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had just shot up. He’d seen this reaction in thousands of patients. He’d felt sympathy for most of them. With Nick, it was all he could do to contain his composure. He didn’t like the man; that was the bottom line. Still, the man was his patient, and he was ethically bound to do the best he could for him, no matter the circumstances.
    Dr. Warner saw that Nick’s hands shook when he extended the card to him. “What is this? ” Even the man’s voice trembled.
    Dr. Warner hated to be so blunt, but the bastard had asked for it. “It is what it is.”
    “So, you’re saying I have cancer?” Nick shot back. “An oncologist and a hematologist? What the hell!”
    The doctor cleared his throat. “I’m not saying that at all. What I’m suggesting is a specialist. Your blood tests aren’t normal. I wouldn’t want to play guessing games with your health, Nick. I think a second opinion and more extensive tests are needed before an accurate diagnosis can be made.” His malpractice insurance premiums were out of this world as it was. The last thing he needed was some hotshot business tycoon taking him to the cleaners. He’d rather play it safe.
    Nick paced back and forth in front of the large desk. “So you’re saying this is out of your league?”
    He really wanted to slap the son of a bitch, but ethics and etiquette prevented him from acting on his impulse. Dr. Warner had always disliked Nick’s know-it-all attitude and the man himself. The possibility that Nick had a life-threatening illness wasn’t going to change the way he felt about the obnoxious, pompous ass.
    “No, not at all.” The smug bastard, Dr. Warner thought. “I think you need to see a specialist. I could be overreacting. I simply want to play it safe,” Dr. Warner explained, though he knew he wasn’t overreacting. Something was seriously wrong with Nick’s blood tests. Even though he detested the guy, he wanted him to receive the best medical care available. Evan Reeves was tops in his field.
    Hatefully, Nick said, “So what are you waiting for? Make me a damned appointment.”
    Fists clenched beneath his desk, Dr. Warner replied, “I’m afraid you’ll have to do that yourself. Or maybe you can get Chelsea to set something up for you. I wouldn’t waste a lot of time on deciding, Nick. This is serious.”
    Nick stuffed the card in his pocket and stormed out of the office without saying another word. Dr. Warner suddenly felt very sorry for Chelsea.
    He supposed he could have had Sheri, his receptionist, make the appointment. That was part of her duties. If it had been any other patient, he would have set it up himself. Simply put, Nicholas Pemberton rubbed him the wrong way. Always had and probably al ways would.
     
    Squealing tires brought Nick out of his reverie. He took a deep breath, hoping to clear his head. Exhaust fumes from the line of waiting taxis forced him to cough deeply while he perused the line of vehicles, in search of his driver.
    Surely Warner is mistaken, he thought.
    He couldn’t be ill. Hell, he felt better than he had in years. Though he had to admit, he had been feeling more tired than usual the past couple of weeks, but he’d attributed that to long hours at the office with hardly any sleep.
    He spied his sleek black Town Car.
    Tall, with a C-shaped stoop in his back, Herbert was a wiry old man with a tuft of white hair encircling an otherwise bald head. Nick opened the rear door before his chauffeur had a chance to get out and perform the duty he’d performed thousands of times for him and his father. For a brief second, Nick had an unexpected pang of compassion for the old guy; Herbert should have retired a long, long time ago.
    “Where to, sir?” Herbert asked in a gravelly voice.
    Good question, Nick thought. “Just drive around for a bit. I need to think.”
    “As you wish, sir.”
    Nick looked at his watch as they crawled along in the heavy traffic.
    Despite it being the Friday of Labor Day weekend,