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"Good. That gives us plenty of time." He turned to Dylan. "Call Marie. Tell her to get me a good videographer. She's got a list of them. Find someone who's available today. I want him in ICU by this afternoon, equipment in hand. I need the works—tripod, recording deck, lights, microphone—you know the drill. In the meantime, you take care of things at the other ead. Set up the necessary VCR equipment in the conference room at Ruisseau. When the company's new president is introduced at five-thirty, the one introducing her is going to be the CEO." He handed the page back to Sabrina, gave her an approving smile. "By the way, what you wrote here is great. Use any part of it you want to. But you'll be delivering it after I make the announcement."
Anticipation glinted in Sabrina's eyes. "Nothing would please me more."
"Nothing, huh? I could argue that one." There was an amused, knowing look on Carson's face, and Sabrina could swear he darted a quick glance in Dylan's direction before looking back at her. "But we'll save that for another time. Right now, we have other things to discuss. Like the media. Have you thought about how you're going to handle them? Because they'll be breaking down your door by tonight"
"I'll handle them with as much candor and as few words as possible."
"Not a word about knowing that formula," he reminded her. "Remember."
"I remember."
"Now let's get to Gloria. Have you run all this by her?"
"We discussed it over the weekend. She's steeled and ready, prepped for the media feeding-frenzy that'll take place in Massachusetts—Rockport and Boston. She'll run interference for my grandparents, and address what- ever personal questions she has to. She's a pro when it comes to the press."
"Not a surprise. She's a class act. Will your grandparents be okay?
"My fingers are crossed, but, yes, I think they will be. I'll call them as soon as I leave the hospital and tell them everything they need to know, including the tissue-typing results. They need to hear the entire situation, and they need to hear it directly from me. I can handle it. And, in the long run, so can they."
Carson frowned. "I hate that you have to go through this. This whole scandal thing is what I wanted to spare you from."
"I know. But I'm tough. I inherited that from both my parents—and my grandparents, too. Wait till you meet them. They're pretty damned formidable."
"So I hear." Carson was clearly preoccupied, and not with apprehension over meeting her grandparents. "The media's been getting updates on my health," he said pensively. "They know where things stand. Once news that you're my biological daughter leaks out, they're going to jump all over the kidney issue."
"Fine. Again, I'll stick to the facts, giving as few details as possible. I'll say the doctors are still hopeful that your kidneys will resume normal function. I'll add that, in the meantime, I'm being tested, but I don't have any conclusive results. When I do, they will, too. Period."
"Shit. This is going to turn into a tabloid circus." Carson rubbed his forehead.
"If it does, it does. We'll deal with it." Sabrina lay her hand on his arm. "Carson, you can't let this upset you. It'll affect your blood pressure, and your recovery. I've already told you my family will survive this. I'll make sure of it. As for Ruisseau, your staff's a tight, united bunch. Their only concerns are making the company thrive and finding out who shot you. Sure, they'll have some adjustments to my stepping in as president, but they're not about to be thrown by a bunch of reporters grilling them over your being a sperm donor. Is it Susan you're worried about? Will she flip out over the press coverage?"
"What?" Carson looked at Sabrina as if she were crazy. "Of course not. Susan's known this was coming since we told her who you are. Besides, talk about a pro. She's so used to having flashbulbs go off in her face and being asked if I'm as good a lay as I am a businessman, that nothing frazzles her. No, I'm not worried about Susan. Or about Ruisseau. It's you I'm worried about. You're going to be getting it from all sides—your grandparents, antsy staff members from CCTL and Ruisseau, eager news correspondents, and scum-of-the-earth tabloid reporters. You're already carrying the whole goddamned world on your shoulders. The last thing you need is another load. Goddammit, if I were only out of here, I could shield you from some of it...." He slammed his fist to the bed. "This sucks." His head jerked around, and he gazed straight at Dylan. "You're going to have to do it for me. Take care of her. Do what you can."
Dylan nodded, although his expression was wary, as if he were trying to figure out how much Carson knew. "I will. I'd already planned to."
"I figured as much. I don't know what you had in mind, but get her away from Ruisseau and from her apartment tonight. The press will be camped outside both. Take her to your place. Cook dinner. You make a decent linguini in white clam sauce. It wouldn't make Zagat's top fifty, but it's better than average."
"Gee, thanks. Okay, I'll be Julia Child and the diversionary committee all rolled into one. Not to worry."
"Excuse me," Sabrina interrupted. "I'm not some fragile piece of china that needs to be handled gingerly. I won't break."
"I know." Carson dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. "You're tough as nails. No surprise. You're my daughter. Which is exactly the problem—you're my daughter. And, hell, was Gloria right about the protective instincts this whole parent scene conjures up. I'm just beginning to find out what a wimp you become when your kid's well-being's at stake." He snorted. "This fatherhood thing is something else."
Sabrina smiled, not only at Carson's words, but at his expression. He might be bitching up a storm, but he didn't look upset. What he looked, was self-satisfied and overprotective. Like he was settling into the father role quite comfortably, rather than with the irritation he was feigning.
"That takes care of the media issue," he concluded. "So, we've covered kidney donors, sperm donors, and presidential announcements. Before we kick into high gear with this videotaping thing, is there anything else? Any other bombs you want to drop on me today? Any business issues we need to discuss?"
That brought Sabrina down to earth with a thud.
She hesitated, unsure whether or not now was the time.
Instantly, Carson picked up on her hesitation. "What is it?"
"It's Stan," she forced herself to say. "I feel really uncomfortable broaching this topic, not only because Stan's helped me adjust, but because you two go back so many years. Unfortunately, I think I have to."
"This is business. Not personal. Shoot. What's on your mind about Stan?"
"To be blunt, he's a mess. I have no idea what's wrong, but he's coming apart at the seams. It's possible he's having trouble adjusting to my role at Ruisseau— my real role, since he's the only other person who knows the whole truth—or it's possible he's having trouble adjusting to my place in your life. Or maybe it's something entirely different. Whatever it is, I seem to be the only one who's picked up on this in a major way. That could be because he's more on edge around me. I remember your implying he had an issue with self-esteem. I think we should get into that so I'll have a better handle on how to deal with him."
