After this chapter, there's only one remaining. Enjoy! Charlynn
Chapter Eleven
He wasn't sure if he had managed to sleep at all the night before, but he really didn't care. He didn't feel tired, but, at the same time, he didn't feel well rested either. He just was. Waiting, hoping, willing to hear some news, any news at that point, just so that he would know what kind of obstacles Marissa would be facing on the road to recovery she had ahead of her. But the nurses left them alone, the doctor hadn't been in since the night before, and so he simply remained there, by Marissa's side, holding her.
Even if he wanted to sleep, he wasn't sure if he would be able to. Anytime his eyes shut, he was forced to confront his fears. On a constant loop through his mind ran the images he had seen firsthand of Marissa hurt – her broken collar bone, the cuts and lacerations on her back from when Tanner whipped her, how frail and helpless she looked laying in the hospital bed when he first arrived the afternoon before. But, mixed in with what he knew, were things he imagined, both of the past and the future. He saw Tanner beating Marissa while he stood back and did nothing, a mental picture of the blame he placed upon himself for leaving her all those weeks before. And he saw what could happen to the woman he loved if she woke up and there was too much damage, whether physical or emotional, for him to help her fix with time, patience, and love.
So, instead of relaxing, instead of resting, he remained awake, his attention solely placed upon the woman in his arms. He watched her sleep. He watched her chest slowly rise and then gently fall again with every single breath she took; he watched her eyelashes flutter in sleep as her subconscious dreamed away. For her sake, he wished for those dreams to be pleasant ones. He watched as her body wearily resituated itself during the night, seeking comfort, seeking warmth, seeking him. And he watched the clock, knowing that, eventually, someone would come in to take Marissa's vitals, and, when they did, he would get the chance to ask the only question he could manage to think of…
Was she going to be alright?
It was so cliché, so unclinical, so very unprofessional of him, but he didn't care. There was a reason why doctors weren't supposed to work on family or friends, and never before had the reason why been so apparent to Ryan. While a part of him wanted to be up and doing something productive, he realized that he wasn't objective enough to actually be a doctor in that moment. Instead, he was just another loved one of another patient, a member of the common masses again, his medical degree practically forgotten and, in that moment, useless.
Still observing the woman in his arms, he smiled for the first time in hours as he noticed her face scrunch up. Whether from pain and discomfort, annoyance, or just habit, he wasn't sure, but he knew it was a sign that she was waking up, so he patiently waited for her, not rushing the injured beauty. Finally, her lids fluttered open just once, allowing him the opportunity to catch the very same sapphire eyes that had been haunting him for months, but, as soon as her gaze landed upon his, Marissa snapped her lids closed again, the force of which made the delicate skin around her eyes crinkle with strain.
He laughed. "What are you doing?"
"I'm going back to sleep," she whispered, her throat obviously painfully dry and scratchy. When he went to reach for the pitcher of water at her bedside, though, she held him firmly, not allowing him to move. He found her strength as a good sign but still knew that she needed something to drink.
"I'm just going to pour you a glass of water."
"No."
Her lips were set in a pout, one he suddenly felt the urge to kiss, but he shook away his baser instincts, perfectly aware of the fact that it was neither the time nor the place to be doing let alone thinking of such things, and she still refused to look at him.
"Marissa, open your eyes for me." She shook her head, denying him the one thing he asked of her. "Please?"
"I can't," she whispered. Her tone was so desperate, the physician was struck by the fact that even a deaf man would have been able to hear the pleading note to it. "If I open my eyes, I'll finish waking up, and then you'll disappear."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"But you're not even really here," she protested impatiently. "I've dreamt of this situation too many times over the past few weeks to not realize that it's just a figment of my imagination. Sure, I've never been a hospital bed before, but the rest of the dreams are always the same. You're here, with me, and, then, I wake up, and you're gone. I'd rather stay asleep for the rest of my life if it meant you remained with me forever."
