The Billionaire's Private Nurse

Chapter One - Gray Suits

Chapter One - Gray Suits

ANNIE

I rushed around re-packing the bag that I hadn’t even completely UNpacked since my last client passed away a few days ago. Mr. B was 93 years old, so his death hadn’t been unexpected. But I had been caring for the elderly gentleman for nine months. Naturally, I had gotten attached, and his passing was still painful for me. I pulled my clean scrubs out of the dryer and was just folding them when there was a firm, demanding knock at the door.

I swung it open, not quite sure who I was expecting to see on the other side. A tall, slender man in a gray suit, black tie, and sun-glasses stood on the front step. He absolutely looked like he should be working for the CIA, right down to the slightly concealed firearm under his jacket and the earpiece clipped to his ear. “Miss Anna Elizabeth Clarke?”

“Uh, yeah, but everyone calls me Annie.” I opened the door wider to invite him in. “And you are?”

The man hesitated. “Jim.” He glanced around my apartment. Thankfully, it was neat and clean. It was a small apartment, but I liked it. It was full of bright color, from the teal-blue curtains to the bright wall hangings. Big windows let in the sun, sparkling off the crystal suncatchers I had hung there. Jim did not look impressed.

“Okay, Jim,” I ran my hands through my unruly hair. “Look, I appreciate you taking the time to drive over here and all, but I do have my own car, and I’d really prefer to drive myself. Plus, I need a few more minutes to pack so---”

“Negative,” Jim replied.

“What?”

“For security reasons, all of your transportation will be provided by Mr. Greene. Please hurry, Ms. Clarke. I assure you if there is anything you forget to pack, it can be provided for you.”

I stared at the man for a long minute before I balled up the scrubs in my hands and stuffed them down into my purple suitcase. I grabbed my tablet and my chargers, my journal, and a paperback romance I had been reading.

“This isn’t how we usually do this, Jimbo.” I said to the man who was still standing at my door like CIA statuary. I thought I saw the barest flicker of a frown at the nick-name, but he remained silent. I pointed my toothbrush at the man before I dropped it in my toiletry bag. "And really, I don’t like to be rushed.”

“Mr. Green does not like to be kept waiting,” Jim informed me stiffly. I narrowed my eyes at him. It was hard to tell his age, but I guessed he must be pushing fifty, if the crows' feet peeking out from under his sunglasses and the slightly receding hairline were any indication.

“Well now, you can tell Mr. Green that I need a little more than 7 minutes to get myself together.” I vowed that the next time I talked to MaryLou, I was going to give my boss a piece of my mind. I dropped a few more personal items in my bag before I zipped it up. Luckily for Mr. Green, and the stone-faced Jim, I was a very simple and organized woman. I slipped on my favorite, well-worn purple nursing crocks. “Okay,” I said finally, “I’m ready.”

“Excellent,” Jim blew out a relieved breath. “If you will follow me, please.”

After locking my door, I followed the stiff-backed suit out to a black Lincoln Town Car. Another gray suit was sitting behind the wheel, but this one at least offered me a friendly smile before he pushed the button to open the trunk. “Hey,” he said, flashing his white teeth in a dark face. “I’m Carson.”

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Annie,” I reached for the door handle, but before my fingers could close on the latch, Jim was there opening it up like a proper chauffer. I smiled politely and thanked him before I slid into the soft leather interior.

I felt a little weird sitting in the back seat by myself while the two gray suits sat silently in the front. I wanted to lean forward and ask them to turn the radio on. Looking at the high-tech dash, I had to wonder if this car even had a regular, old-school radio. I shook my head and pulled out my cell phone instead.

“Miss Clarke, I should inform you before we reach the house that you will be working under very tight security. We will provide you with a special, untraceable cell phone, and you may only make calls and texts to persons we have pre-screened. Use of social media is strictly prohibited, and you may not, under any circumstances, reveal your location or Mr. Greene’s identity to anyone.

My mouth sagged open in surprise. Who the hell was Mr. Green, if he wasn’t the president? “I assure you, Jim-Bob, I always protect my patient’s privacy.” I was feeling slightly offended, as though these security protocols had been put in place specifically for me. As though they had already deemed me untrustworthy.

“We are aware of your excellent work history, Ms. Clarke.” Jim said coldly. “These measures are standard procedure for all of Mr. Greene’s personal employees."

“Mmph.” I grunted and sat back. No phone? For weeks? Maybe even months? While I still had my own phone in hand, I quickly posted an update to all of my accounts. “I’m taking a break from social media,” I typed. “I’ll see you all when I get back.” There, at least then people wouldn’t be worried about me, if anyone actually noticed my absence. Truthfully, I didn't have many friends. My work as a private duty nurse didn't allow me much of a social life. When I wasn't working, I usually hung out with my sister, or a few casual acquaintances.

As soon as I hit send, I noticed that Jim’s phone vibrated. I saw him slide the phone out of his suit pocket, and check the screen. He nodded, apparently satisfied, and put the phone away again.

“Are you monitoring my accounts?” I asked suspiciously.

“Yes ma’am,” Jim replied curtly. “Standard procedure.”

I swore and crossed my arms over my chest. I felt somehow violated.

Carson offered me an apologetic smile in the rearview mirror. “Our tech team will go over your contact list and screen your friends and family. You’ll be able to communicate freely with them, as long as you don’t reveal your location or Mr. Greene’s identity. It's not as bad as it seems.”

