I spy the hospital three blocks away, wondering which floor she's on. The red light slugs. Traffic is an endless nightmare stretching far as the eye can see. I get a text from the model:

Pay me. That wasn't free! This bitch has horrible timing.

Me: later

Model: No, now! You wasted my service. I want payment and 5% interest.

Me: 5% interest??

Model: Yes...you signed the contract; clause 5 states an interest charge if sex is terminated.

I glower at the phone, then pocket it. I'll deal with that later. My sight goes back to the brown building, scanning the windows. She's too dynamic to be in a place like this. Too energetic. I can't picture her in a white bed hooked to machines. The fear she must be feeling...the pain. I hope the meds are strong to numb her.

The cars ahead inch up little by little. The light is green, but bastards are still going slow. I honk to express my impatience. "I should have flown..." My car phone vibrates the dashboard. "Answer," I speak to it.

The shudder halts. "Hello, sir."

"What is it, Dorian?"

"The EXPO showcase requires your review and approval."

"Just pass everything through!" I snap, maneuvering my beast past a car, cutting it off from a right-lane switch.

"Sorry, sir, but that's unauthorized. I don't have the clearance."

"I'm not near the lab."

"I'll await your arrival then, sir."

Damn it...that'll take up the whole day. I'd like to see Madison...but duty calls. The light is red again. I stop at the crosswalk and huff. My gaze returns to the hospital windows. Madison has to be out of it. Drugged and resting. I could visit when she's better. When she knows I'm there. That would be best.

"I'm on the way." When I have the light, I bust a U-turn and race from Dignity Health. I can't help but peer at it through the rearview mirror. Uncertain about the choice of parting ways with the building. There's anxiety. Why? I don't understand...there's something else. An odd sensation. But what? I can't identify it exactly. All I can do is guess the feeling has to do with my nerves.

I would still like eyes on her. I could assign someone to relay her progress. I locate my informant in my contacts: Christine. A doctor I hired to report on my sister after a bombing scare. It was a close one...plastic surgery was needed for skin grafting.

Me: Dignity Health. Madison Hart.

That's better...but still, I want to do more. Something to let her know I care. Something sweet to make up for not seeing her sooner.

Me: Gather the largest peonies for her room. Leave a card with my standard get-well message. I'll send the stipend.

I wire $25,000 to cover the charge. She deserves huge bouquets.

"Good morning, sir."

I tread to the main entrance. "I wouldn't say it's a good morning."

"Why's that?"

Hmm...good question. Why is the news of Madison dampening my day? A complete stranger has me less myself. "It's nothing." I shrug off his question.

"Shall we begin?"

"Of course." I follow the ginger-haired guy into the edgy factory. My fingers tap at my phone. Is my informant on the case yet? I hope so. I have to hear good news in order to operate for the rest of the day. I'm escorted to a massive garage full of 30 display products. Cars, robots, gadgets, eye devices, rafts, drones, and filtration machines. This is going to be a long day. I must review each, which takes up to 15 minutes. Each product has a pamphlet-sized folder. I have to check mark and sign each page-front to back. I'd have better motivation if I knew how Madison was doing. "One second."

I hold up a finger to call Christine. The line rings longer than expected. Hmm...why is she taking so long to answer? Is something wrong?? Damn it! Why didn't I blow this off?!! My pulse rises. I compose myself, so I don't appear jittery in front of a subordinate to keep up appearances. I'm a macho billionaire, yet on the inside, I'm weak. Is she...has she passed on? Severe injury...jumped from a car? What if the trauma won?

"Hello, sir. I apologize for the long wait. The peonies have been delivered. Would you prefer a photo or video update?"

"Photo."

"I'll send one over ASAP." The older woman reports.

"How is her status?" A buzz notification jolts my phone; the image has been delivered.

"Scans are pending. For now, the young girl is stable. She was awake 4 hours ago speaking to her friends."

"Good to know, thank you."

"Of course, sir. I'll keep you updated."

The call drops. I view the photo of Madison resting in bed. I double-take, doubting it's her. There are so many bandages! She's covered head to toe! Fuck! I observe her patched skin, her blonde hair hidden by a white head wrap.

My heart skips. No...it can't be! This isn't what she deserves! So sad that this has become of her. Lying in bed as a victim. Madison doesn't deserve this. I've never felt so much pity for someone I don't know....or so much hostility toward a driver. That asshole! The fuckbag! I tuck away my phone to tame my rage. I labor my breathing.

