Page 117 of Filthy Promises

I need to get to the hospital. Now.

My hands move mechanically, shutting down my computer, gathering my purse. I’m just going through the motions, operating on autopilot while my brain tries to process the impossible math problem I’ve been handed.

Experimental treatment plus Two weeks minus More money than I’ll ever see in my lifetime equals…?

Those are all words that make sense on their own, but when you string them together like that, it’s just nonsense syllables.

I rise from my chair, nearly knocking it over in my haste.

“Ms. St. Clair?” Diane’s voice cuts through my fog. “Is everything alright?”

I blink at her, struggling to form words. “I need to— I have to go. Family emergency.”

Her perpetually frosty expression softens just a fraction. “I’ll inform Mr. Akopov.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, already moving toward the elevator.

The doors are sliding open when I hear his voice behind me.

“Rowan.”

I freeze. Turn slowly.

Vince stands in the doorway of his office, brow furrowed. He must have overheard, or maybe Diane pressed some secret “the assistant is having a mental breakdown”button under her desk.

“I need to go,” I say, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears. “My mother?—”

“What happened?” He’s moving toward me now, that predatory grace never more apparent than when he’s crossing a room with purpose.

“I just—I need to go.”

He nods once, decisively. “Take my car.”

“What? No, I can just?—”

“Rowan.” It’s not my name; it’s a command. “The car is waiting downstairs. It’ll be faster than the subway.”

He’s right, of course. It would take me at least forty-five minutes by subway to reach the hospital. His car would get me there in fifteen.

I still hesitate. Taking his car seems like crossing yet another line in our already boundary-free relationship.

But Mom needs me.

“Thank you,” I say, stepping into the elevator.

He follows me in.

“What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly worried he’s planning to come along. I can’t handle Vince and my mother and this diagnosis all at once. There’s only so much a human heart can bear before it just gives up entirely.

“Making sure you get to the car,” he says simply.

We ride down in silence. My mind races, trying to pull together a plan, a solution, anything that could possibly fix this situation. But there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing I can do to conjure up the kind of money Mom needs.

The elevator reaches the lobby, and Vince places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the marble expanse toward the exit. His driver is already waiting at the curb, door held open.

“Call me when you know more,” Vince says, his voice low.

I nod, unable to trust my voice.

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