Last chapter: Trunks and Goku are in a race against time to get Vegeta help.

Concierges must be expert listeners to work effectively, and a tidbit Goku heard during his talk with Trunks about Vegeta stood out: "I think he's been lonely."

His friend Bulma Brief was also a recent divorcee. Like Vegeta, she was still nursing heartbreak after leaving her ex-husband and fellow doctor, Raditz Thurston. She was just as strong-willed and prideful as both men, so Goku kept his hopes for a love connection low. Getting her and Vegeta in bed together would have do for now. One thing Goku was certain of: Those two would find each other sexy.

Goku kept quiet after returning to his station, busying himself with a pile of notes. Eloise, a front-desk attendant, said Vegeta left to observe how well the conference organizers and their guests were being served. She also gave Vegeta throat lozenges from the gift shop to relieve his coughing. Goku inhaled, finally expressing visible irritation about the man's behavior. How could Vegeta possibly believe anyone wanted a red-eyed, hacking and sniffling stand-in from "The Walking Dead" in their faces?

A sharp blow between the shoulder blades immediately took his mind off that problem. He pivoted, finding a short blue-haired woman in high heels and jeans standing behind him.

"That actually hurt, Bulma," he said, dragging her behind a pillar. "What was that for?"

"You know what that's for," she hissed. "You expect me to nurse a billionaire - and likely a jerk - who could easily hire a legion of specialists himself? Beyond that, I should be getting paid at my fucking office. Be very, very glad that I love you as much as my toy poodle - and that I always keep my word."

"I am glad, sweetheart," Goku replied as they kissed each other's cheeks. "Thanks for coming. It really is a big deal, and you are the best person for the job. However, you don't have to enter through the back door anymore to bully me."

"I prefer the element of surprise," Bulma said, examining her surroundings. "Now where is this guy?"

"By the way, very nineteen-eighties outfit you have on there. Are you aiming for Madonna-retro?"

Bulma looked like she wanted to stab him. "Come again?"

Goku laughed. "Stop being so defensive. I'm just teasing. You are stunning in that ensemble. Not everyone can do it well, especially at our age. I'll have Eloise show you to -"

"Stop talking," Bulma said, covering his mouth. "I can hear Regele."

"You can?" Goku looked left and right. "How? People are all over the place."

"The man snorts like a wild boar." Bulma's attention focused on the spiral staircase leading to the hotel's two bottom floors. "I'm still surprised you can't hear him. Just how bad are his allergies?"

"Severe enough for Trunks - and me - to be concerned about Mr. V going untreated much longer. What if this turns into an asthma problem too?"

"I'll arrange for lung tests if we can get him to my office," Bulma said, removing a coffee thermos from her large handbag. "But let's start from the bottom." She peeked around the corner, waving for Eloise to join them. "How are you doing today, mademoiselle?"

"I'm well, Doctor Brief," the young woman said pleasantly. "Great to see you again."

"By chance, is Mr. Regele in a suit jacket?"

"Not now," Eloise replied. "He's wearing light-blue dress shirt, cuff links and a silk tie with a sliver floral pattern - and he's about your height."

"Thank you." Bulma shook her aluminum thermos. "Do us a favor and bring the cheapest bottle of fizzy water to the front desk while Goku and I finish chatting. A couple of glasses and napkins too."

"I'll get right on it," Eloise said, leaving for the restaurant.

Bulma pinched Goku's bicep. "Thank you! We'll have to catch up more with my big buddy right here over drinks sometime."

Goku eyed her suspiciously. "What are you up to?"

"You saw Regele's shirt this morning too?

"Of course, Bulma. Did you hear my question?"

She gulped from the thermos, smacking her lips. "About how much do you think it costs?"

"If he's wearing it with a silk tie, I'd say it's not a cheap shirt," Goku replied.

"Perfect." Bulma's eyes zeroed in on her target before Goku spotted Vegeta trudging up the staircase again. "Shit!"

"What?" Goku asked.

"Totally forgot that I'm wearing perfume," she replied, searching for alcohol wipes. "It's not much at all, but I don't wear any around patients. When I got your S.O.S. text, my decorator was throwing design books under my face. I don't want to make things worse for this guy."

"Maybe another hour of sheer misery and embarrassment will do wonders," Goku said wryly. "He's kinda stubborn."

"Yeah, yeah," Bulma said. "Where will I be able to examine him if he agrees?"

Goku reached for her bag. "In Trunks' office. It has the best air quality."

"Leave my stuff in there then." Bulma kissed her thermos, zooming off in Vegeta's direction before Goku could ask more questions. His face paled as her plan finally dawned on him.

