Chapter 6: Riley to the Rescue

AFTER MY HEART ATTACK in Las Vegas last March, I woke up in a hospital bed. Riley was sitting in a chair beside the bed playing on my computer. That’s no small task.

“How’d you get into my computer,” I asked. She looked up at me.

“I turned it on and dragged your finger across the biometric scanner and I was in,” she answered brightly.

“How did you know which finger?” I asked. It is only set to read one fingerprint.

“I had to try them one at a time until I got the right one,” she answered, as if that were the most logical solution. “You’ve only got ten and I only had to try three.”

Memo to self: secure your hands if you are going to be unconscious.

She caught me up on what had happened after my heart attack. She had gone to my room and taken care of Maizie. She guarded my belongings for me and extended my stay at the hotel. And she had waited by my bed for two days.

Resourceful. Intelligent. Likes my dog. What more could I ask.

“So you want a job,” I said thoughtfully.

“I do,” she answered looking me straight in the eye.

“Do you have a license?”

“You have to work three years before you can get an agency license. I’ve served two under Lars,” she answered.

“I meant a driver’s license,” I said. You needn’t have been around the block a few times for me to be interested, but you do need a license.

“Oh, of course.”

“Good. As soon as I can get out of here, your first job is to drive Maizie and me back to Seattle. I’m not leaving my Mustang in Las Vegas. It’s like a bad joke.” She laughed, but nodded her head.

“I can do that.”

“We’ll see,” I answered. “I will pay you a decent wage—I’ll ask Lars what that is these days—teach you what I know, sponsor you for your license, and help you defend your thesis before Lars. I won’t do your work for you, give you advances on your salary, or listen to stories about your broken heart when some guy dumps you.”

“What makes you think I’m the one who gets dumped,” she asked repositioning herself provocatively in the chair. I pretended not to notice.

“There’s a catch,” I said. Her features straightened and she became serious and if anything a little guarded. I smiled. “I’m not planning to have another of these episodes, but I could use someone around who knows enough to shove an aspirin in my mouth if I’m having a heart attack. I’m not planning to drive much either, so I’ll need someone who can chauffeur Maizie and me to the office and appointments. I may even need to have my laundry picked up and groceries delivered. If you can live with the crap side of working for me, I’ll see that you get all the benefits, including work time to write your thesis. Deal?”

Now she jumped up out of her chair, leaned across the bed and kissed me on the forehead. “What more could a girl ask for?” she said. “Deal!”

And what do I get out of it? I asked myself. I get a beautiful woman sitting in the next room. I get to smell her scent in the office. I get to see her smile and appreciate the way she looks. I get to hear her voice on the phone. And it was all strictly business.

It turned out that she was also good at picking me up off the pavement when a heavyweight ex-Marine decked me. She took me home when I protested the idea of going to the emergency room and half-carried me up to my apartment. She patched up my cut eye, watered the dog, and left me asleep in my recliner.