right, she would call him her boyfriend. Whatever else she did, though, she must not forget that there were to be no emotional ties. Michael had emphasized that point that first evening when they had met for dinner and yet again in his emails. Theirs was to be a mutually beneficial arrangement and nothing more. But obviously one fraught with hazards, she reflected, not the least being her own conscience.

As Cathy left the dressing room, she averted her gaze away from the mirror. She preferred not to look at herself any more, too afraid that she would see the self-condemnation reflected in her own eyes.

When she emerged to rejoin Michael, she was determined never to let her mental guard down again. She had to become Winter. She needed to cultivate voluntary schizophrenia. At the silly thought, a wry smile curved her lips.

Michael noticed the slight smile on her face. “Having a good time?”

Cathy thought about it. Except for her faux pas with the saleswoman, she had actually enjoyed trying on all of the beautiful clothes. “Yes, I am.”

He laughed. Shifting the garment bag that held the jersey gown, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders for a quick hug. “Come on. Shoes next.” As it turned out, it was shoes and fine costume jewelry and a wrap, all to go with the jersey gown.