CHAPTER 9: A message I wanted, an answer I hated

MILES:

The last business meeting ended in Waterloo, and I was forced to reschedule another. Although not pleasant for Grenada to hear, we didn't have much of a choice. Today, she had to come in and administer those tubes that ensured I didn't crash along the line. My strength level has been low recently, and I couldn't even manage a proper ten-minute walk without panting. Good health and a strong heart are underrated, my friend.

We kept the knowledge of my condition as private as possible. Only important people knew about it; Brandon, the head of my security team, Isabel, the head maid, my nutritionist, and, of course, Grenada. My business partners and the press only knew that I was taking a break from work, nothing more. That was the key to success. Keep secrets and information at bay, or they will use that information against you later on. If they don't need to know, there's no need to tell.

Meanwhile, having free time gave me the opportunity to learn more about how annoying and incompetent humans were — one in particular. It amazed me that she lasted for four days, going to the fifth without quitting. Her will was strong. I tried every technique that usually made my workers resign in two days maximum. Yet, this one proved that she was stronger than I gave her credit for. Well, I needed to switch tactics.

As Grenada packed up her medical kit, she issued her usual admonitions. "Remember, take it slow today. Until you've fully recovered, you're not as strong as you used to be. Doing anything rash will harm your heart."

The woman nagged me more than a mother would nag their wayward child. Even with that, I couldn't do anything because she was always right.

"Am I to take my medication after this?" I inquired, already anticipating the answer.

"No," Grenada replied. "But make sure you take it later. The session will be over in the next thirty minutes, and you can disentangle the tubes. I'll be on my way then. Your assistant should be here any moment since you'll be needing her all day. Take it easy on the girl, Miles," she pleaded.

I rolled my eyes and turned my back to her as she left the room. Take it easy on someone I desperately wanted to be gone? As I have seen, she has only proven persistent, nothing else. Clumsy, irritating, and always eating. Those were her qualities. And, I didn't see how those qualities fit the job description.

Lying on the bed, my thoughts swirled in a tumultuous sea of emotions. Should I forgive and reconcile with my mother, or was the softness creeping into my heart merely a byproduct of the chemicals coursing through my veins? If death had beckoned, would I have departed burdened with the guilt of estrangement? Yet, the pain and resentment still held me in their grip, fueling my relentless pursuit of success and physical prowess. Every achievement, every workout, was a step closer to the vengeance I craved. The past, with its scars etched deep into my soul, defined me. To let go would be to lose myself entirely.

The shrill beeping of the machine shattered my reverie, pulling me back to the present. Carefully, I disconnected the tubes one by one, a ritual I had grown uncomfortably accustomed to. With the last one out of the way, I got out of bed and went for a shower. I had to be ready in less than an hour.

Dressed and composed, I received a call from Brandon that we were set to go, and my clumsy assistant was here.

Making sure I had everything I needed, I headed downstairs. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard voices and laughter coming from the kitchen. It was unusual for my house, which was typically quiet and orderly. I preferred it that way, even if it was boring. The maids should have been working, not lounging around and gossiping. Yet, the laughter persisted, filled with genuine joy.

Quietly, I pushed the door open. It wasn't spying, just investigating. The cause of the commotion sat on a stool, animatedly chatting and telling stories that had the maids in stitches. She was good at it.

She lounged comfortably in her pink gown, which had ridden up slightly due to her posture. Her porcelain skin peeked out beneath the sheer socks she wore. She seemed relaxed and at ease, but I couldn't care less. This wasn't a social gathering, and she was here to work, just like the other maids. If they wanted to chat, they could do it after work.

"What's going on here?" I demanded, unable to contain my frustration any longer. "Isabel, care to explain why nobody is working?"

"Sir, we were just having breakfast," she replied, her head bowed, hands folded in front of her, echoing the posture of the other maids.

That's more like it.

"And you?" I sneered, observing her futile attempt to grasp the fork. Noticing she hadn't even taken a bite, I gave her five minutes to sort herself out. "Isabel, get to work," I commanded before exiting the room.

Arriving at the front door, Brandon awaited with the car door open. It was still early, and the morning air carried a chill. "Good Morning, sir," he greeted.

I offered a brief nod before slipping into the car. Once seated, I delved into my emails and finalized my schedule for the day. Rare outings like this were reserved for maximizing productivity. I relished the opportunity to escape the confines of the house. Idleness didn't sit well with me; I longed to immerse myself in work once more.

Exactly five minutes later, as I lowered my impatient gaze from my wristwatch, she hurried out. A smirk tugged at my lips momentarily before she reached the car. She waved at the guards, seemingly oblivious to their disinterest, and grasped the door handle. I noted that Meredith was always trying to be friendly with everyone. Perhaps that was why she remained unaffected by my stern treatment – her perpetual good mood and bright eyes.

Outside the car, she straightened her dress and took steady breaths before entering. Her attempt at composure faltered, unaware that the car windows were tinted from the outside, not the inside. I observed her every move, sensing the unease in her body language.

She made sure to keep her distance, pressing herself against the car door. Good. Perhaps she was starting to understand her place.

"Couldn't you have found something less colorful to wear? What's with the pink gown?" I remarked, unimpressed. "We're going for a business meeting, not a fashion show. Neutral colors are more appropriate for such occasions."

For a moment, I sensed anger flicker in her eyes, swiftly replaced by regret. "I didn't realize there was a specific dress code for the meeting. I'll pay closer attention to my attire from now on," she muttered, looking less than pleased.

Glancing at her hair, I couldn't help but comment, "Can you do something about that? You look disheveled, more like a grocer than my assistant," I criticized.

Grenada, why couldn't you find me a stylish assistant who would fit my image? Instead, I got someone who seemed more comfortable with food than fashion.

She ran her fingers through her hair in a feeble attempt to tidy it, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Despite my irritation, she remained indifferent. "If my appearance bothers you that much, sir, I can wait in the car and not accompany you," she murmured, the words almost lost in the air.

"Assistant means you're supposed to be by my side twenty-four-seven, solving problems, not creating them," I retorted, shifting my attention to Brandon, who had been silently observing from the driver's seat. "Brandon, let's go."

As we pulled out of the driveway, my phone buzzed. Retrieving it, I opened the email I had been eagerly anticipating, only to find a disappointing response that redirected my plans.