He couldn't run or hide. No, no, no, nooooo, he prayed. My god. What have I done?

Bulma screeched, dramatically "losing" a shoe as she crashed into Vegeta. Lukewarm milk-saturated coffee splattered on his shirt, barely missing his tie. Horrified, Goku covered his face, swearing like a longshoreman. Vegeta held on to Bulma, trying to stay balanced as her arms swung like windmill rotor blades.

"Stop moving, woman!" he shouted crossly. "You're going to break a bone - or several of mine!"

Bulma's eyes snapped open when, all of a sudden, Vegeta smoothly flipped her into his arms like a ballroom dancer. Her head smacked into his soggy chest, tossing her hair everywhere. Mouths dropped in shock throughout the lobby. Some people clapped, praising Vegeta's rescue. He blushed as their eyes met. It was kind of sweet, Bulma thought. He put her down, cursing himself.

What a picture-perfect disaster. She touched her lips, hiding a smile. "Uh… I'm sorry?"

Vegeta shunted Bulma's shoe back into her hands. "Just be…be more careful next time. I need to…need…to…" His nostrils flared as he rummaged for a tissue to blow his nose. "Need to go. Excuse me."

He rushed by her, headed straight for Trunks' office. Bulma was hot on his heels, grabbing the fizzy water, glasses and stack of cloth napkins from the front desk. Goku decided not to stop her. The damage was done. Bulma's bouncing breasts collided with Vegeta's back as soon as the door shut.

"What are you doing?!" he roared. "Who the hell are you, eh…and why are you…are you…" Bulma, who knew what was coming, shoved a napkin on his nose as powerful sneezes burst out of him. Vegeta unconsciously grasped her shoulder, bending over with each explosion. Tears filled his eyes.

Yeah, this is pretty damn bad, she thought. He needs to be in my office. She pressed lightly on Vegeta's sinuses while he caught his breath.

"My name is Doctor Bulma Brief. I'm an ear, nose and throat doctor. You must visit my practice today to see one of my allergists and maybe another specialist, Mr. Regele. How long have you been suffering like this?"

"Did my son send you here?" Vegeta groaned, snatching the napkin. "I don't need a doctor. Besides, how am I supposed to trust a physician who can barely walk straight when she's not even drunk?"

Bulma frowned at him. "I'll overlook that bullshit insult since I know you're not feeling so great, but that's the only pass you receive. I don't care how high and mighty you think you are. A friend of your son twisted my arms to get me here. If I had a kid who cared that much, I would try to be less of an ass and a little more appreciative. The rich guys I know are waiting for their parents to die so they can spend their inheritances. Now sit down over there on that table and remove that fancy tie so I can examine you."

"Charming." Vegeta rubbed his itchy eyes, suppressing the urge to have Trunks tortured. "Maybe you should keep better company. Do you speak so foully to other patients who don't follow your commands? Your bedside matter is atrocious. Actually, I really don't care. Just leave."

Bulma shook her head as Vegeta coughed and sniffled. "I recommend wearing this face covering if you plan to be outside or drag yourself around the hotel like a graveyard zombie. Chicago is on red alert for climate conditions that I guarantee will further aggravate what I think ails you."

"I've told everyone that I am fine!" Vegeta insisted. Ignoring him, Bulma poured a glass of water, gripping his fingers as she thrust it into his hands. That shut him up.

"You remind me some of my tata," she said softly. "Dad worked hard. Union man. Was a hard-headed guy too, like you, but he was my heart and the soul of our family. I wanted to be a doctor because of him. He died of asthma at fifty, a year after my medical school graduation. From what I see and hear up close, Mr. Regele, you could be on the road to developing a bad case. We must manage your allergies to avoid that. Please, let me help you."

Vegeta glanced at his father's portrait, slowly moving her hand away. "Quote… me a price for this house call."

Bulma stepped back. "What?"

"Give me an upfront price, Doctor Brief," Vegeta replied, unbuttoning his cuff links and stained dress shirt.

"Two hundred, but we can take care of that later."

"Why wait?" Vegeta removed a wallet from his back pocket, handing her three-hundred dollars. "Also, tell me how you can run a thriving practice and charge charity rates like this?"

"Trust me, I'm not," Bulma said, following him to the table. "At least not with someone with deep pockets such as yours. Thanks for the tip, though. You will be paying again after the evaluation at my office."

"You still owe me for my ruined shirt, and I haven't agreed to use all of your services."

