Page 19 of Nothing to You (Nothing to… #7)

“IT’S RISKY,” she said. “There’s no denying it.”

On the couch with Roxie in front of the faux-flame fireplace Rourke had switched on whenever they sat down, her enthusiasm burned bright.

“Mental health is such a hot button topic,” Roxie said. “People have their own preconceived ideas.”

“But isn’t it the stigma we’re trying to shake off? It’s ridiculous. People tiptoe around so many other topics and classes of people, yet those with genuine health conditions are sidelined and judged. I don’t think it’s right.”

“It isn’t and services can’t keep up with demand.”

“Someone has to take it seriously. We’ve given the governments of the world their chance to take care of these people and they’ve failed. If business has to step in, then fuck it, we have to step in.”

“You can’t profit from it. No business could spin that to their advantage. At least if it’s a non-profit, if something goes wrong, you can argue that the individual’s care was at the heart of what Huddle Hope was trying to do. If you’ve made a mint from that person—”

“I know,” she said on a sigh and sank deeper into the back of the couch. “But money is essential.”

“Makes the world go round.”

“Right. We need to get this out there, to spread knowledge, to make helping and respecting those with mental health issues mainstream. These people are mocked and feared when what they need is support. Whether that’s medicinal or therapeutic.

And we need to empower people. To show them they can make a difference and help others without putting themselves at risk. ”

“This is either an incredible watershed moment…”

“Or a complete disaster waiting to happen.”

“You have to make it clear everywhere, over and over again, that the program is no substitute for—”

“Medical advice and support, absolutely,” she said, shifting just an inch closer. “But I wondered… What if we were a gateway too? Rourke has the money, he won’t care.”

“You want him to branch into medicine?” Roxie asked. “That’s another minefield.”

“Maybe we don’t need our own facilities. We could work in partnership.”

Roxie nodded. “Z knows people who can help with that.”

“People he trusts?” she asked. “Because it couldn’t be that we’re just handing the vulnerable off to people who want to gouge them.”

“Absolutely not. But you’re right, you’ll need that cushion either way. There will be some people you can’t help.”

“We can try to—”

“It’s like saying you can cure cancer through sheer will,” Roxie said.

“A lot of people will benefit from a support network and safe spaces to discuss their issues. But there will be some who need genuine medical support, medication, maybe hospitalization. You have to be prepared for that eventuality. And you can’t expand too quickly.

This has to be gradual, measured, considered. At every level.”

“Yeah, I agree, Rourke wanted a six-month trial.”

“Has to be at least a year,” Roxie said, her brow coming down a fraction. “Two would be better. Baby steps, if you go too fast…”

“Mistakes will be made, and that could mean lives. I know. I understand why this is an issue business and government shy away from, but we have to try. Someone has to try. People are out there suffering. They’re being told there’s no way to help them or that they need help that just doesn’t exist. Someone has to try.

Maybe this prompts a bigger discussion. Maybe our step leads to someone else taking another. ”

Roxie smiled. “You’re really passionate about this.”

“Someone has to be.”

Facing each other, the women had their legs curled in front of them, mirroring each other, even down to the wineglass each of them held.

“Where does it come from?” Roxie asked, surprising her with the question. She hesitated. “Come on, no one dives headfirst into something like this without a reason, a history. Have you struggled with mental health issues?”

“Yeah,” she said. “All my life, but not my own. My mom’s been in and out of facilities her whole life. My sister and I bounced around from my grandmother’s to different foster or children’s homes.”

“What about your dad?”

She shook her head. “Wasn’t interested. He lived with us for a couple of years, but my mom just got to be too much.

It’s not easy, I get that. And maybe talking wouldn’t have solved all the problems, but I always thought…

” Inhaling, she held the breath a second before releasing it.

“If there had been someone, anyone, to even pretend like they cared for her, for us, it would’ve made a difference.

There was no attempt to help her, to support her, even within the community, that might have allowed us to stay together. ”

“Oh, honey,” Roxie said and took her hand, startling her. “Have you talked to Rourke about this?”

Sitting up, she put her glass on the coffee table. “He knows I have strong opinions on the subject. On a lot of subjects.”

“You must really have hit it off at the SIT pitch if he’s inviting you into his home.”

Had Zairn not told her or was Rourke tightlipped?

“We met before the pitch, sort of. We knew each other online, through Huddle,” she said. “If you can believe it.” Roxie’s neck relaxed. “What?”

“You’re not the…” Slowly, the woman smiled. “Oh my God, I know who you are.” She looked all around. “Where’s my phone?”

“Who I am?” she asked, not following.

“I need my phone. Not my phone. Obviously. A phone.”

“Why not yours?”

“It won’t be charged,” Roxie said quickly. “Where did our guys go?”

“Upstairs,” she said. “Probably to Rourke’s lair. I’ll show you.”

If Zairn had access, there was no reason Roxie shouldn’t. They went up. She didn’t expect to open the double doors and see the guys sharing the desk, stacks of files everywhere.

“What’s going on?” she asked, frowning at the piles as she approached.

“Give me your phone,” Roxie said, rushing over to grab Zairn’s jacket from the back of his chair.

“I’m hiring someone to follow you around with a charger,” he said as his fiancée fished his cellphone from his jacket pocket.

“We used to laugh at the couples who shared phones,” Rourke said.

“Laugh. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so infuriating. She thinks nothing of being cut off.”

“You’re used to people being around when you need them. Especially when you’re being faithful to one pussy. Doesn’t she understand the potential urgency?”

Files. Three piles.

She opened the first and then the second. “These are the SIT files.”

“These are the no,” Rourke said, pointing his pen at one stack then the next. “Yes.”

“And the third?” she asked, switching to open the first.

“The maybe pile. You have to review them.”

“You want me to review them? Review your work?” she asked, subduing a laugh. “Why are you doing this anyway? I thought your time was too valuable.”

“Z can’t look at work that needs done and ignore it. When the Kyst-meister isn’t in the room anyway. When she’s around, his priorities are straight: tits and ass. Same place every respectable man’s focus should be.”

“Mm, right,” she said.

“There’s still a box on the floor we haven’t touched. You’ll be up all night.”

“Will I?” she asked. When her eyes slid up to his, the slant of seduction wasn’t far from his lips. “We have work tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Depends how well you do tonight.”

“I haven’t relinquished ownership of your office yet. If I have to walk right in there and take over, I will.”

“You do that.”

“Jane!” Roxie suddenly exclaimed, startling her. The woman turned her back to wander away, a phone at her ear. “Grab Lilya. You will not believe who I met tonight.”

Her? Was Roxie excited because of her? Something didn’t add up, but she did make some connections.

“Jane? Is that…? Is that the woman who married Knox Collier?”

Rourke’s grin burst as a laugh came out under Zairn’s breath. “Yep,” Hotshot said. “One and the same.”