The Ex Files

Chapter 5 - Ally

Brooks hadn't been kidding about the hospital having a wing named after his grandfather. There it was with fancy gold script above the door. The Cornelius Carrington Oncology Unit. A vanity, but I figured it was better than spending billions on launching rockets into space.

When we arrived at the ER—in Brooks's chauffeur-driven Mercedes—the staff had descended on us like a pack of deferential wolves, but after I'd been given the all clear, he'd waved the nurses away and insisted on pushing my wheelchair to the car himself.

"I can walk," I grumbled. "People are staring at me."

"No, they're staring at me. And you're injured."

"Hardly. I've had worse damage from a sewing machine."

There was a tiny puncture on my big toe from Muffy's teeth. Honestly, the hole from the tetanus shot was bigger. As for my shin, it wasn't fractured, but it did have one heck of a bruise. Was it acceptable to wear a pantsuit to a wedding? Because the flowery, knee-length dress I'd planned to wear as Antonio Adderly's cousin said "I do" was no longer a contender.

"That doesn't make it okay," Brooks said.

"I guess purse-sized dogs are an occupational hazard." I thought back to Paisley's warning. "Next time, I'm gonna wear those a pair of those ankle guards that soccer players use."

"There isn't going to be a next time."

There wasn't? My heart dropped to my bandaged foot, not just because of the loss of income, although that would hurt since Brooks was a regular, but because he was my favourite client. One I actually enjoyed spending time with. Although I couldn't say I'd be heartbroken to miss the funeral "date" he'd mentioned earlier. Grief left me tongue-tied. What was I meant to say to somebody crying for a loved one? "I'm sorry for your loss" always seemed so inadequate. Not that I'd been to many funerals. Only three, and one of those had been for Cooper's former neighbour, Creepy Bob. Cooper had dragged me past the open casket just so he could check that Bob was really dead, and then he'd taken me out for celebratory ice cream sundaes. Creepy Bob's nickname said it all. He used to meander around late at night, peering through people's windows and then acting senile whenever they called the cops. Cooper said that in truth, he'd stayed sharp as a tack until the day he tripped over plant pot and broke his neck as he bump-bump-bumped down the porch steps. There hadn't been a damp eye in the house at the service.

But now Brooks was fake-breaking up with me, and I had a flashback to that night in The Oyster Club where Sebastian had told me I wasn't sophisticated enough, and Brooks was ten times the man Sebastian had been, I understood that now. A year ago, I'd thought the sun shone out of Sebastian's eyes—and he'd always been Sebastian, never Seb—when in reality, it had been the gleam of a golden ticket to partnership peeping through. He'd strung me along until I was no longer useful, the slug. At least Brooks had always been up front with me.

"I'm sorry I let you down today," I said.

"What are you talking about?" Brooks halted the wheelchair and stepped forward to look at me, and I guess I didn't hide my disappointment as well as I thought. "Fuck, Ally, I didn't mean it that way. I meant I'll hire security."

The lump in my throat turned into a giggle of relief. "Security? You mean a dog wrangler who'll throw himself into the path of danger?"

Brooks's tone was serious. "If necessary. I take staff well-being very seriously."

Staff? Ouch.

The visceral reaction surprised me. I was working under contract, and wasn't it better to be treated as an employee than an escort? Didn't I value professionalism above friendship anyway?