The Billionaire's Private Nurse

Prologue ANNIE I was sprawled across my full-size bed, face down on my pillow when I heard my phone buzz. I rubbed my swollen and puffy eyes and reached blindly for my cellphone. I glanced at the screen and swore out loud. I considered rejecting the call, but knowing my boss, she would just keep calling. Instead of a polite hello, I answered the call with a dull, “What do you want, MaryLou?” I had just gotten home from the funeral of my last client. I wanted nothing more than to curl up with my favorite pillow and sleep for a week. Nursing an elderly gentleman through the last stages of life had taken a lot out of me, physically, and emotionally. “Hello Annie,” the older woman greeted me in a too-friendly tone, “I just wanted to call and check up on you, see how you are doing---” “No, you didn’t,” I cut her off rudely. “I just got home from Mr. B’s funeral,” I pulled the phone away from my ear so I could check the time, “Fifty-seven minutes ago. Fifty-seven minutes, MaryLou!” “I know, I know.” “You promised me two weeks!” “I know I did, sweetie, but I really, really need you on this,” her tone of voice changed to a motherly, wheedling, guilt-inducing tone that absolutely did not work on me. “You always say that, but we both know that I’m only one horse in your very full stable. Find someone else, I’m on leave, I’ll talk to you in two weeks---” I was about to cut the call. “Wait, Annie, I’m serious!” “So am I.” “I could fire you,” MaryLou threatened. “I could quit,” I countered fearlessly. We both knew that MaryLou would not fire me. I have been with the agency for eleven years. There was a pregnant pause at the other end of the call. “I’ll pay you double.” I snorted, “You can’t afford to pay me double.” I was already the highest paid care-giver in the agency. “You are right,” MaryLou replied, “but this client can afford it.” Despite myself, I felt a stirring of curiosity. “Who is it? The president?” I asked jokingly. “This client wishes to remain anonymous. We call him “Mr. Greene” “What?” I sat up on my bed. I've served some very high-profile clients, but anonymity was a first. “Yes, it's all strictly confidential,” MaryLou confirmed. “So, why me?” “Mr. Green is a very... large man. Not many women would be strong enough to handle him.” I grunted in response. I am what some would call, “big boned.” My father used to say I was built like a draft horse, ready for hard labor. I wasn't sure whether or not I should be insulted or complimented that MaryLou thought I was the only woman strong enough to handle this client. “Why don’t you just send a man?” “I have already tried.” “Who did you send?” There was another long pause before she finally reluctantly admitted, “all of them.” There weren’t that many male nurses in the agency, but MaryLou had already sent all eight of them to this client. “Mr. Green fired two of them, and the other six refused the client.” “Let me guess,” I rubbed my temples, where a headache was just beginning to bloom. “Mr. Greene doesn’t play well with others. What are we talking about? Dementia? Alzheimer's?” Some people said I had an “angel’s touch” with the most difficult and demanding clients. That was one of the reasons I was paid so very well for my services. I took the most difficult patients. The late Mr. B had suffered from Parkinson's disease and paranoia, and had refused to see any other nurse. “Not this time,” Marylou cleared her throat. “Mr. Greene is a younger man, compared to our usual clients. But he suffered an accident and is now confined to a wheelchair. I believe he is having a difficult time adjusting to his disabilities.” “Oh.” I felt a slight stirring of compassion for the mysterious Mr. Greene. Although I didn’t know him, I could only imagine how difficult it was to have to adapt to such a huge, life-altering change. I know how devastated I would be if I suddenly lost the use of my legs. “I’m sure that must be very hard.” “Then you’ll take the assignment?” MaryLou sounded hopeful. “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t say NO either!” “Double pay?” “Yes ma’am!” “And I want a four-week vacation when this assignment is over.” “Sweetie, if you don’t drop this client, and he doesn’t fire you within the first month, I will personally buy you plane tickets anywhere you want to go.” I closed my eyes and pictured myself on a white sandy beach somewhere, sipping a drink out of a coconut shell while some beautiful man rubbed sun-screen on my lily-white legs. “Mmmhmm. Okay fine. What’s the address? When do I need to go?” In my mind I was thinking I would probably have the weekend, and then start fresh on Monday. “Pack your bag honey, the car is already on the way.”