Page 23 of Wolf Promise
Regie sighed inwardly. When she started Lofn Wellness, she’d had to make a few public statements and had hired a coach to teach her how to dress and speak to appear her best on film. Her grandfather thought it also included how to pose for pictures and refused to believe otherwise, no matter how many times Regie told him.
Payel stood. “I’ll take care of this afternoon’s meeting and will let you know about the other stuff we discussed.”
“Okay.” Regie shot her a grateful smile, watching her step past Grandfather and hurry out the door.
The older man didn’t acknowledge her—hopefully soon-to-be former—assistant. He continued the advance toward Regie’s desk and smacked the paper on the desk. “You can’t be unprepared when photographers show up. You have to look your best at every media opportunity.”
“It would have helped if you’d warned me that there would be a ‘media opportunity’ as I left my office at the end of the day.”
Her grandfather scoffed. “I left you a message. It’s not my fault if you don’t pick up your voicemail.”
Regie shook her head. “I received no such notice.” The older man had insisted before that he’d left a message she never received. It worried her. She had tried to get him to text instead, but he refused.
Grandfather raised his hand and opened his mouth, then took a step sideways and sank into a chair in front of her desk. His hand shook as he gripped the armrest.
Regie shot out of her chair and rushed to his side. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head and swatted her hand away when she reached for his wrist to check his pulse. “I’m fine, just a little tired.”
She noticed the pale tone of his skin and how clammy it felt when she could finally take his pulse. His beats felt slower than she’d like, but still fell within the normal range. Regie poured a glass of water from the pitcher on a side table.
Her grandfather drank half of it and leaned back in the chair. His pallor improved, and Regie took a relieved breath. “When did you last have a check-up?” she asked.
He looked at her, scrunching up his lip and nose. “I have one every six months, and everything is fine and dandy with my health.” He stood without any help from her. “I know you’re going to the art event this afternoon. Make sure you smile and look more like a CEO of a Fortune 500 company in the pictures this time.”
Regie wanted to argue that if he hadn’t sicked the photographers on her the night before, she wouldn’t have to upend her schedule and go to the afternoon’s event. But she knew better than to confront her grandfather when he dug his heels in and refused to acknowledge any weakness or forgetfulness on his part. “Of course I will,” she said instead.
He patted her arm, an unusual display of affection. They weren’t the type to hug or even briefly touch each other. “I’m sure you will. You are my granddaughter, after all. And you look so much like your mother that we know my side of the family’s DNA is dominant in you.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Regie heard the implied inferiority of her dad’s genes loud and clear, but refrained from commenting. “I think you should call your doctor to schedule a check-up, even if it’s just been a few months since the last one. Dizziness and fainting can be signs of more serious issues.”
His mouth tightened, a clear sign she’d irritated him. “I didn’t faint. I’m just dehydrated. It’s been unusually warm today.” He turned and walked out of the room.
Regie sighed. The day’s temperature had been higher than usual for this time of year, but her grandfather would have worked inside in a climate-controlled environment.
She made a note to check in with her grandfather’s doctor. She wouldn’t share any details about the older man’s health, but Regie could at least share her worries and see if the doctor agreed to an appointment sooner rather than later.
She wished for more emotional closeness with her grandfather. She cared deeply for him and the two of them were the only members of their small family. She did not want to lose him because of old-man stubbornness.
CHAPTER 12
Even cordoned off, the Palace of Fine Art was a security pain in the ass. The Greco-Roman rotunda and colonnades just outside the Presidio were closed to the public for the special event, but open grounds surrounded the structure, and a lagoon flanked one side.
A freaking lagoon.
Sure, a shallow one, but the water was murky as hell.
Anything and anybody could hide in that thing.
Bolt itched to walk the perimeter and watch the drone footage Heimdall Shield had filmed earlier in the day for possible sniper locations. He knew he acted paranoid, but his intuition had saved his ass more than once. And right now, his senses screamed at him to get Regie out of this freaking party to a safer location.
Setting up an operation with less than a day’s notice always freaked him out. And he’d much rather be in control of handling the security than posing as arm candy.
He’d never been good at socializing, and the people making small talk were duller than dirt.
He liked the art. There were some great pieces on display, showing amazing artistic talent. Not that he knew much about creative stuff, but he could tell when a painting or sculpture elicited emotion.
The people viewing them, however, he did not like.