"Yes, of course I will," Brandy replied, her voice smooth and practiced. *He's busy, alright,* she thought with a cynical edge. *Busy entertaining his mistresses.*
She redirected her gaze back to the dense text of her medical journal. A strange sense of peace washed over her. She was profoundly grateful that she had never truly placed any hope in Blake Schwartz. Because she expected nothing, she felt no disappointment. Her heart remained an untouchable fortress.
The night deepened, wrapping the city in a suffocating darkness. Outside the reinforced windows of the VIP suite, the storm raged on, the rain lashing against the glass without a moment's pause.
Her father and Martha had long since fallen asleep, their breathing providing a quiet, rhythmic background noise. Brandy sat alone in the dim glow of a reading lamp, turning the pages of her book. The hospital was eerily silent, save for the relentless drumming of the rain. It was well past midnight, yet sleep completely eluded her. Her mind was a chaotic swirl of medical terms, her father's declining health, and the lingering, unspoken worry about Barron Payne.
Suddenly, her phone vibrated violently against the wooden nightstand, the screen flashing brightly in the dark room.
In the absolute quiet, the sudden light and vibration felt jarring. Brandy jumped, her heart skipping a beat. Terrified that the noise would wake her father, she snatched the phone and immediately muted it. She glanced at the screen. It was a string of unknown digits.
She frowned, a crease forming between her brows. Was it Blake's mistress calling to escalate her petty provocations? But the area code didn't match the number from earlier.
Curiosity and a nagging sense of unease won out. She stood up, quietly slipped out of the suite, and pulled the heavy door shut behind her before answering.
"Brandy?" a male voice asked.
"This is she. Who is this?" Brandy replied, keeping her voice low in the empty corridor. She didn't recognize the tone.
"It's Adrien Pratt. We've met briefly before."
"Oh." Brandy blinked in surprise, recalling the devastatingly handsome, rogue-like man she had seen around Barron during her internship. "Mr. Pratt. It's late. Is there something you need?"
"Where are you? I'm coming to get you."
The abrupt, commanding statement left Brandy entirely bewildered. "Excuse me? You're coming to get me for what?"
Adrien's voice was tight with an uncharacteristic anxiety. "You still have that emergency access keycard to Barron's Tribeca penthouse, right? The one he gave you when you were dropping off those files? He's locked himself inside. I've been banging on the door for twenty minutes, and he's not answering."
Brandy's breath hitched, her pulse suddenly accelerating. "He's not answering?"
"I had a crucial video conference scheduled with him and some overseas clients at nine. He told me he was going to crash at the penthouse for a bit beforehand. And now... nothing. The guy sleeps like the dead sometimes, but he's never missed a meeting like this. Never."
The anxiety in Adrien's voice was contagious. The knot of worry Brandy had tried to bury all evening suddenly sprang up, tightening around her throat.
"I'm at New York-Presbyterian right now," Brandy said, her professional calm fracturing. "I can bring the keycard to you."
"No, don't walk out in this storm. It's not safe for a woman alone at this hour anyway," Adrien said quickly. "I'm already in my car. I'll be faster. Just wait for me at the main hospital entrance."
Adrien Pratt, despite his playboy reputation, possessed an ingrained, old-money chivalry. There was no way he was letting her navigate the torrential rain alone. Before Brandy could argue, he hung up.
Brandy stood in the sterile, brightly lit hallway for a long moment, staring at the darkened screen of her phone. The anxiety that had been simmering beneath the surface all night finally boiled over. She spun around, rushed back into the suite, and quietly rummaged through her leather tote bag until her fingers brushed against the cold, hard plastic of the black keycard.
She grabbed her trench coat and hurried out.
Brandy stood under the massive concrete awning of the hospital's main entrance, peering into the curtain of rain. Though she only waited a few minutes, every second stretched into an eternity.
Finally, the sleek, aggressive silhouette of a black Aston Martin cut through the downpour, pulling up to the curb with a low roar. Adrien pushed his door open, preparing to step out into the rain to escort her, but Brandy was already moving.
She sprinted through the deluge, ignoring the water soaking her shoes, and yanked the passenger door open.
"Why did you run out? I was coming to get you," Adrien said, looking at her wet hair.
"Let's just go," Brandy said, tossing the keycard onto the center console and immediately pulling the seatbelt across her chest.
Adrien paused for a fraction of a second, registering the sheer panic in her eyes, before shifting the car into gear and slamming his foot on the gas.