"Is everything alright?" Dorian asks lightly.

"Yes." I feel his eyes on me as I walk forward. "We can begin. Number 1."

"That'll be the ritis-glove." The tall guy demonstrates by removing the sleek glove and slipping it on. "The recent prototype has no malfunctioning errors; five thousand will be ready to go after the Expo. New material shipments are due next week. The supply chain won't disappoint, sir. The quota will be met."

The ritis-glove is my newest invention. A finger brace that molds the hands of infants and children who face early set arthritis. It's the Expo opener for a reason. The pre-orders will be insane.

The manager hands me the first folder out of 30. I flip the first page, draw a check mark, then signature and date at the bottom. This grueling process continues for an hour. I will need my own glove soon from the torture my hand is taking. I wiggle it to prepare for a soon-to-be numbing sensation in the limb. 29 to go.

This annoying signing ordeal distracts me. I walk to each display, finalizing the paperwork one after another. Dorian does a rundown of each, fixing his glasses and barely blinking his dark eyes. As I scribble, I wonder: will she like the peonies? Will she open up to this advance since money isn't the way? I hope Madison hasn't written me off as a douchbag. I hope we can speak on better terms after her recovery. I want to debunk her words from our last talk:

You must tell off men here all the time, huh?"

"Only when they're entitled pricks."

"And the ones who aren't entitled?"

"They receive the hospitality they deserve."

"I hope I'm not on your bad side."

"You're toeing the line."

"I apologize, Madison. I'll refrain from being a dick."

"I think you're incapable of that." I'm capable of being more than that...for her, at least. Only because she's not a toy chick. I thought I knew what women wanted; glam, money, sex. That assumption doesn't apply here. I have to adapt to Madison. I have to be delicate...a gentleman. My playboy methods won't work on her.

7 hours pass. I have a hand cramp and aching feet. The time is 6 pm. If only I could say my day is over. It isn't. I have phone calls waiting from stage management, security, and engineers from the arena. "The hard work is done." Dorian smiles and claps.

"That we agree on." I hand over the last folder for Lidz, a motorcycle helmet that morphs to the wearer's head to lessen blunt impact. "The fun begins on stage, as always."

"You have star quality, that's why."

"If only I launched an entertainment company." I crack.

"Well, you have a cast already; it's never too late."

"And I wouldn't have to pay any of you for the extra labor."

"Sweatshops are in fashion." He jabs.

We stroll from the garage, passing assembly lines manned by drones that construct skeletons of cars. I view the rear of the factory, where IRecta glasses are stacked into piles by human workers. I observe millions of boxes scale the ramps of transporting trucks, proud of the production. The factory teams hustle like soldiers on a war front, logging, pushing, and sprinting to repeat the same. "Keep up the good morale." I compliment.

"The first sector to complete their quota receives a bonus. We used to throw parties and give out trophies, but that got boring."

"Nothing like a surplus to make people work hard."

"Great minds think alike." He grins.

"True." My phone buzzes.

Christine: Her stay is 2 weeks. No broken bones. Road burns only.

Me: Any pain?

Christine: No, she's on morphine.

A reminder pops onto my screen: ARENA PHONE CONFERENCES IN 25 MINUTES "The boring side of business calls." I head to a spiral stairway. "I'll touch base tomorrow."

"Good night, sir."

I go to the roof to a helicopter. There's no pilot. It's AI flown. I strap in the back and relax my head on the rest. "Penthouse." The chopper swishes its propellers.

Model: It's later; pay me now!

I sigh, then go to transfer $5,250,000 to the annoying bitch. I did agree to a contract.

Me: We're done.

Model: Pleasure doing business💋

I remove her from my contacts and block her number. Her looks must have impaired her brain. I told her that I'd pay later, not on demand. The woman's lack of common courtesy is incredible. I was obviously going through something when I told her to leave. Her nagging is unattractive...and won't be missed. At home, I grab a cup of black coffee and go to my office. The skyline is lit by high rises. Cars work the streets like an ant farm. Their red and white headlights dance up and down the lanes. I take a seat and sip on the hot joe, looking over the numbers belonging to the arena manager, security, and engineers. I begin calling to discuss the show's production. By 10 pm, I'm done working, so I text the informant.

Me: Status? I stand from the desk and massage my lower back.

Christine: Madison is asleep.

Hopefully, by tomorrow I'll be able to visit. It'll be later in the day, late at night. I'll be reviewing emergency protocols, lighting, sound, and stage displays...another long day.