And just like that, Ryan knew without a doubt that Marissa loved him. He didn't need the words, he didn't need the reassurances, and all the pain she had caused him before, in the past, was gone. And, while, yes, there was sure to be some animosity between them, doubts and insecurities, for a long time to come, he also knew that he would rather be with her, fighting through those issues, than away from her, hiding from them. But, before he had a chance to tell her that, before he had a chance to reassure her that he wasn't leaving her again and that he loved her, too, the door to the her hospital room opened up, ushering in Doctor Madison.
"Good Morning," she breezily greeted the two blondes in the bed together, not glancing up from her chart until she was met with silence. "Marissa," the OB-GYN immediately asked, moving to her patient's side, "are you alright? Are you in any pain?"
But it was Ryan who answered for her. "I'm sure she's in some pain, and she really needs to quit being so stubborn and allow me to get up so I can get her a drink, but, otherwise, she's okay. She just refuses to open her eyes because she thinks I'll disappear."
"If Mr. Atwood disappears, I'll personally kick his ass." Despite himself, he gaped at the older woman before him, but his shock quickly turned to gratitude when he heard the woman beside him laugh. "From where you were medically speaking yesterday before he arrived here and where you are this morning, I'd say that Mr. Atwood is your own personal miracle drug, Miss Cooper. We'll be keeping him here for as long as security can corral him."
"So, he's real?"
"As real as you or I," Sylvia replied. "Would you like me to pinch him for you, just to prove the fact?"
"Yes, please," Marissa answered, giggling once again.
"Hey," he couldn't help but playfully complain, moving to stand up but not quite following through on the unspoken threat when he felt her tense beside him. Slowly, as he remained there, reclined on the hospital bed, Marissa hesitantly opened her eyes, first the left one and then the right. All the while, Doctor Madison simply stood back, pretending to be engrossed in her patient's chart despite knowing already exactly what the notes said. Once Marissa was looking at him, he smiled down on her. "Welcome back," he murmured, bending to kiss her forehead. While he didn't want to rush her and knew that they weren't ready for anything more than a friendly gesture of care and support, he also needed to show her that, despite not saying the words, he did, in fact, want to be there with her, that he did, in fact, want her. Finally satisfied that he wouldn't leave, the two of them settled back together to wait for the OB-GYN's update, hands clasped intimately together.
Sylvia smiled. "It's all good news. We stopped the bleeding, first of all. That was our most immediately concern when you were admitted yesterday, and, because we were able to stop the bleeding, we did not have to perform an emergency hysterectomy."
"So, she can still have children, correct?"
"Barring any other further complications, yes, Mr. Atwood. Miss Cooper should, eventually, be able to carry a child to full term. Now, as with any case of placental abruption, there is a ten percent chance that this will happen again with subsequent pregnancies, but Marissa's young, and, with what I can only assume will be your constant fussing and attention, she'll also eventually be healthy again, too. If Marissa allows you to take care of her as I know you want to, someday, I can almost guarantee the two of you that she'll be a mother."
The tears were already escaping from her eyes as the woman beside him asked, "are you sure," and Ryan found that he had to fight back his own liquid emotion.
"As sure as modern medicine can make me," Doctor Madison remarked positively. Approaching her patient, she placed a gentle, reassuring, almost motherly hand on Marissa's shoulder. "But go back to sleep. Rest is the best thing that you can do for yourself right now, and you shouldn't fight the medication. It's supposed to make you sleepy, and I think Mr. Atwood needs a little while to himself. He needs to get out of this hospital room; he needs to stretch his legs, get something to eat, perhaps even catch a few hours of sleep seeing as how I'm not sure he even blinked last night, let alone rested at all."
"Ryan," the younger of the two women affectionately chastised him, but her words lacked any real sense of reprimand for she was already dozing off.
"I'm not leaving her alone," he argued with the OB-GYN, glancing up to meet her challenging gaze. "She's scared of being here by herself, and, if she wakes up when I'm not here…"
"Don't use her fear as an excuse," Sylvia scolded him. "I can see it in your eyes that you need to get out of this hospital even if it's just for a few hours. I don't know what it is that has you so agitated, and, frankly, though I have a pretty good idea, I don't want to know. Go do what you have to do. Marissa will be here waiting for you when you return, and it'll be better for the both of you if you're not so distracted by thoughts of… justice, perhaps?"
