The Billionaire's Private Nurse

Chapter Eight - Catherine

KAMERON

“But baby, I miss you so much! Why can’t you tell me where you are? Don’t you trust me?” Catherine whined over the phone.

“Cat, its five in the morning,” I said with exaggerated patience. “Let's talk about this later.”

“Ohhh, I’m sorry, I always forget about the time difference,” she simpered. She was in Europe almost as much as she was in the States. How could she forget?

I tried to distract her. “How’s the shoot going? Are you enjoying Paris?”

I could almost hear her shrugging through the phone. “Boring, as usual. These designers are such primadonnas.”

I rubbed my forehead. That was almost funny, a supermodel calling the designer a primadonna. I’d seen Catherine only briefly while I’d been immobilized in the hospital bed after emergency surgery. I was still groggy from the anesthesia and the heavy pain medicine. She stood beside my bed looking down at me with a horrified expression. If she was trying to cover up her emotions, she had no chance of breaking into that acting career she always talked about. I half way expected her to break up with me right then and there. After all, a guy in a wheelchair didn’t make a very attractive foil to a blond goddess.

“So when can I see you?” she pressed again.

“I told you, we’re still investigating the accident. I don’t want to expose you to anything that could put you in danger.” I hedged.

“Oh Kam, you are so sweet to be concerned for my safety and welfare. I know you’ll never let anything bad happen to me. Of course, I’d bring Adam along with me, just in case.” Adam was her personal body guard, and I had often wondered if he might be something more on the side. I probably should have been jealous, but I just didn't care enough.

I took a deep breath, thinking I needed to just break it off. It wasn’t like there was ever really going to be a future between us. We made a cute picture together, and the s*x was hot, but then what? She was as shallow as the kiddie pool, and really, under the pretty face and surgically perfect body, she wasn’t all that interesting. So why was I letting this go on? Was a superficial relationship really better than dying alone?

Besides, when Catherine realized that I was likely going to be in the chair for the rest of my life...

“Catherine... I’ve got to go. Lets talk later, okay?”

“Oh,” her voice was pouty. “Okay baby, if you don’t want to talk to me... I guess I’ll get going. Ciao.”

I rolled my eyes, sincerely hoping that she wasn’t trying to bid me goodbye in French. “Au revoir,” I replied, but she had already cut the call. I sighed and used the railing to roll myself to the side so that I could set the phone back on the nightstand. I needed to remember to switch my phone to silent before I went to bed.

For a moment, I tried to imagine asking Catherine to assist me with some of the tasks I was struggling with. She would never have the strength to help me move my heavy legs, let alone slide my body around the way that Annie had done yesterday. She would undoubtedly complain that shaving me would ruin her manicure. It was probably unfair of me to compare my girlfriend to a professional nurse, but the fact was that Catherine didn’t have a compassionate bone in her body.

I needed to get rid of her. I should have done it months ago, before the accident. Because the truth was I didn’t love her. I was just passing the time. I hated to do it over the phone, that just wasn’t my style, but the circumstances kind of made it impossible to do it in person. I would have to call her back later.

I rolled onto my back and used the bed controls to sit myself up in a more comfortable position. I instructed his smart TV to turn on the news, and began scrolling through my emails. My eyes kept checking the time. My nurse didn’t go on duty until 7am. But it was almost six and I was ready to get up. Jim had texted me with Annie’s new, secure number, and my finger hovered over it, debating with myself. I was a man who was used to getting what I wanted, when I wanted it. I dialed the number.

Annie picked up the phone and answered with a breathless sounding “Hello?”

“Ms. Clarke. I need you to come to my room.”

“Are you having a medical emergency, Mr. Greene?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear to glare at the screen. I formed my words carefully as though I were talking to a small child. “I want to get out of bed. Now.”

There was a rather prolonged silence. “That’s all good and fine, Mr. Greene. I’m sure you can manage to get into your chair by yourself. I’ll be on duty to assist you with whatever you need at seven sharp. See you then!” She cheerfully cut the call.

I stared at the now silent phone. That b***h! How dare she refuse! And judging by the tone of her voice, she had refused with a smile on her face. Didn’t she know who I was? Didn’t she know I could not only fire her as my nurse, I could have her nursing license revoked! I was Kameron St. Pierre! A snap of my fingers and I could ruin her whole life.

But I couldn’t get out of the god-damned bed by myself. Could I? I stared at my chair and the slide board for a long minute. I knew perfectly well that there were paraplegics all over the world who lived full, independent lives. They took care of themselves perfectly fine, without nurses and butlers and cooks to assist them. I hated the anxiety that gripped me by the throat every time I tried to attempt to transfer to and from the chair. I hated that desperate, helpless feeling. Kameron St. Pierre, the great billionaire business tycoon... I could buy a small country if I wanted, but I couldn’t get my own useless body into the chair.

I had to remind myself that to Miss Anna Elizabeth Clarke, I was not Kameron St. Pierre, I was just "Mr. Greene." Although I had a feeling that it wouldn't have made a difference to her if I had used my real name. She wasn't going to come to my room until she was damn good and ready.