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“What’s her name?”
Why was he asking her name? Didn’t he recognize her? Everyone knew who she was. She was a legend. She’d just won an award for being inspirational, and if they couldn’t see the actual award then surely they could see the award-sized dent in her skull.
She was going to write to the organizers and suggest a brooch for the next winner.
“Gayle, can you hear me? I’m Dan.”
Why was he calling her Gayle when they’d never met? She was either Ms. Mitchell or GM. Young people today had no respect. This was why she insisted on formality in the office.
This “Dan” barked out some instructions to his partner and proceeded to assess her injuries.
Gayle felt herself being poked and prodded.
“Has someone contacted her family? Loved ones?”
“Her...what?” That was Cole, sounding stressed and confused.
“Loved ones. Nearest and dearest.” The EMT was pressing something to her head.
“I don’t think—” Cole cleared his throat. “She doesn’t have loved ones.”
“She must have someone.” Dan eased Gayle’s eyes open and used a flashlight.
“That’s probably the first time anyone has looked into her eyes in a long time.”
Funny, Gayle thought. Until that moment she hadn’t even realized Cole had a sense of humor. It was a shame it was at her expense.
“Partner?” Dan again, doing something that apparently was meant to support her neck.
“No. Just work. She loves her work.”
“Are you telling me she has no one in her life?”
“Well, there’s Puccini...”
“Great. So give this Puccini guy a call and tell him what’s happened. He can meet us at the hospital.”
Gayle wanted to roll her eyes, but her head hurt too badly. She hoped this EMT knew more about head injuries than he did about culture.
“Puccini was a composer. Opera. GM loves opera. People? Not so much. She isn’t a family type of person. GM is married to her work.”
Dan clipped something to Gayle’s finger. “Oh man, that’s sad.”
Sad? Sad?
She ran one of the most successful boutique consulting firms in Manhattan. She was in demand as a speaker. She’d written a bestseller—soon to be two bestsellers if preorders were anything to go by. What was sad about that? Her life was the subject of envy, not pity.
“Makes her a bitch to work for, actually,” Cole muttered. “I couldn’t go to my grandmother’s funeral because she had a ten o’clock and I needed to be here.”
Cole thought she was a bitch?
No—no! She wasn’t a bitch. She was an inspiration! That journalist had said so. Yes, she worked hard, but there was a perfectly good reason for that. And if she hadn’t worked hard and turned the company into the success it was now, her team wouldn’t have their nice comfortable secure jobs. Why couldn’t they see that? Maybe she should use that award to knock some sense into her staff on a daily basis.
It was time she showed them she was awake—before she discovered more about herself she didn’t want to know.
“I don’t get it,” the EMT said, slapping the back of Gayle’s hand to find a vein. “I guess if you don’t have family, then you work. It’s that simple.”
He slid a needle into Gayle’s vein, and if she’d been capable of speech or movement, she would have punched him—both for the pain and his words.