"Go, Mr. Atwood," a third voice, Bernie's voice, joined their discussion as he, silently, let himself into Marissa's hospital room. "Between the two of us, you're the only one physically capable of doing what needs to be done for our girl," he gestured towards the sleeping
patient. "I'll stay here. I have no other plans than to visit with my friend today. Between Doctor Madison and myself, Marissa will be just fine. And I spoke with Miss Roberts and your brother earlier, and, after they're finished cleaning out Miss Cooper's things from the penthouse, they'll be coming in for a visit, too. So, go," the elderly gentleman urged his younger counterpart.
Sylvia excused herself first, nodding in both of their directions in a gesture of informal goodbye, but Ryan held back for a few minutes as he watched the old Super settle in next to a sleeping Marissa. Without waiting for him to leave, Bernie started talking, telling the beautiful blonde a story about his deceased wife as he placed a fragile, glass bird on the young woman's bedside table. Reassured that Marissa would indeed be alright, he finally left, determination and a sense of vengeance rolling off of his rigid body in palpable waves of aggression as he purposely moved down the hallway.
! !
"Dude."
"Yeah, nerd, the last time I checked, I wasn't a dude. Obviously, you flunked anatomy," Summer retorted snarkily, rolling her eyes at the man beside her and earning herself zero attention. Instead, her partner in crime seemed to be too focused on the walk in closet they were standing in.
"Okay, I get that not everyone lives in Southern California, and, obviously, New York has seasons, but it's hotter outside right now than the inside of a broiler. Why the hell doesn't Marissa own any short sleeved shirts?"
As if she was leading a blind man, the petite brunette asked, "where is Marissa right now?"
"In the hospital."
Seth's brow was furrowed as if he was being posed trick questions, but she didn't stop to explain her inquiries, and she certainly didn't pause long enough to stop and reassure him. "And why is she in there?"
"Because Tanner saw Stomp! one too many times."
"Not only that, but," she added helpfully, "he also has a Rocky Balboa complex."
"It's a good thing he didn't sway more towards Mike Tyson, because Marissa has cute ears."
"She does," Summer agreed, nodding her head in accordance. Startling Seth, though, she reached out to smack him upside the head. "Stay on track," she chided him. "So, let's connect the dots here. Hospital, Stomp!, right hooks, why the hell do you think Marissa only wore long sleeved shirts, ass?" The stylist had to grin indulgently when realization dawned for her new friend.
"So, what do you think we should do with all this stuff?"
"Well, obviously, no one is ever going to need all these clothes." With bulging eyes, she admitted, "I can't believe I actually just said that."
"Especially," Seth added, "all these long sleeved clothes, because you know your best
friend's going to be moving out west sooner rather than later."
"I know," she sighed, collapsing down onto a chair conveniently located inside of the closet. "And it sucks. Where else am I going to find myself a human sized Barbie doll to play dress up with?"
He suggested, "you could move back to California, too."
"Yeah, except some us aren't freeloaders who still live with their parents. I have a job, Seth, an apartment, a life here. I just can't pack up and leave it all behind on a whim."
"It wouldn't be a whim," the curly haired brunette argued, "because, here we are, discussing your options, planning. You're a creative director. Southern California should be your Mecca. As for your apartment, this is New York City," he pointed out with just a pinch of sarcasm to his voice. "I'm sure you could find someone out there to sublet it from you."
Standing up, Summer went immediately to work, pulling various items of clothing off of the organized racks and shelves and sorting them into two piles. Ignoring her friend's advice, she explained, "I'm keeping the essentials and the most important pieces from Marissa's wardrobe. They're going into the heap to my left. Fold them, pack them, and we'll take them with us when we go. The items to my right are things she'll never wear again, so we'll bag them up and take them to a consignment shop. With the money that we get back from the pieces, we'll go and pick her out some real summer clothes – some shorts and t-shirts, some sleeveless dresses and a new bathing suit or two. Tanner is permanently out of her life, so I want every reminder of him gone as well."
