“Mrs. Granger.” I sit up more firmly in bed. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? I think the better question, Miss Valentine, is what areyoudoing here?” Her voice is practically quivering with indignation. “And why did I have to hear about your being here from a very distressed Spanish woman in the middle of the night who claims to be your emergency contact?”
“Flora?!”
“Yes,Flora. Flora Reyes. At least, that was the name she gave when she called the estate earlier this evening, frantic to get in touch with your parents or any other responsible adult.” She clutches her purse tighter. If she was wearing pearls, I’m sure she’d be clutching them too. “I won’t even get into the impropriety of listing a former housekeeper as your primary point of outreach during a life-threatening scenario such as this, but I do urge you to, at the very least, select someone within the continental United States, who is actually able to be by your side.”
“I forgot she was listed as my emergency contact,” I tell her. And it’s the truth. I really had forgotten. For most of my childhood, Flora and Miguel were a fixed constant in my life — far more so than my biological parents, often half a world away on one of their extended business trips. It made much more sense to call the Reyeses in the event of a medical crisis. It never occurred to me that I’d need to remove them from my medical files after they moved away. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Granger. She never should’ve bothered you. I know it’s late, and—”
“Botheredme?” There’s a fissure of strain showing in my housekeeper’s unshakeable composure; her upper lip trembles with something that, in anyone else, I’d describe as downright disgruntlement. “It’s my job to manage the Valentine household. This certainly falls under that purview.” She takes a few steps closer, her posture stiff as a board. “Now, if you are quite ready, allow us to take our leave — preferably before the drunkard across the room shatters my eardrums with his bellowing.”
“There’s still insurance paperwork to fill out—
She waves away the clipboard. “I’ll handle all the particulars tomorrow morning. Come along, now. We’ll get you back to Cormorant House and into a proper bed. One with actual sheets and pillowcases without stains from Lord only know’s what. Honestly, the sheer nerve of callingthis—” Her eyes cut a scathing path around the room. “—a hospital ward. I’ve seen prison systems with better aesthetics.”
“I think the doctors are more concerned with saving lives than interior decor.” I gasp with faux-outrage. “Where onearthare their priorities?”
She frowns at me. “There’s no need to be glib, Miss Valentine.”
“Sorry. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day, what with nearly dying and everything.”
“Mmm. In any case, I do hope you’ve saved some energy to speak to your parents. They’re expecting your call.”
My mouth gapes. “You told my parents about this?”
“Of course I did.”
“Why would you do that?”
Mrs. Granger looks genuinely baffled by the question. “They’re my employers. Why would I ever withhold information about their daughter from them?”
“They’re very busy people, in case you hadn’t noticed. There’s no need to bother them with something this trivial.”
“Nearly dying istrivial?”
I sigh. “Let’s just say, when it comes to my general wellbeing, my parents are mainly concerned with things that could affect my academic performance and future earning potential.”
“I’m certain that is simply untrue.”
“Agree to disagree then.” I swing my legs over the side of the hospital bed and slide my feet into the scratchy microfiber slippers Nurse Laura was kind enough to leave for me. “Let’s go.”
Mrs. Granger looks pointedly at the wheelchair waiting by the end of my bed.
My eyes widen. “You cannot be serious.”
“As you’ve no doubt learned by now, Miss Valentine, I am rarely one to play practical jokes. Now, take a seat.”
“But—”
“Take. A. Seat.”
I heave a martyred sigh.
And then I take a seat.
It’s been the longest day of my life. I’m in no mood to argue. Frankly, I’m in no mood to do a damn thing except crawl beneath the covers of my bed and sleep for the next hundred or so years. Unfortunately, an unpleasant chat with my parents separates me from a solid night’s rest.
Mrs. Granger drives me home in her beige-on-beige sedan as I begrudgingly dial the number of the executive office at VALENT headquarters from the passenger seat. Blair and Vincent take the call on speakerphone. They seem both annoyed I’ve interrupted the start of their workday and displeased that I’ve managed to sink my sailboat. They are altogether less worried by my brush with death and subsequent visit to the ER.