"You will, and use the carbonated water to break up the stain before washing. Bartenders apply the trick for spills." Vegeta's barely detectable smile caught Bulma's eye, confirming that her soon-to-be patient was almost persuaded. She bent over, removing a stethoscope and blood-pressure cuff from her bag.

Vegeta swallowed hard, witnessing the full, unfettered glory of her hourglass figure. He never had been the kind to habitually gawk at women, finding that kind of behavior tasteless, but he gave himself permission to secretly admire the lovely view. Bulma got her own jolt, rising up as Vegeta removed his white undershirt like a Vogue fashion model. Somehow he still made time to lift weights.

Lord, have mercy my soul. Look at that those arms and that chest! "Uh, um… let's start with measuring your blood pressure. Over-the-counter drugs can make it spike higher, especially if you're taking a lot of them. Do you have a history of hypertension in your family?

"On my mother's side. I've never had any problems."

"Huh. Yours is somewhat elevated but not too bad. Let me listen to your airways. My stethoscope's chestpiece a tad chilly, so brace yourself. Breathe in - deep, deep, deep, deep. Now breathe out - ahhh. Great job. Breathe in normally. Now breathe out. I'll do the front now. We'll follow the same pattern."

Bulma continued, doing basic checks of Vegeta's nose, mouth, throat and ears. She was thankful that her perfume seemed to have worn off, but other factors were at play. Vegeta's lack of fondness for doctors had been laid bare, but Bulma's persuasive talents, storytelling and efficiency impressed him. Building a medical office from the ground up wasn't a task for the faint-hearted either.

"So what's the verdict, doc?"

"Mr. Regele -"

"Call me Vegeta."

Bulma smiled modestly. That didn't happen often. He had an attractive tone of voice. "Though we aren't shouting at each other anymore, I would still prefer to keep things formal."

Vegeta nodded. "Of course. I'm fine either way."

He's a subtle flirt, she thought. That kind of man was either nice to be around or totally dangerous. Additionally, no one could reach Vegeta's level of power and not be vexingly entitled - but maybe she was judging him too harshly? His temperament appeared to be just as grouchy as hers, but the absence of sleep probably made him touchier than he normal. She had to weigh all of this for a well-rounded diagnosis.

"I'm hearing more chest crackles in your breathing than I'd like. I want to schedule a few lung-function exams and an X-ray, and you need a brand-new set of allergen tests. You had hay fever as a child, right?"

"Yeah, among other issues I thought I'd grown out of," Vegeta said. "What else?"

Bulma hung the stethoscope around the back of her neck. "I am supposed to be off from work this week. If you want top-notch service, then you'll leave within thirty minutes for my practice. I will meet you there. That should be enough time to change clothes and do whatever captains of the universe do to beautify yourselves, and beat afternoon traffic. Wear this mask before going outdoors."

"I can't right now," Vegeta said, checking his phone. "I need to meet with my son and his staff shortly. Tomorrow, at your office?"

"No," Bulma said, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. "Now. Otherwise, you're on your own. I'm not a concierge doctor, nor am I getting up early to meet with you or anyone else to coordinate care."

Vegeta felt baffled. He drove demanding bargains with all sorts of people, but he couldn't understand Bulma's unwillingness to be more flexible. This wasn't the end of the world, and he would pay more if necessary. "I can't see anyone else there besides you?"

"Not without my permission," she replied, spinning on her heels to leave. "I asked you to take your health seriously. Take my time seriously. It would anger me more if other members of my team were assigned and you didn't show up. I came here just for you, and thus you owe me the courtesy of following up. That's good business. I just air-dropped contact information to your iPhone. Adios."

Vegeta sped up the pace of buttoning his shirt. "Wait. You left something on my son's desk. I'll get it."

Bulma turned. "No, no. You stay right where you are. I can -"

"Really, it's OK," Vegeta replied as he galloped toward her. This time he tripped over his own feet - and not because he wanted to. His arms reflexively reached out as Bulma's hands grabbed on to his waist for support. Their bodies pressed into the wall next to the door. Vegeta got a bird's-eye view of Bulma's tits, and she sensed something on his lower body that he definitely didn't intend for her to feel.

Bulma's petite nose twitched. An embarrassed Vegeta shut his eyes, still not realizing that his dick was trying to tell him something. Better for the both of us if he doesn't notice, she thought.

Collapsing on the gorgeous doctor's chest after his spectacular save in the lobby was enough to make Vegeta want to return to bed for the rest of the day. "I'm…I'm so sorry. I…"

Bulma's eyelids sank as her chest raised. Her right hand flew up, landing over her face as she sneezed. Vegeta jumped back, watching the other hand flagellate like a paper fan. After five huge sneezes, her spasm ended.

