Page 13 of Morally Black Betrothal

The nurse seemed to recognize it too because she shrank into her seat.

“My name is Brendan Black. I’m the COO of Blackguard Holding and the eldest son of one of your patients, Niall Black. Know who that is?”

The nurse nodded, looking almost afraid. Of course she did. Everyone in Boston knew who Dad was.

“Good. Then you’ll know I mean it when I say that I will write you a check for a million dollars right the fuck now if you can tell me about the candy striper who was in my father’s room when I arrived and where she went.”

The nurse’s mouth fell open. So did her coworker’s mouth when he joined us.

“I-I—” The first nurse sounded like a skipping record.

“He’s talking about Simone,” said the second out of the corner of his mouth.

“That’s right,” I said, swallowing back my relief. That was one mystery solved: I wasn’t actually crazy. “But you don’t geta million dollars just for a name. I already knew that. Price just went down, but I’ll be generous. What else can you tell me?”

The nurses traded shocked glances when I removed three hundred-dollar bills from my wallet and set them on the counter.

“She’s cute,” the second one offered as he reached over and pocketed the cash. “Kind of frigid, if you want to know the truth.”

“Cameron, you’re just saying that because she’s turned you down like ten times for a date.” The first nurse looked like she wanted to clock him in the face for snaking the cash.

Cameron, otherwise known as the nurse whose teeth I suddenly wanted to knock out, just shrugged. “I’m just telling the truth. She’s hot and all, but Icy Bambi.” He shook his head. “I can’t stop trying, though. Apparently, hot Mother Teresa with nice legs and a tight ass is my kryptonite.”

It took everything I had not to rearrange this asshole’s face.

Instead, I pushed another hundred across the counter. “Your million-dollar payday just disappeared. But you both get another one of these for every detail, and you can keep your job if you tell me where I can find her.”

The details came quickly after that as both nurses vied for the rest of the cash in my wallet.

Her full name was Simone Bishop. She was twenty-eight. She lived in the shitty part of Jamaica Plain but was originally from Vermont. She worked full time slinging drinks at a bar in Back Bay and volunteered another three days per week at the hospital, offering support to lonely patients like my father.

“We don’t know much about her other than that,” Cameron finished, glancing at the first nurse for confirmation. “But if you want, I can call CARE and find out?—”

“Don’t bother.” I pushed off the desk. “It’s nothing. She was nothing.”

It was the biggest lie I ever told.

“Are you sure?” asked the other, in a tone that said she woulddefinitelystill like a shot at that million dollars. She’d managed to pocket two hundred-dollar bills by knowing Simone was from Vermont and that she loved Joni Mitchell. All other details were courtesy of the asshole.

Everyone was the same. Give them a whiff of money, and they were sharks in a feeding frenzy.

But before I could answer, Liam popped out of Dad’s room. “Brendan. The doctor’s here.”

I turned and straightened my tie. “It’s about fuckin’ time.”

4

CONDITIONS OF A CROWN

Brendan

“Mr. Black experienced a major cardiac event this morning.”

The man who introduced himself as Dr. Jenkins stood at the end of Dad’s hospital bed, peering around the room full of Blacks with the same expression I imagined Daniel had worn when he marched into a den full of lions.

I didn’t think it had anything to do with his actual job of saving lives.

“You say that like he had a nice little acid trip, not a fucking heart attack,” Ronan said from his new perch on the windowsill like he was a fraternity brother and not an executive vice president of global distribution.