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“Where are you going?” Grace asked.
I turned to wheel into my room and snapped my head over to her.
“My room,” I said curtly. “I’ll see you for dinner.”
Then I wheeled in, slammed the door behind me, and drank in the sound of silence.
This was what I needed. Silence. I rolled my way over to the window and looked out along the city as I set my bottle of water on my bedside table. I took a bite of the apple in my hand as my eyes scanned the horizon, relishing the silence.
This was why I enjoyed my home. This was why I paid top-dollar to live here. The noise ordinances were some of the strictest in the entire city and the security and discretion this place had a reputation for was unprecedented. No sneaked pictures of the hotel mogul in his wheelchair. No anonymous interviews with the front desk as to my bullshit attitude.
And no one would be able to access Grace about my medical trials and tribulations.
I heard a small pair of feet walk down the hallway before the door next to me opened. Grace was headed to her room. Probably to unpack. I could hear the slight tearing of tape as I took another bite of my apple and I could feel my skin prickling. My precious silence was dissipating with every rip of tape and every drop of a box on the floor. I gritted my teeth as I grabbed my water, then cracked it open and began to chug. The cool liquid fell down my throat and I could feel it trickling to my stomach.
Then, I felt it.
I set my water bottle down onto the bedside table and wheeled back from the window. I headed into my bathroom and was quickly reminded of the fact that I’d need Grace’s help. Fuck, I hated this. My wheelchair got through the doorway, but between the damn towel closet and the knobs on the bathroom drawers and shit, it was hard to maneuver myself in. I took it slowly. Carefully. Trying not to get my clothes hooked on anything.
I sighed with relief when I parked myself in front of the toilet.
It was a struggle, getting my pants down around my ankles. I bit down onto my lower lip so I could conceal my struggles from the woman next door. There were many things she’d be employed to do for me, but holding my dick while I peed wasn’t one of them. I settled my feet onto the floor and pushed myself up from my chair, praying to the fucking gods above that the brakes on my wheelchair would hold steady.
I leaned my body against the edge of the bathroom counter so I could turn around and sit on the toilet. The owner and operator of the largest international luxury hotel chain, and I was peeing sitting down. I placed my elbows on my knees and put my hands in my face, waiting for my private embarrassment to be over.
But the searing pain that shot through my hip caused me to groan out.
“Mr. Lowell?”
Shit.
“Mr. Lowell, are you okay?”
A light rapping at my door sounded and I bit back the pain as another electrical jolt shot down my leg.
“Mr. Lowell, I’m coming in.”
“No, you’re not,” I said.
But I couldn’t hold back the hiss of pain as it shot up my back.
“Yes, I am,” Grace said.
“Stay out.”
This woman wasn’t going to see me with my fucking pants and boxers down around my damn ankles. My cock was out, for fuck’s sake. I stood up from the toilet as fast as I could, listening to my door swing open. I bent down to grab my pants as fast as I could, but in the process I lost my balance and fell over.
“Mr. Lowell!”
My hands caught me against the clawfoot tub as I felt a pair of arms around my body. I tried to shrug her off as the heat of embarrassment crept into my face. She hoisted me up into the air and bent down, pulling my damn clothes up my fucking body.
“Get off,” I said.
“Sit down,” Grace said.
She was in the process of buckling my pants as I sat down hard into my wheelchair. Her nostrils were flaring and her face was red. What the hell was she so upset about?
“Get out,” I said.
