He smiled. “More to that story, I see.”
“You don’t see because there isn’t anything to see,” I scoffed.
“If you were just working under him, you wouldn’t have gone up against him.”
“Yes, I would have,” I countered, and I meant it. “I believe in Levvetor.”
He measured me up this time, and I didn’t shrink under the assessment. “Why?”
“You first,” I blurted. I didn’t want to share my story, didn’t want to see the pity or the sympathy in his eyes. I didn’t share my story with anyone anymore. I’d learned quickly in high school that no one really wanted to hear it. No one wants to know how you’re actually doing when they ask the question. They want comfort, and it is completely uncomfortable to talk about cancer.
He sighed. “Aside from the fact that it will make us all a lot of money, my father knows the founder. They are good friends of the family.” Before I could ask, he added, “And yes, I mean that in every sense of the word. We don’t want competitors shutting them down, and that means we need to pour more money into it when the government starts to back the bigger companies.”
“Their drugs are working. The government can’t …”
“Big companies can make smaller ones go away even if they are finding cures, Vick. You know that.”
“Okay. So, if Stonewood Enterprises won’t back you, then I’ll lean hard on my mother’s company.”
“Blakely Fashion? Interesting. You’ll be tanking your career at Stonewood Enterprises and doing something completely illegal. And ...” He dragged the word out as his eyes tracked over my face. “You don’t care one bit.”
“Nope.” I stood up, ready for the conversation to be over.
“I need an explanation.”
“Can’t me wanting to save lives be enough?” I turned toward the door.
“Nope.” He stepped in front of me, his height and presence worked to his advantage, overwhelming my space and my confidence. “Tell me why.”
“I’ve used a drug they make,” I whispered the admission.
His eyes jumped back and forth between mine. Then he scanned my body, surely looking for the evidence of my cancer.
He wouldn’t find any. My cancer hadn’t left scars on the outside. It festered in my bones, flowed through my blood, and weighed down my soul instead. Cancer wasn’t always apparent but it was always lurking. If not in you, then it lurked in someone you loved, morphing the way they looked at you, treated you, saw you. It morphed and marred every aspect of your life.
“You don’t …” He stopped. “You aren’t sick. You don’t look …”
“I’m in remission. Have been for years.”
His brow furrowed. And his gaze turned harder, more solid. “You’re a fighter then.”
His words, they weren’t a question but a statement, and I stood taller with it. The belief in his voice or possibly the cemented conviction made me want to hug a mafia boss. “I’m a fighter then.”
We let the time pass. Minutes went by. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, fidgeted with my pen. I didn’t feel the need to make him feel comfortable or fold under the awkwardness of it all.
“You don’t tell people.”
“It doesn’t go over well,” I admitted.
“That’s a lot of baggage for one person.”
“I’m sure you have a lot of baggage for one person too.”
Bastian’s shoulders tensed. Then he cracked his neck, as if trying to release the secrets he had no doubt stashed away.
“We follow your lead when it comes to Levvetor.” He licked his lips and buttoned his suit jacket.
“I’m sorry?”