“A ‘culture fit’ for a nursing client? Who is it, Oprah?”
She laughs. “You’re funny. I like it when you’re funny.”
“Tatum, what is going on?” I don't like the nervous edge in her voice which means she’s definitely up to something.
“The client will meet you at Novel Grounds on Friday just to feel you out. Be there at 2 P.M., okay? Bye!”
“Tatum—”
The line clicks shut.
“This heffa did not just cut me off!”
I guess I know exactly how my mom felt when I hung up on her five minutes ago.
Still, I can’t afford to be picky. After going over the billing this morning, the pile of late invoices from insurance companies isstarting to weigh on me. The idea of a VIP client sounds like the kind of person who actually pays on time, like Ms. Lilly.
So, I suck up my pride, send up a grateful prayer for my friend who is always looking out for me, and prepare to meet my new VIP client on Friday.
Chapter Eighteen
Brochures, Boundaries + the Thousand-Dollar Sponge Bath
Aspen
The bell above the door of Novel Grounds usually sounds like a welcome, but today, it feels like a fire alarm.
I’m still ten feet from the entrance of the Cinnamon Grove coffee shop when I see him through the large front window. My heart doesn’t just skip a beat, it hits a brick wall at sixty miles per hour and stops dead.
Luca.
He’s sitting at a small corner table, his massive frame entirely too large for the delicate bistro chair. He looks like a grizzly bear trying to join a doll’s tea party. A pair of crutches leans haphazardly against the wood, and his injured leg is stretched out stiffly into the walkway, acting as a literal obstacle for anyone trying to get by.
He looks tired. He looks beautiful. And he looks exactly like the one person I swore I would never see again.
My hand dives into my bag, fumbling for my phone with shaking, murderous fingers. I dial frantically, my thumb nearly punching through the screen.
“Tatum,” I hiss the second she picks up. “You raggedy bitch!”
“Hey, girl!” Tatum chirps, sounding too bright for someone about to be drop-kicked. “Did you make it to the shop? Is the VIP—”
“You low-vibrational wench. You set me up.”
She actually has the audacity to laugh and I want to reach through the digital void and throat-punch her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, her voice innocent.
“Luca is sitting in this coffee shop, Tatum! You knew exactly who needed a nurse and you didn't say a single word!”
“Aspen, listen—”
“No! You listen. Yes, I have bills to pay. Yes, I was seconds away from selling jars of my own farts on OnlyFans, but I still have a soul. You sent me into the lion's den without a suit of armor.”
Tatum finally drops the innocent act, her voice turning serious. “He's hurting, Aspen.”
“And he hurt me! You’re supposed to be onmyside!”
“He’s a mess,” she counters. “He’s burned through four nurses in a single month. You're the only one he can't intimidate, and frankly, you’re the only one who actually knows how to handle him. I need this win, Aspen. I need him in top condition because my job is on the line here, too. Please? Just...just go inside. Talk to him. If you want to walk away after five minutes, I’ll find someone else. I promise.”
I look back through the glass. Luca is staring down at a cup of black coffee, his jaw tight, looking like a king who’s lost his crown and doesn't even know where he dropped it.
