Chapter 11
That is definitely more than a couple hundred dollars.
A few zeroes more. And then some.
Not only enough to buy a new dress for tomorrow, enough to buy an entire new wardrobe. And a house to put it in. More money than all of the money I have earned in my life combined.
I suddenly gasp in a breath, and I realize that I am so stunned that I haven’t been breathing. This is an obscene amount of money, and I am not sure what to do. I am frozen, and I try to shake myself out of my stupor, but to no avail. My thoughts are unformed, and I can’t even figure out what to think, how I feel. I realize I have been sitting in my car for quite a while, and I don’t live in the safest part of town. I force myself to shut off the car and gather my things.
On autopilot, I exit my car, and make my way into my apartment. The movement apparently jolts something loose, because now I am no longer frozen. I have suddenly become a walking bundle of nervous energy, and I begin pacing my apartment, because I simply don’t know what else to do.
I really can’t accept this much money. But I also can’t afford to give it all back, if I am honest with myself. Maybe I can just give part of it back? Would that be rude? I mean trying to choke me out was rude, so at least I’m still not the most rude. If I ask to give some back, how much do I try to keep? My thoughts are running hog wild, and I finally collapse onto my ugly brown carpet, with my back against the wall, my head spinning. Out of habit, I place my head between my knees, close my eyes, and take several long, deep breaths. As I breathe, my anxious heart slows, and my thoughts slow along with it.
Slowly, the realization settles over me that I can’t do anything about this without speaking directly to the man involved. I lift my cell phone, realizing that I have had it in a death grip through this entire ordeal. I look again at the text, and the number it came from. I have a way to contact Reed. It is nearly 8:30, which feels a bit late to make a phone call to a near-stranger, but I reason with myself that it is probably his work number. I can leave a message and he can call me back after he listens to it in the morning. That seems like my best course of action, since I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t do something.
Determination settles over me, and I bring up the text message, clicking the button to call the sender. I start to think of what to say in my voicemail, but to my utter alarm, after just two rings, the phone clicks and I hear a familiar, smooth, deep voice on the other end–
“Cambree,” he says, calling me by my full name as he always does. “Is everything okay?” I hear a note of genuine concern in his words.
“Yes. I mean no. I mean… This is way too much.”
“I’m sorry?” He sounds confused, as if he couldn’t possibly know what I am obviously talking about.
“The money, Dr. Reed! It’s too much money!” So much for trying to hide that I am freaking out. It is clear as day in my high pitched words.
“Ahh. I see.” He is quiet for a long moment, then says, “Truthfully, it is likely less than you would probably get were you to sue me and the hospital. So really, you are doing me a favor by taking it. I would have given you more, but any amount higher than that would have led to a lot of paperwork and questions that I would rather not answer. So, please. You deserve every dollar, and more.”
“Deserve? I didn’t earn that money! I can’t take it!”
“Cambree, listen to me. I hurt you. Badly. And that, you most certainly did not deserve. I don’t know what brought you here, or who you are so afraid of finding out where you are, but I want to help you. I want to help make up for the wrongs I committed against you, yes, but I also want to help you escape whatever you are running from and start fresh. Please, let me help you.”
“How do you know that I won’t sue you anyway?”
I hear him give a low chuckle through the phone, and the sensual sound of it causes a lick of awareness to brush over my skin. That sound is… pretty damn incredible.
He answers me, “Call it a gut feeling.” Okay, maybe more of a non-answer than an answer, but I can tell that he won’t explain any further.
“So I am just supposed to… keep it. All of it?”
“I would consider it a personal favor if you did. Plus, this was done in a very under-the-table way. Truthfully, you could not send the money back if you tried. It is yours, Cambree. Whether you believe it or not, you deserve every penny of it.” I can’t decide if I am more annoyed by the smugness of his voice, or touched by his sincerity.
“I–,” I begin. I want to keep arguing, but the fight rushes out of me. I need more time to think, then I can speak to him again when I have a more thorough argument prepared.
Sighing, I say, “Okay. Thank you, Dr. Reed. Really.”
“You are more than welcome, Cambree,” he responds, his voice warm and more gentle than I have ever heard it.
I go to end the call, but before I am able to, his voice comes through again, and he adds something that makes my jaw slacken and my eyebrows lift.
“And please. Call me Caleb.”
Then he ends the call.