Fix It Up - Mary Calmes Page 0,17

center island opposite Nick so he could face him. “How do you feel?”

“Like I was run over by a truck and left for dead,” he answered, lifting his head to squint at him. “What’s going on? Where is everybody?”

“Well, for starters, the party was the day before yesterday.”

“What?” he asked, shading his eyes.

I took pity on him and joined him and Brent at the counter, passing him the aviators I’d had on when I went outside to check on the landscaping. “Here you go.”

“Oh, thank you,” he said quickly, putting them on and taking a breath, sitting up a bit. “Wait,” he stated, directing his words to Brent as I returned my attention to the iPad propped up beside me, where Owen and I were both looking at the same tech schematics. “Brent, why’re you here? I thought I fired you.”

“You did, but Mr. Cox hired me back.”

“Oh, well, I guess that’s okay, but you can’t keep being a narc and tell him about everything or I’m gonna have Rick—”

“Rick’s gone,” he informed him. “There’s only Isaias, Cliff, and Tony now, and there’s only one of them here at a time.”

“What?”

“You probably need to meet Locryn Barnes.”

“Who?”

I tuned out of their conversation then, giving Owen my attention. “So I’m not insane, right? There needs to be two more cameras on that southeast wall, pointing down the hill to catch that curve in the driveway, and then motion sensors down below the pool area.”

“Agreed.” Owen sighed deeply. “I’m sorry they missed those, Loc. They’re out there now, so I’ll let them know.”

“Thanks,” I said, killing the FaceTime session with him and focusing on the conversation between Nick and Brent.

“Who’re you?”

Lifting my gaze, I centered on Nick, who had turned on his barstool so he was facing me.

“I’m Locryn Barnes from Torus Intercession. Mr. Cox hired me to help you stay clean and sober, Mr. Madison, and to ensure that you get your album finished.”

“That would be a neat trick, Mr. Barnes, as I haven’t even started an album,” he said snidely, scoffing for good measure.

“Well, I’m here to facilitate that process.”

“Oh? Are you a lyricist, or do you write music?”

“Neither.”

“Can you play a guitar? Piano? Drums?”

“Nope.”

“Sing in the shower?”

“Poorly,” I confessed with a shrug.

“Then I don’t see what good you can possibly be,” he snapped, getting down off the barstool. “I—where is everybody?” he said to the ether as he walked out the doors to the patio.

I knew from reading the information that Mr. Cox had given me the day at the office, that Nick Madison had not had an easy time of it in rehab. He had gone through painful withdrawal symptoms, from vomiting and hallucinations to diarrhea and the DTs. The first thirty days he’d been under constant medical supervision. The second thirty days had been group work, one-on-one work, and basically the staff at the facility preparing him to create new, healthy habits. That was the part where, from what I read, Nick was not successful. He could follow along inside, but backslid the second he was out, as evidenced by the party I interrupted. This had been his second stint in rehab, and there was a concern, with how things had escalated between one and two, that he would not live through a third one. It was my job to make sure this one took.

With that in mind, I was transforming his environment to meet his needs, so I turned my attention to the schedule because I had people coming to interview for the groundskeeper position, and his new personal trainer was supposed to arrive any moment. After meeting the gardener, Mr. Kim, I had immediately offered the position to him, but he said that I would have to pay him an exorbitant salary for what would amount to a couple months of work, but from then would be simple ongoing maintenance. I appreciated his candor as he explained about the drainage system that needed to be installed and that no one had listened to him about.

“Let me know what needs to be done.”

He had me walk with him as he explained where they would take care of the new underground watering system and drainage, and then he showed me the crumbling wall that led down toward the base of the property. It needed to be rebuilt or everything would eventually collapse and crumble. I was interviewing contractors on Monday.

After fifteen minutes or so, Nick came back, walking by the kitchen, and Marisol held out a large