Chapter 3 - The Unspoken Audit
The morning sun hit the high-rise windows like a physical blow, turning the glass into a blinding sheet of white light. I was standing at the small kitchenette counter off the hallway, pouring hot water over a ceramic mug of instant coffee, when Frankie appeared beside me without a sound. He didn't hold a cup. He just crossed his massive arms over his dark suit jacket and watched the steam rise.
"You're too young to look that tired," Frankie said quietly, his eyes fixed on the gray t-shirt I had pulled on from my tote bag.
"Age is just a number when you haven't slept through a night in six months," I replied, taking a cautious sip of the bitter coffee. "What do you want, Frankie? Did Mr. Navarro try to escape through the elevator shaft at dawn?"
"Mr. Navarro doesn't move anywhere without clearance," Frankie said, though there was a dry edge of skepticism in his voice. "He tested you last night. With the whiskey. Most of them either pour it out like holy water or drink it with him to try and curry favor. You just moved it."
"I'm a nurse, not a drinking buddy. If he wants cirrhosis, he can manage it on his own time. Right now, he's paying me to keep his lungs clear and his blood pressure from spiking." I turned to face him, leaning my hip against the counter. "Is there a problem with how I'm doing my job?"
Frankie held my gaze for a long, measuring beat. He looked at the small cut on my forehead—still healing, pink at the edges—and then down to my hands, steady around the ceramic mug. "No problem," he said slowly. "Just advice. He doesn't like people who pry into his business. Those files on his desk? Leave them shut. Even if they're sitting wide open."
"I didn't come here for his business, Frankie. I came here for a paycheck and a locked door."
"Good." Frankie turned sharply on his heel and walked down the corridor toward the main office. "Keep it that way."
An hour later, I pushed a tray of scrambled eggs and black coffee into the office. Jonah was already at his desk, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the intricate black-and-gray ink that wound around his forearms like coiled wire. He was looking over a digital tablet, his face carved from granite. When I set the tray down, he didn't look up immediately.
"Frankie gave you the speech, didn't he?" Jonah asked, his voice low and raspy from morning disuse.
"Frankie gave me advice," I corrected, pulling out the chair opposite him and sitting down uninvited. "Which I'll take under advisement as long as it doesn't interfere with your physical therapy schedule. Eat your eggs, Jonah. They're getting cold."
May you like
He stopped scrolling, his dark eyes snapping up to mine with a sudden, dangerous intensity. For a second, the air between us felt thin, charged with a friction that had nothing to do with medicine or caregiving. "You really don't know when to stop, do you?"
"Not yet," I said, offering a small, tight smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Pass me that file on the corner. The blue one. Time to check your blood pressure."
