desk beside his, a tablet and a spiral-bound day planner spread out in front of her.
Joanna set her jaw and looked at her husband instead of scrutinizing the new girl. She’d long ago stopped wishing that Chris would hire a plain-looking personal assistant. She might be able to delude herself into believing he wasn’t sleeping with her, but a heavier or plainer assistant would undoubtedly have to tolerate his subtle disapproval about her appearance. If Joanna was honest with herself, she preferred the idea of Chris fucking his PA than making her feel bad about herself.
And his illness probably made his womanizing a moot point anyway.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked Chris.
“Yeah. I’ve got some forms I need you to look over.” He slid a thin manila folder across the desk. “Healthcare directives and whatnot.”
Joanna swallowed. Gingerly, she picked up the folder. They’d gone through this before—even though she was his spouse, Chris made sure to have explicit directives spelled out, and a power-of-attorney for her as well as David. He refused to take chances, and didn’t want to leave any opportunity for a medical professional to question his decisions. He insisted on being in control. Sometimes she wondered if controlling everything from how he was to be medicated to how he was to be buried was a way of keeping an iron fist on fate. If he spelled out everything he wanted, what he would and wouldn’t allow, then somehow the disease would take a hint and give up.
“I need you to read them over,” he said. “We’ll have them notarized in the morning, but I need to make sure you know and understand everything.”
Joanna nodded. But after today’s press conference, and while she was still settling into being here and going through all of this, Joanna wasn’t ready to look at the paperwork. She wasn’t ready for his instructions for palliative care, heroic efforts and funeral options.
She tucked the folder under her arm. “I’ll, um, give them a look. First thing in the—”
“Jo.” He lowered his chin slightly and looked at her through his lashes. “We need to have them notarized first thing in the morning. Just read them over, and we can—”
“I’ll read them in the morning,” she said through her teeth.
He held her gaze. Subtly, she braced herself, fully expecting an argument.
Instead, he broke eye contact. “Whatever. Do what you want.” Chris rose slowly, steadying himself with the edge of the desk. “I’m wiped after today, so I think I’ll go lie down for a while.”
“Good idea.” She gestured at the door behind them. “I’ll be downstairs in my workroom. If you need anything, you know how to reach me.”
He met her eyes again, and his usual responses—annoyance, amusement, condescension, derision—lurked in his expression, but he just shook his head slowly. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Then he made his way out of the room, walking a lot slower than he normally would. She pursed her lips. Hopefully it was the treatment slowing him down, not the cancer itself. On one hand, she wanted to be grateful that he’d apparently been too tired to argue with her about the directives or to give her shit about the time she wasted in her workroom.
On the other, seeing him like that made her breath halt.
This was real.
Chris was dying.
And Joanna had no idea how to feel.
She swallowed. “How long has he been that tired?”
Hilary set her pen down with a quiet click. “He’s…been dragging a bit. Mostly since they started him on the new treatments.”
Joanna turned toward the young PA. “How has he been handling it? Aside from…” She gestured at the door.
Hilary shrugged. “He has his good and bad days. It hasn’t made him as sick as he thought it would, fortunately. Not yet, anyway.”
“Good,” Joanna murmured. “Let’s hope it stays that way. And let’s hope it helps.”
“Do you think it will?” Hilary sounded timid at first, but then Joanna
Joanna set her jaw and looked at her husband instead of scrutinizing the new girl. She’d long ago stopped wishing that Chris would hire a plain-looking personal assistant. She might be able to delude herself into believing he wasn’t sleeping with her, but a heavier or plainer assistant would undoubtedly have to tolerate his subtle disapproval about her appearance. If Joanna was honest with herself, she preferred the idea of Chris fucking his PA than making her feel bad about herself.
And his illness probably made his womanizing a moot point anyway.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked Chris.
“Yeah. I’ve got some forms I need you to look over.” He slid a thin manila folder across the desk. “Healthcare directives and whatnot.”
Joanna swallowed. Gingerly, she picked up the folder. They’d gone through this before—even though she was his spouse, Chris made sure to have explicit directives spelled out, and a power-of-attorney for her as well as David. He refused to take chances, and didn’t want to leave any opportunity for a medical professional to question his decisions. He insisted on being in control. Sometimes she wondered if controlling everything from how he was to be medicated to how he was to be buried was a way of keeping an iron fist on fate. If he spelled out everything he wanted, what he would and wouldn’t allow, then somehow the disease would take a hint and give up.
“I need you to read them over,” he said. “We’ll have them notarized in the morning, but I need to make sure you know and understand everything.”
Joanna nodded. But after today’s press conference, and while she was still settling into being here and going through all of this, Joanna wasn’t ready to look at the paperwork. She wasn’t ready for his instructions for palliative care, heroic efforts and funeral options.
She tucked the folder under her arm. “I’ll, um, give them a look. First thing in the—”
“Jo.” He lowered his chin slightly and looked at her through his lashes. “We need to have them notarized first thing in the morning. Just read them over, and we can—”
“I’ll read them in the morning,” she said through her teeth.
He held her gaze. Subtly, she braced herself, fully expecting an argument.
Instead, he broke eye contact. “Whatever. Do what you want.” Chris rose slowly, steadying himself with the edge of the desk. “I’m wiped after today, so I think I’ll go lie down for a while.”
“Good idea.” She gestured at the door behind them. “I’ll be downstairs in my workroom. If you need anything, you know how to reach me.”
He met her eyes again, and his usual responses—annoyance, amusement, condescension, derision—lurked in his expression, but he just shook his head slowly. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Then he made his way out of the room, walking a lot slower than he normally would. She pursed her lips. Hopefully it was the treatment slowing him down, not the cancer itself. On one hand, she wanted to be grateful that he’d apparently been too tired to argue with her about the directives or to give her shit about the time she wasted in her workroom.
On the other, seeing him like that made her breath halt.
This was real.
Chris was dying.
And Joanna had no idea how to feel.
She swallowed. “How long has he been that tired?”
Hilary set her pen down with a quiet click. “He’s…been dragging a bit. Mostly since they started him on the new treatments.”
Joanna turned toward the young PA. “How has he been handling it? Aside from…” She gestured at the door.
Hilary shrugged. “He has his good and bad days. It hasn’t made him as sick as he thought it would, fortunately. Not yet, anyway.”
“Good,” Joanna murmured. “Let’s hope it stays that way. And let’s hope it helps.”
“Do you think it will?” Hilary sounded timid at first, but then Joanna
Similar Books
