“Oh. I didn’t know that. You never mentioned him.” Mike bobbed his head.
“We haven’t known each other long—just sort of happened.”
“Completely understandable,” he said.
“Great. Thanks for understanding.”
“Yeah, of course. I actually came by to invite you to grab a beer. A couple of us are going around the corner to the pub to talk about the news. No one can get any work done like this.”
“What news?” I asked.
“I guess you were really busy in Houston.”
“Yeah. I was.”
“The rumor mill says B&H is going to do a hostile takeover the minute C.C. goes public.”
“How could anyone know that?” I asked.
“They’re raising cash. A lot of cash. That means they’re getting ready to buy someone.”
It didn’t make any sense. C.C. was four or five times larger than B&H. Little companies didn’t go around buying up larger ones. It was the other way around.
It had to be a rumor, but hey, if people wanted to use it as an excuse to go drink some beer, who was I to get in their way?
“Thanks for the invite, but I’ve got some work to finish up and have a doctor’s appointment early in the morning.”
“Sure. Next time, then?” Mike said with a friendly tone.
I didn’t want him to think I was completely blowing him off. “Absolutely.”
He left, and I felt relieved that was over. Honestly, I liked Mike, but I was falling hard for Maxwell Cole, leaning strongly toward the “L” word, and I couldn’t see myself with anyone else. Not now. Not ever.
~~~
Friday morning.
Dr. Bloomfield was the best of the best plastic surgeons in the country, according to my research (aka web surfing), and after meeting with him, I had only one question: When could I have the surgery?
The consultation took all of thirty minutes, but with his computer graphics program he was able to show me exactly what I would look like after six hours of surgery—rhinoplasty, chin reshaping, and an eye lift. Three simple procedures. Three.
Staring at the screen, I could hardly believe that was all it would take to make me look normal and, dare I say, beautiful. It felt like I’d been living in a prison, deprived of sunlight, food, and water my entire life, when right there, all along the key sat on the floor inches from my face. No, I hadn’t had the money to do surgery before, but had I known how easy it was to fix this, I would’ve found a way.
But you wouldn’t be the same person, now would you?
True.
However, like I’d told Mr. Cole, I was ready to move on. More importantly, I really needed to start confronting the deeper issues in my head—those years of buried insecurities I’d hidden away.
“How long would I be out from work, and when can we do it?” I asked, sitting on the exam table.
Dr. Bloomfield, a fit-looking man in his fifties with glasses and a sprinkle of silver hair, stood up from his little rolling stool. “Normally, people need about a week to be functional—depending on the pain—but you should expect a full recovery from the bruising in about a month. As for when, I’m booked six months to a year in advance; however, the Coles are good customers and personal friends. I’ll see when I can fit you in.”
Good customers? Had Max had surgery? No. Way.
“Oh. Is that your work?” I said, taking a stab in the dark. “Max’s nose is perfect.”
Dr. Bloomfield smiled proudly. “Yes, he and his sister were two of my first rhinoplasties.”
Uh. But…Dr. Bloomfield had been a plastic surgeon for over twenty years. Maybe he only started doing nose jobs a few years ago?
“Well, it’s gorgeous,” I said, shocked that I’d gotten that out of him.
He gave me a pat on the back. “And you will be, too, after I’m done.”
I stood and stuck out my hand but really wanted to hug him. “I’m looking forward to it. Really, really looking forward to it.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you back here in a few months.” He reached for my hand and when he took it, he stopped smiling. “Lily, I just want to caution you, though—as I do with all my patients—this isn’t minor surgery. There are risks.”
“I know,” I said, wondering if Max had told him to hammer the message home. “Infections, scarring, and—”
“And people do die,” he added, dropping his hand away.
“Aren’t you supposed to be encouraging me to do this?” I asked.
“It’s a normal part of the screening process. I need to make sure my patients are fully informed and are here for the right reasons. I take this seriously, and they should, too.”
“Okay.” I understood that I wasn’t getting my hair colored. “How many people die?”
“Approximately one out of every two hundred and fifty thousand.”
“Oh.” I smiled. “Those odds are good.”
“I lost a patient last week, Lily. She was forty-five. Cardiac arrest during lipo. It’s nothing to smile about.”
Okay, I got the point. And I had to admit his little dose of reality was effective. I had to be sure I really wanted to do this. “I’ll give it some thought.” And this time I really meant it. Was this worth dying for, even if the risks were low?
“Now that is the answer I wanted to hear,” he said.
Why? Because of Max? Or because he really wanted to shoo people away who thought this was like getting their nails done?
He continued, “We’ll start the ball rolling while you think it over.” He shook my hand again and instructed me to the nurse, who took blood samples for the lab work and made me sign a bunch of release forms. Now I felt unsure again. Part of me really wanted to do this, and it felt exciting, but the other kept telling me this wasn’t necessary.
I laughed at myself, walking to my car.
At first I didn’t want to have surgery, because I was too proud to admit that maybe I wasn’t comfortable with my looks. Then I wanted to have it because I realized I wasn’t. And now, I wasn’t sure. Things in my life felt like they were in a good place—scary, but good. Maybe I would wait.
And wow. Max had his nose done, I thought, getting into my car to head to the office. I’d have to ask him about that later. Not that it was a big deal, but it just struck me as odd he hadn’t said anything.
~~~
The rest of Friday was a rush of emergency meetings and calls with customers who were upset that their orders hadn’t shipped. Someone had leaked the alleged takeover to the press, driving up B&H’s stock and turning the rumor mill into a full-blown media frenzy.
Add to that, Max had not answered anyone’s calls, including mine, and I felt like the world was about to collapse. Something was definitely going down.
And we have no captain.
I spent two hours in a supply-chain triage meeting, arguing with Production and the other sales managers about allocation to customers with the sudden influx of orders. Not one person said a word about the elephant in the room: customers were stocking up, getting ready for something major.
Around three p.m. my desk phone rang, and I braced for yet another irate customer demanding more product, but it was not a customer.
“Miss Snow, it’s Nancy Little.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and then decided to hang up. I had nothing to say to her.
She spoke before I had the chance. “Miss Snow, I’m calling to give you one last opportunity to come out publically and tell your story after the book releases.”
“And I’d like to give you one last chance to do the right thing. You’re going to hurt a lot of people. Good people.”
“You’re fooling yourself,” she said bitterly, “if you think for one minute that Mr. Cole is a good person. He’s a selfish, sadistic bastard. All he cares about is his money.”