They worked for over an hour, the stylist sorting and Seth packing, and they were quiet while doing so. She wondered if he realized that his encouragement to move out west was wrecking havoc upon her mind, making her think about and consider things that she had, previously, deemed moot points. And she also had to question just why the twenty-eight year old, unemployed slacker was pushing for her relocation so strongly. She had a feeling it had little to do with Marissa and everything to do with Seth… not that the revelation surprised her any.
As they were loading the elevator with Marissa's things, already determining that they would take two separate taxis once they got downstairs, Summer to her apartment with the things they were keeping from the blonde's extensive wardrobe and the curly haired brunette to the consignment store where she would later meet him, they worked in sync with one another, the process moving ahead smoothly and easily. With a heavy suitcase blocking the lift's doors from closing, they were able to load the elevator pretty much without hassle.
On the ride back down to the lobby, pressed together tightly because of the mountains of bags and cases of clothing around them, the creative director turned towards the man beside her, looking up to meet his gaze. "I'll consider it."
"Good," Seth returned, staring at her for several seconds until he leaned down and pressed his lips to her own.
The kiss startled Summer, for she had not been expecting it or for Seth to make the first move, but what shocked her even more was that she responded, that she responded, and deepened it, and even liked it. The floors seemed to evaporate quickly, and, before she knew what was happening, the doors to the lift were opening with a soft peal of a bell to
alert those inside that they had arrived at their chosen destination, and she practically had to rip her mouth away from the freeloader's.
Wiping off her smeared lipstick, she remarked calmly without looking back in Seth's direction, "alright then. I guess this means I'm moving."
It also meant that the ass had a lot more packing to help her with, but she figured she wait a little while and tell him that after they finished with Marissa's things. Summer would build him up, let him hope that his work was finished, and then beat him back down again. She laughed at the thought, realizing she was very much going to like having Seth Cohen at her beck and call. And, in the end, she'd make sure that he liked it, too.
! !
He was in the middle of a story about a game at Shea Stadium when she showed signs of stirring once again. Bernie knew that, if there was anything to make his young friend wake up, it was sports, just so that she would have an opportunity to complain about his subject of choice. It was the only area of the news that didn't interest Marissa Cooper, and, despite his own love for all things team oriented, he found the blonde beauty's apathy to be amusing, an adorable personality quirk.
With a crooked grin on his old, weathered face, he was ready and waiting to greet the young woman lying in the hospital bed before him, but, when she sat up quickly, disregarding both her injuries and the many tubes and wires running their way in and out of her body, in a sheer panic, his warm greeting evaporated. Instantly, he was worried.
"Hey, hey, there," he tried to sooth her, gently pushing down on her shoulders in a vain attempt to get her to recline back again and relax. "If you're not careful, you're going to aggravate your injuries." When Marissa refused to listen to him, her eyes darting nervously back and forth across the small hospital room, he spoke with harsher words. "Now, Miss Cooper, if you don't lay back down, I'm going to page the doc in here, and she's not going to be too happy with you."
"Where's Ryan?"
The words were spoken so quickly, so breathlessly, he had a difficult time understanding what she asked. "What's that?"
"I said," the young patient tried to calm herself down long enough to properly elucidate her words, "where's Ryan? He said he wouldn't leave. Where did he go? Is he coming back?" When comprehension seemed to dawn for her, she turned pleading, desperate eyes to the graying man. "You have to go after him. You have to stop him from going after Tanner. Please, Bernie. I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't important."
"Even if I had the power to stop that young man from going after Mr. Meriden, I wouldn't waste the effort," the building supervisor denied her. "Ryan's doing what he feels is necessary, and, I, for one, happen to agree with him. That ex-fiancé of yours deserves a dose of his own brand of medicine, and I have a feeling Mr. Atwood is just the man to give it to him. Now, you settle down, so, when he gets back here, he doesn't turn that fury onto me for not taking proper care of you."
"You don't understand," the pretty blonde continued to argue. "If Ryan goes after Tanner, he'll probably kill him or at least try to. I won't let him get into trouble for me."
"He won't."
They both turned to face the middle aged man standing in the doorway before them. Dressed impressively, he appeared to have not a single hair out of place, not a single wrinkle in his undoubtedly designer suit. Although neither Bernie nor his young friend knew who the man was by sight, it was obvious that he was someone used to being obeyed. He reeked of power and wealth and influence, and, immediately, the old Super's interest was piqued.
