“Your husband called the desk,” she said, her eyes evaluative rather than kind. “He said he’s picking up the rest of his things from the apartment and you shouldn’t try to reach him.”
I just nodded. “Okay.”
Mark put down his book. “You know your husband,” he stated. It wasn’t a question.
That afternoon, Brenda came in for my injections. She looked at me, then at Mark, then back at me with a conspiratorial whisper. “Jessica, do you actually know who is in the bed next to you?”
“Mr. Grant,” I said.
“That’s Mark Grant,” Brenda hissed. “The one with the commercial real estate empire in seven states. The tech founder from Austin. He’s one of the wealthiest men in the region. He could be in a suite in New York, but he’s here because Dr. Herrera is the only one he trusts.”
“They say that in New York, too, Brenda,” Mark’s voice came from the window, calm and dry.