THE NEXT NIGHT

The stormy night dims the arena to the point that extra light poles are needed. The intermission music flows from speakers, a delicate piano. Security guards are posted at every exit. The showrunner use a controller to whirl products from a floor department. One labeled number 23, a super thin yet large computer, spins upwards. "I believe the turning motion is best here. That way, all angles are visible to the crowd. What do you think, sir?"

"I approve."

"Alright, onto the next." A bald guy walks with a pep in his step to an empty spot on the white stage. A VR set slowly rises from the floor. This model is similar to a cyclops eye, round and lightweight. "Is that pace alright, or would you prefer quicker?"

"No, it's fine. It leaves room for dramatic tense."

"Perfect. Onto the next."

A crack of thunder and flash of lightning startles a few of the employees. I remain unfazed. I own an island where tropical storms are horror movie worthy. This measly one is nothing compared to that. Cleaners wipe and shine the first 24 mantles, which hold the approved items. The last six showcases seem to be the longest. Maybe because I want to leave, I wish time would speed up. Twenty minutes drag on long. It feels like an hour. The storm outside is much more intense now. The streets are going to be a nightmare...so is flying. A sheet of white buries the surroundings. The hundreds of windows around are now high-force showers. I approve the final product. A maternity tracker pod for a woman's stomach that alerts them of labor before their water breaks.

My mother influenced this one by saying: "if only I knew my labor time for you." My father was overseas and couldn't get home in time for my birth. Due to this, the Peglert provided an efficient 24-hour timeframe.

"Thank you, Mr. Harrison." The showrunner grins.

"You're welcome." I offer a handshake. "See you in 3 days." There's an underground garage where two vehicles wait. Rolls-Royce Boat Tail; beige gold. A Bugatti La Voiture Noire, jet black.

I choose the Noire since it's the most compatible for a thunderstorm. When the garage lets up, a thick downpour blinds everything. Fuck...I spoke too soon about it being a weak breed. A faint line of cars are in front of me. Their foggy headlights are useless. I think I'm stuck...just as they are. I can't afford to sit in place. I need to get to the hospital, but the weather outside is frightful. Hazardous. I'll have to drive like a grandma. The headlights of cars move ahead. After a few seconds of inching onto the road, I find a spot in the cramped traffic. The motion of the vehicles resembles giant turtles. I want to blow my horn, but that'll be pointless. My phone rings. It's Christine. "What's the update?"

"The patient has passed out from head pain."

"She what?!" My hand clutches the wheel.

"Passed out from head pain. The doctor believes it's due to medication."

I stare ahead dismally. "Or from a head injury. How were her scans?"

"I can check; give me two minutes."

How is a person's brain normal after jumping from a car? I don't like the medication excuse. Again, the peculiar feeling I can't explain returns. What is that sensation? It's not apprehension. It's something else. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and drive up a fraction at a time. I don't like the sound of Madison losing consciousness from head pain. It's rare to faint from medication. To feel pain from medication.

"Still there, sir?"

"Yes."

"Her CT, MRI, and PET are all normal."

"Hmm..." I tighten my lips. "Is it normal to faint from medication, doctor?"

"No. Only blood pressure and antidepressant medications can cause such a condition."

"So, there's something more to this?"

"I would say yes, I believe this issue is due to her injury, not drugs. She's only on morphine, which doesn't cause passing out."

"Thank you for your honesty."

"You're welcome. I suggest you try for a second opinion."

I should...this hospital seems iffy with the excuse and the scans. "I'll alert my medical team; we'll be there as soon as possible." I hang up and pull over to the side of the Arena. I'm flying. I three-way call my doctors once in the helicopter. "Hello, team. I require your second opinion at Dignity Health Hospital. Arrive as soon as you can."

"Of course, sir."

"I'll be there in a bit."

"Whatever you need."

The self-piloted craft hovers over the futuristic building, awaiting a break in the storm. Rain beads against the metal exterior like hail. It's going to be awhile. I hope Madison can hang on until my group sorts this out. Her pain level had to be a 10. SHIT! Why can't I trade places with her? I can take it. I'm much more equipped; I have a high pain tolerance. Once I sliced my leg open while rock climbing and barely winced. I handle agony well. I need to swap with Madison to shield her from this trauma...from this hurt. 

Oh! That's what I've been feeling...I know the sensation now. It's clear as day. I understand why I tried to flee to the hospital. Why I'm now calling on medical professionals for the best care for Madison. I'm protective of her.