"Miss Cooper," the businessman spoke again. "Lay down." Wordlessly, she complied. "Now that you're composed and listening, I can assure you that nothing is going to happen to Ryan."
Marissa blinked several times in rapid succession, obviously stunned by the stranger's pronouncement. "How?"
"Simply put, because I won't let anything happen to him. But that's not why I stopped by this morning to see you. Before I fly back home this afternoon, there's an important matter that I wish to discuss with you."
Bernie watched as his young friend swallowed thickly, replying, "go ahead."
But, still, the commanding man did not move away from the doorway. He stood poised in the threshold of the room, either too uncomfortable to come in further or simply not caring to do so. "It's about the matter of a job."
"Oh, I see," Marissa realized gloomily. "You're here to fire me."
"On the contrary, I'd actually like to offer you a promotion of sorts."
The injured blonde gaped at the man standing before them. "Seriously? Would you care to run that by me again?"
Instead, he asked her, "does the name Caleb Nichol mean anything to you?"
"Of course," the graying man heard his friend respond. "He's the president and CEO of The Newport Group, one of the largest and most respected land developing companies on the west coast. Recently, they also started branching into publishing as well."
"Well, good," the stranger beamed in the young woman's direction. "I'm thrilled that you've heard of me and that you're familiar with what I do. That should make things easier for the both of us when you come to work for me."
"Excuse me?"
This time it was Bernie's turn to gape, but he didn't say a word. Instead, he remained vigil at his friend's side, speechless. "Recently, my personal assistant had to take a leave of absence, and, unfortunately, it's turned into a permanent one. I need a replacement for her."
"And I appreciate the offer, sir, Mr. Nichol, but, to be honest with you, I don't want to work in real estate, and I certainly don't want to be someone's assistant for the rest of my
career, no matter how lucrative the position might be."
"I already know this," Caleb stated. "You want to be a journalist, but, unfortunately, you don't have a college degree. So," he continued without waiting for her to respond, "this is what I propose: come and work with me as my personal assistant for four years. If you agree to my terms, I'll not only double your current salary, but I'll also pay for you to attend journalism school full time at night. Once you graduate and your four years as my assistant are up, you'll be guaranteed a position, appropriate for your level of experience and education, in my soon-to-be new media division of The Newport Group."
The only sound she could offer in reply was a squeak of incredulity.
"What, nothing to say?" Grinning crookedly, the businessman teased her, "I'd hurry up if I were you. I'm a busy man, and, as I said earlier, my flight leaves soon. If you don't want the job, I'm sure I could find someone else who would…"
"No," Marissa yelled out, practically splitting Bernie's eardrum in two. "I want it."
"Good, then, it's settled. I'll expect you in the office at 9:00 AM sharp, Monday morning, two weeks from now."
When he went to turn away, she called out to stop him. "Wait, Mr. Nichol, if I may be so candid, why are you doing this for me?"
"Well, first of all, you came highly recommended from Richard Frasier himself. And, secondly, although he might not admit it quite yet, my grandson, Ryan, is in love with you, and I'll do anything within my power, which is rather extensive, to make sure my family is happy."
As the middle aged tycoon made his way out of her hospital room, he came to a stop in front of an eavesdropping Julie. "Aw," he remarked astutely. "You must be the mother. Come with me," he commanded her, reaching up to grasp her arm firmly so she couldn't escape him but, yet, at the same time, not harsh enough to leave a mark. "You and I need to have a little chat."
Silence descended over Marissa's hospital room after Caleb Nichol disappeared from view. Bernie stared at his young friend, and she returned the favor, their expressions matching ones of astonishment and joyous disbelief. Finally, it was the elderly Super who interrupted the quiet. "Well, Miss Cooper, I do believe we just met your fairy godfather."
"I know," the blonde beside him breathed out, barely capable of containing her radiant smile. Eventually, she gave in to the elation and giggled. "I can't believe that just happened."
Crumpling down onto his chair, Bernie said the only words he could think of in that moment. "Well, goddamn it all if that don't beat everything."
And it did.
! !