Bulma sniffed, mumbling through a tissue. "Oh god! That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Vegeta crossed his arms, appearing somewhat surprised and very pleased. "Oh my. So the good doctor forgot to take her allergy medicine this morning? For shame. Here I thought you were trying to set a proper, wholesome example for a high-and-mighty captain of the universe."

"Ugh!" Bulma yelled, furiously wiping her nose. "Don't you dare mock me, Regele! I don't have allergies either. Just be at my office on time, like I said!"

Vegeta opened the door, stooping over with wider grin. "Ladies first."

Bulma stormed past Goku and Trunks - without acknowledging them - heading outside. "TAXI! TAXI!"

Trunks glanced at Vegeta, who looked like a cat with a newly captured mouse. "What in the holy hell did you say to her? Tell me that I don't have to apologize for something."

Vegeta straightened his tie. "I have an appointment in about a half hour at Doctor Brief's practice. You… chose wisely. I'm not sure how long the full evaluation and tests will take. Since you haven't turned in a resignation letter to me yet, why don't you give a think about what you really want out of life while I'm out?"

Trunks tried to keep a straight face, though he wanted to do a victory dance with Goku. "Dad, walk with me out front. Goku, have the guys bring my Jaguar up here, OK?"

Goku picked up a phone, holding up his thumb. "You got it, bud."

"Where are you going?" Vegeta asked, putting on his mask.

Trunks' arm happily extended over his father's shoulder. "I'm driving you to your appointment. Maybe we can bring back some authentic Chicago hot dogs afterward, if you feel like your stomach can take it, and set the other stuff aside until tomorrow?"

"Stop treating me like I'll need adult diapers soon," Vegeta said. "I plan to live past your grandfather's age. I'll make sure you won't have to wait until I die to get your inheritance either."

Trunks laughed. "Just get in the car."

Goku's risky bet seemed to have paid off, but Bulma had left in such a hurry. He wanted to know exactly what flustered her so much. Vegeta appeared much less tense, though.

Goku entered his small office, shutting the door. Bulma answered his phone call - a positive sign. "Hiya, kitten. What's shaking? You didn't have to get a taxi. The black car could have taken you."

"I know, Goku. I'd rather arrive before my patient does."

"I knew I could count on you. Thank you. I think you saved my job."

"I'd say you've used up both favors I owe you," Bulma said, filing her nails. The traffic light where her driver stopped was taking a lifetime to change colors. "Don't ask me for anything else. I can only imagine what that man is like -"

"In bed?"

Bulma's emery board broke in half. "Shove it up your ass." The curious cabbie's bug eyes popped up in the dashboard mirror. "Not you, sir. I'm talking with a friend."

"He must be a fine friend to you!" the driver said, laughing. "It's all right, ma'am. I've heard swearing that would set your hair on fire." He closed the plexiglass barrier between them to give Bulma more privacy.

"Your driver is telling the truth!" Goku gloated. "Anyway, Mr. V is a handsome guy, don't you think?"

"Goku, stop it, will ya? I am a professional. Hot men constantly cross my path at my practice: divorced dads, single middle-aged executives and young guys who wouldn't mind shagging an older woman. They're all paying clients who need help and proper service so they can feel better. That's what I care about."

"You are a caring person, and Mr. V obviously recognized that. I mean, it's been some time since you and my brother divorced. Maybe -"

Bulma sighed. "I wonder what Raditz would think about you playing matchmaker."

"Doesn't matter what he thinks. I love my older brother, but he cheated on you and still hasn't apologized. You live separate lives, and you were my friend first when we were kids anyway!"

Bulma knocked on the barrier, holding the phone on her chest. "Sir, I can get out here. Thanks."

The cabbie looked back with an admiring glint in his cloudy eyes. "Of course, ma'am. Be careful in those nice heels. You see how bad the pavement looks. This garbage is where our tax money is going!"

Bulma exited the cab, heels clapping on the sidewalk. "Goku, hon -"

"So you do think Mr. V is good looking? No, wait. You said hot!"

Before Bulma could respond - because she had to shut down his increasingly intrusive interrogation - four huge sneezes blew out of her. She almost dropped everything. Why had her nose become so sensitive? Maybe she should have followed the advice she dispensed to Vegeta and worn a mask.

"Goku! Damn it! Stop with the questions. You're killing me - killing me! Gotta to go. I love you. Bye."

"Whoa!" Goku held the phone far from his face. "Wait! Are you coming down with a cold or somethin? I found a great home remedy!"

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