I wondered if Mr. Greene was someone I would recognize when I met him face-to-face. Was he a famous celebrity? A politician? Who else would need so much security?

It became apparent that Mr. Greene did not live in town. The Lincoln drove on, headed north away from the city. I was soon fidgety and bored. I put in my ear buds and put on my own music as we continued to roll down obscure back country roads. There wasn't much to see out the windows except for trees and the occational farm. It wasn’t long before I had no idea where I was, so I decided to close my eyes and relax. With the smooth ride and the perfectly controlled temperature inside the cab, I was soon drifting off. I leaned my head against the cool glass and let myself drop off to sleep. I had one last idle thought. I wonder if this glass is bullet proof?

**********

“Ms. Clarke, we have arrived. Wake up.”

I lifted my head with a groan, and wiped my mouth, checking for drool. I rubbed my eyes next, and blinked several times, because they still felt gritty and swollen from the tears I'd cried at the funeral that morning.

Carson was opening the door for me. I stepped out in front of the most beautiful lake house I had ever seen. It perched out over the water on stone pilings and was a huge, two-story building. It was built from native stone, steel, and giant windows. It seemed like the whole front of the house was glass that looked out over the water. A handicap accessible ramp had recently been constructed on the front. With all the stone and the glass reflecting the water, it almost seemed like it was part of the lake.

Jim got my suitcase out and started toward the door. Carson tapped me lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll need your phone now, Annie.” I scowled and dropped it into his outstretched palm.

“There’s a tablet in my bag,“ I confessed reluctantly “I suppose you will want to confiscate that too?”

“Yes ma’am, I’m afraid so,” he said apologetically. I shrugged. At least Carson wasn’t an asshole about it. I took another look at the lake, trying to see if I could identify the body of water. I realized as I scanned the shoreline that there were no other houses.

“Does Mr. Greene own the whole lake?” I asked incredulously.

Carson simply nodded and motioned for me to precede him up the ramp to the door. “The lower level of the lake house was already designed to be wheelchair accessible,” he explained, “So it only made sense for Mr. Greene to spend his convalescence here.” The door opened into a great room with a huge fireplace and cathedral ceilings. The cream-colored furniture was immaculate and the decorations were perfectly coordinated. It looked like a photo from a home décor magazine. I wondered if anyone ever actually sat on that couch? Had anyone ever made a fire in that fireplace? The place looked sterile and untouched, like no one really lived there.

“This way please, Ms. Clarke. Mr. Green is waiting for you in his office.”

I wished I'd had a chance to change my clothes first, and freshen up. I was still wearing the dress I’d worn to Mr. B’s funeral. It was decent enough, but it was now tired and wrinkled from the long day. I smoothed my hands down the front. I didn’t even want to see what my hair looked like. My brown curls were always wild, even on a good day.

But, I had nothing to lose. If the enigmatic Mr. Greene rejected me on sight, I would just collect my cell phone and head back to my cozy little apartment, and enjoy my well-deserved two-week staycation.

The office was huge, with an intimidating mahogany desk, shelves of books lining the walls, a leather sofa set in the center, and a massive amount of high-tech looking computer equipment. Mr. Greene was hunched over a keyboard, sitting in a custom-built battery-powered wheelchair.

Saying the man was “large” was an understatement. He looked like the giant Goliath from my old Sunday School Bible. Even seated in the wheelchair, he was almost the same height as I was. His hair was a little shaggy and didn’t look like it had seen a comb in a few days. Likewise, his square jaw was scraggly with a half grown beard. Even though it was at least five in the afternoon, he was wearing a pair of blue silk pajamas that probably cost more than my late model Toyota back at home. I forced a friendly and professional smile onto my face and extended my hand to the man. “Hello Mr. Greene. I’m Annie Clarke--”

“I know who you are,” the giant growled, and ignored my pro-offered hand. I raised an eyebrow at his poor manners, but I was not ruffled. He was not the first rich and arrogant man I had met. I studied his face, which was almost handsome, in a lumber-jack sort of way, with his square jaw and straight nose. Whoever he was, I didn't recognize him. He couldn't be that famous.

“Okay,” I pulled up the closest chair and sat down without being invited. “Since you have already been through several of the agency’s care givers, I will spare you the introductory spiel. However, there are a couple things you should know about me specifically. I am off duty from 10PM to 7AM daily, unless there is an emergency. Also, I don’t work on Sunday’s, so you should make alternative arrangements if you need help during those times. I am happy to assist you with light housekeeping and cooking. Normally I would offer to run errands, but now I don’t have my car, sooo...” I ticked the items off on my fingers to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. “Of course, I am always available to assist with personal care and grooming, any basic medical services you require, physical therapy, range of motion, mobility, and I can give a pretty good massage.“ I looked up and met his eyes. They were blazing blue and very angry. I raised my eyebrows back at him, silently challenging him. I went on as though I hadn’t noticed that he was in danger of losing his temper. “So, if you could provide me with your daily schedule, your favorite meals, how you like your coffee in the morning---”

“Miss Clarke!” the huge man interrupted me harshly. “In the future you will remember that you work for me. You do not give me instructions. Is that clear?”

I stood slowly, leaning my hands against the desk. “Actually, Mr. Greene,” I said lightly, and quietly. “I work for the agency. And I’m very, very good at my job.” I stared at him boldly, my brown eyes unflinching. “Now perhaps, you could show me to my room?”