Life was good.
It was amazing what a little influence and whole hell of a lot of cash could accomplish for a man. Not only was Tanner out on bail without even having to serve a single second in jail, but he also had one of the top New York City criminal defense lawyers working on his case… all because Richard kept him on retainer for the company. He was confident that the whole mess with Marissa would blow over, and, once it did, business would be back to usual, and he'd make sure that he got his revenge. Just thinking of making the bitch and her lapdog doctor pay was a heady sensation. It was almost as good as sex… but not quite.
Seated confidently behind his massive desk, Tanner surveyed his office like a king would survey his empire. That was also a rush for him as was commanding about his secretary and, in general, treating her badly. It surprised him that no one seemed to question why he went through so many assistants, but, like most things in life, when you got to be of a certain status, most everything could be forgotten or, at least, overlooked. If he didn't berate them to the point where they quit, literally fleeing the building in tears, then he would sleep with them and fire them immediately afterwards. After all, while a man might want to have sex with a woman, he never respected her enough afterwards to work with her.
He had been an employee at Frasier Media Incorporated for almost ten years, and, in that time span, he had hired and then proceeded to dismiss more than twenty-five secretaries. Finding the idea amusing, Tanner chucked to himself, reclining back in his luxurious desk chair and propping his Prada shoed feet up before him. He was going to have to find out the record for the most assistants in a ten year time span before his anniversary approached.
Without taking a more professional stance, he buzzed out to the ante-office, calling for the belittled and much beleaguered woman who worked for him. "Ruthann." He didn't even wait for her to respond. If she wasn't at her desk, despite him constantly sending her away on errands, and if she didn't hear his demands, then he'd fire her. "I want you to bring me in the transcripts from the meeting I missed while I was out of town last week."
There was no answer.
"Ruthann!"
"I told her to step out for a few minutes."
"Oh, Mr. Frasier," Tanner quickly corrected his position, dropping his feet back to the floor and standing up quickly. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Obviously."
"So, what can I do for you, Sir?"
"I was actually just showing someone up to your office," his boss revealed, smiling cryptically. The younger man almost feared his employer in that moment. Almost. But he had Richard Frasier snowballed. The man practically ate garbage out of his hand.
"Whoever this person is, if you personally showed them up to my office, I can't wait to meet them."
"I'm glad you feel that way, Tanner." The billionaire turned around, ostensibly to wave in their honored guest. Puffing up his chest, the younger executive prepared himself mentally to face a man he was presumably supposed to admire, someone who had earned the
respect of his boss, a feat very few men ever accomplished. "I believe the two of you have already met. Tanner Meriden, Ryan Atwood."
He felt the color physically drain from his face. "What the fuck is going on around here?"
"Mr. Atwood is my personal guest this morning," Richard continued, either not noticing or, more likely, ignoring his employee's anxious behavior. "Make sure he gets everything that he came here for, alright?"
With that, a slack jawed Tanner watched as the media mogul turned around and strode purposely out of his office, closing the door silently behind him. Reaching up, the junior vice-president loosened his, all of a sudden, strangling tie and unfastened the first several confining buttons on his perfectly pressed Oxford shirt. He felt trapped.
Summoning all the courage, all the bravado he had, he demanded to know, "what in the hell do you want?"
He watched as Ryan approached, stalking him almost like a tiger stalking its prey. Backing away from the blonde man, Tanner stumbled to a stop when his back hit the far wall of his office. There was nowhere left for him to retreat. Before he could react, before he could even attempt to defend himself, Atwood had gripped his arm at the wrist and at the elbow, twisting it until the joint of his shoulder snapped out of place. He howled in pain, but there was no time to coddle the dislocated arm, because, the next thing he knew, he was crumpled up on the floor, steeled toed boots connecting with his ribs.
"Do you know what's interesting about being a doctor?" Apparently, the question was rhetorical, because his attacker didn't give him a chance to respond. "I have access to any patient's medical file. Marissa's was quite the lengthy read."
A kick to his face left Tanner's ears ringing, but he could still hear what the other man was saying. "I'm not going to kill you. I won't give you the satisfaction of knowing that I'd have to live the rest of my life with your tainted blood on my hands. But I'm going to break you. I'm going to leave you here withering in pain… just like you did to Marissa time after time after time."
