Beautiful Beast - Page 122

The crazy part is that she actually means it. I’m so used to people assuming that because I’m rich, they’re entitled to whatever they want from me.

Belle is the opposite and wants to do everything on her own. I have to fight to take care of her. And I will – forever.

“I want to help,” I insist. “I love you both. How much were the tests you already did?”

“Almost five grand.”

“I’ll send it to you when we get up. And another twenty to cover anything else that comes up for him. Just let me know if you need more.”

“Adam…”

“You do a ridiculous amount for me, and you put up with all my bullshit. I can give you this money and not even notice, princess. Please.”

Buster means the world to Belle, and money is not going to be an obstacle for her anymore. Anything that either of them needs will be my privilege to give them.

“Thank you.”

“I have another appointment at the hospital today.”

She looks away, probably to hide the uncertainty in her eyes. She doesn’t believe that I need to fix the scar from a cosmetic standpoint and she also doesn’t think it will help anything.

But I still need to try and see if it makes any kind of difference.

“I hope they tell you what you want to hear,” she whispers.

“Me, too, princess. Me, too.”

NewYork-Presbyterian is a slick hospital, and while I don’t imagine much has changed with my case since the last time I was here shortly after meeting Belle, I’m still hopeful.

With all the advancements in medicine and technology, surely there’s something they can do if money is no object.

Dr. Martindale is an otolaryngologist and a facial reconstructive surgeon. He’s a leading expert in his field, and even though he looks more like a governor than a doctor, he has a friendly and affable demeanor unlike any of the politicians I’ve met.

“Adam, it’s good to see you again.”

“I hope you have some good news for me.”

He examines my face, asking me random questions about work and my plans for the rest of summer, as though any of that matters.

“It’s healing well, but it’s still not a point where I can do the surgery you’re looking for. To get the results you’re after both cosmetically and functionally, we need to wait.”

Fuck’s sake.

“How much longer?”

“I’ll see you back here in three months. The challenge is the surgery isn’t just aesthetic. It’s also reconstructive. The scar is affecting multiple layers of skin, and I need to restore your mobility while making the scar less obvious. You aren’t fully healed, and that process can take a year or more. I won’t be able to completely remove it, but I can disguise it and drastically improve the appearance and function.”

It’s the same information he gave me last time, so at least he’s consistent if nothing else.

It was me who demanded to see him again so soon – just in case.

“Anything that I can do to speed the healing up?” I ask.

“I’ll give you a prescription refill for the cream I prescribed last time, but other than that, it’s time and patience. I’m sorry that it’s not what you want to hear, but we’ll get there. You were stitched up pretty well given it was done in the field under… we’ll say duress… but there are a lot of repairs I’ll need to do on the operating table.”

“Thank you for your time.”

Even though it makes me look like a criminal instead of an executive or a billionaire, I wear a bandana out of the office and only take it off when I’m safely in the back of the limo.