For the first time in his life, the young businessman remained quiet, silently taking the vigilante served justice as it was so cruelly given to him. He knew that, if he said anything, if he defended himself or disparaged against Marissa at all, that Ryan would only increase the level of his attack. Pretending to be meek and feigning acceptance would hurry up the process and, perhaps, save him some injuries. But it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his entire adulthood – bite his tongue.
It wasn't until Atwood viciously stepped down on his wrist, crushing the bones beneath his heavily soled boots, that he screamed out in pain. "You do know that there are cameras in this building, don't you? I have this entire beating on tape."
"Normally, you would," Ryan agreed, his breathing coming in harsh, erratic pants from the exertion. "But, lucky for me, unfortunate for you, Richard had the security system shut down before I entered the building. I have fifteen minutes to do as much damage as I possibly can."
Spitting out a mouthful of blood and wincing when he saw a molar resting in the mucous, Tanner questioned, "why the hell would Richard Frasier, of all people, help someone like
you."
"For such a rich, successful man, Meriden," his assailant mocked, "you really are a stupid fuck. All it would have taken was a little bit of research of your part, and you would have realized that I'm not just some doctor. I'm the adopted son of Sandy and Kirsten Cohen."
He glared at the physician, finding it extremely difficult not to smart mouth back to him. When he eventually replied, he couldn't help but pepper his words with a touch of sarcasm. "Like I know who the hell those people are."
"Like I said, you're stupid. Kirsten Cohen is the daughter of Caleb Nichol, President and CEO of The Newport Group, and he just so happens to be an old college buddy of your boss. It's quite the small world we live in, huh?"
Finally, the beating stopped. With a quick, mental inspection, the young executive could tell that not only was his shoulder dislocated and his right wrist broken, but he had several cracked ribs, various bruises and contusions all over his body, and, if he was really unlucky, some cuts deep enough on his face that they would require stitches and just might scar anyway.
Wincing, the injured man sat up, leaning his damaged body against the wall behind him. Taunting the blonde standing across the room, the pacing man practically gasping with unreleased fury, his hands fisted at his hips, Tanner egotistically remarked, "while you might get away with your crimes, I will, too."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that, Meriden," his boss growled. When he had reappeared, the dark haired man did not know. "You see, as of this morning, I terminated your contract, so you no longer have your fancy lawyer anymore. In fact, I believe that the DA's office is scrambling right now to find you a public defender. I put a request in for you to have someone fresh out of college, too. Consider it your final bonus from yours truly."
No longer restrained from telling Mr. Frasier what he really thought about him, he snapped back, "do your worst, old man. I have plenty of money. I'll just pay for my own attorney, and, once all my legal matters are cleared up, there will be at least a dozen or more companies who will want to hire me. Your loss will be their gain."
The old man pulled up a chair so that he could sit directly before him. "That might have been true a week ago, Tanner, but not now. You see, not only are you facing assault charges, and, potentially, if the DA can scrounge up enough evidence, attempted murder charges, but the IRS froze your personal accounts this morning. Apparently, you've been a very bad boy. Tax evasion isn't something the government looks upon lightly. In fact, it's the very thing that has managed to take down many seasoned, professional criminals before you, men who were twice as brave and twice as intelligent as you are. As for those dozen or so other companies you claim will want to snatch you right up, do you really think any CEO would be stupid enough to cross me and my new business partner?"
"Let me guess," the once junior executive sneered. "Nichol's your new partner."
"Well, would you look at that," Richard grinned, standing up and meeting Ryan's gaze. Walking towards his former employee, the billionaire leaned down, roughly slapping Tanner's bloodied cheek. "You're smarter than we gave you credit for, Tanner. Maybe you'll survive prison after all, but, even if you do, you'll never survive the real world after you get out."
Standing back up, the older man pivoted around on his heel and walked out of the office, never once looking behind him. "Have a nice life, kid." As his and Atwood's footsteps faded down the marble hallway, he could hear the two men laughing at his expense, and, the worst part was, he could do absolutely nothing about it.