Work of Art Read online

  Work of Art

  Manhattan Lights Series - Book Two

  by Laura Westbrook

  Text copyright © 2020 Laura Westbrook

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is licensed for personal enjoyment only and is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, places, or events is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the author’s written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews. The people or person depicted on the cover are models, not related to any of the characters or actions, and don’t necessarily endorse or condone the book’s contents. Individuals pictured are used for illustrative purposes only.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Tiffany’s mind was a jumble of numbers and dollar signs. She’d been working on her budget for hours. She finally decided to call it a night with a cup of green tea and honey. She felt like a glass of something stronger, but instead opted for the healthier option. She was pretty sure stressing out about bills wasn’t part of a healthy lifestyle.

  Small steps toward big goals was her new mantra. The trouble was her sky-high rent, utilities, student loans, and credit card debt. Living in Manhattan was just plain expensive. She felt swallowed up in a sea of stress that meant she had to work overtime at the hospital just to keep herself afloat. She had no life, hardly any friends…just work.

  Probably none of those debt gurus have actually been in debt, she thought, scrunching up her nose.

  The clock on the wall ticked loudly. She didn’t feel tired, but she was going to be working early at the hospital the next morning, which involved a seven a.m. start with Shirley, who knew everything, if she could be believed. Looking at the roster had become a weekly effort with the employees crossing their fingers and toes in the hopes they wouldn’t be scheduled with Shirley. She did everything by the book, but annoyingly so. She was probably writing her own rule book in her spare time. That would be something she’d do.

  “Time for bed,” she muttered. She shook her head. Her routine made her feel like a robot. Go to work, eat, sleep, stress, and repeat. It was a never-ending cycle that repeated day after day, something she’d never dreamed would happen. When they’d asked her what she’d like to be when she grew up, she’d always said a nurse.

  She still didn’t regret her career path. She just figured it should be less exhausting and more caring, in the emotional sense. But she couldn’t get close to patients the way she wanted. One wasn’t allowed that close. A professional distance was required. She could get fired for overstepping patient care boundaries, and someone like Shirley would be sure to pounce on any lapse in protocol. Nursing was cold and efficient for Shirley…a bit like her personality.

  * * *

  At the shift change, the supervisor read the patient lists out. She explained where they had left off and then read out which nurses had which patient loads.

  “Shirley and Tiffany, you have Mr. Catanon in room eight, Mrs. Greer in room one, Mr. Derrickson in room twelve, Ms. Keifer in room nine, and Mrs. Foster in room six. Lastly, you have Mr. Carrera coming in at eleven.”

  Tiffany and the other nurses briskly walked to their stations to get organized and to begin the breakfast, medication, and shower arrangements. Shirley was in her usual mood, sporting a bun that sat high on her head and reading through the notes with her glasses set down on the tip of her long nose. Tiffany was waiting for her to choose her “preferred” patients.

  To argue the point would result in the whole morning being wasted. Time usually flew by on the morning shift. It was like an evil force that wanted to race everyone, hurrying them onward without ever letting them gain the upper hand. A coffee break at ten-thirty was a laughable goal most days. Tiffany imagined that somewhere there were nurses who sat down for coffee. But not there.

  “You take Mrs. Foster, Mr. Catanon, and Mr. Carrera when he comes in,” Shirley said. “I will help you turn Mrs. Foster after her sponge bath at nine.”

  “Okay, no problem.” She was secretly annoyed that Shirley always chose her patients for her, like she was still a nurse-in-training. The other nurses worked it out between themselves so it was fair. The time-consuming patients would be split up evenly so they could get their medications done on the dot, so every patient would have completed their schedule by lunchtime. During that time, any bell calls and wounds that came up would need to be addressed, and patient education was slipped in there somewhere, time allowing.

  Tiffany began her morning by whisking in to see Mrs. Foster, a lady with a big smile and no teeth. She was eighty-four and had been brought in last Thursday after a low blood sugar episode. The most important thing was education so she could understand the need to keep her glucose levels right.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Foster,” Tiffany said. “It’s time to take your blood sugar level, and then we’ll have a bath in bed today.”

  Mrs. Foster shrugged. “I watched a documentary on British royalty yesterday. Do you like them?”

  Tiffany pricked Mrs. Foster’s finger. She said a little “ouch,” then relaxed as her breakfast tray arrived.

  “I keep up with them sometimes. Make sure you eat everything. I need you to maintain this level all day long.” She looked into her eyes with a seriousness that was mixed with a kind smile.

  “I’d love to trade places with one for a day. In one of those long dresses. They have dinners with entire tables of food. One alone for sweets.”

  “It would be nice, but sugar isn’t the best for you right now. We’ve got to get you back to normal levels.”

  The woman swirled the spoon in her oatmeal, saying nothing about the advice Tiffany gave. Tiffany was glad Mrs. Foster had a daughter to help take care of her. Otherwise, the woman might become even more unwell than she’d already been.

  Mrs. Foster nodded. “I’m sick of documentaries. I’m going to watch the shopping network today. I like it. I ring those numbers all the time and buy things. Last week, I bought a set of pots and pans and got a free knife set. This week, I’m going to see if they’ve got drills and hammers for Charlie. He’s my eldest son. He works for a big company in Florida. He might like those.”

  Tiffany smiled at the lovely woman who wore her heart on her sleeve. She was just happy to be alive and didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Tiffany hoped she’d be like her one day—able to spend whatever she wanted on whatever she wanted. A new wardrobe of clothes would be nice. For a social life I don’t have.

  “I’ll be back soon to give you a bath,” Tiffany said. “But only if you eat all your oatmeal and drink your cup of juice.”

  “Yes, dear, I will,” Mrs. Foster said, smiling at the shopping channel she’d found by flicking through. “Ohh, that’s a pretty design. I might get some for Genevieve.”

  “Who’s Genevieve?” Tiffany asked as she headed for the door.

  “My Persian cat.”

  Tiffany realized it was a pet collar displayed on the screen. People bought the craziest things for their pets these days. That one collar would probably cover her grocery bill for a week. She shook her head but kept moving until she reached the next room.

  “Good morning, Mr. Catanon,” Tiffany said.

  “Morning. I hope you didn’t bring any of that soup for lunch. I’d rather
put my boot in a pot and stir it.”

  She suppressed a laugh. He was a funny man, a good time-waster if one wasn’t careful. “I’ll tell the kitchen staff to quit hiding the good stuff.”

  Shirley walked in then, looking way too serious. “Good morning, Mr. Catanon. May I borrow your nurse for a moment?”

  “Be my guest,” he said. “Bring her back, though. She’s a nice one.”

  Shirley remained straight-faced, despite Mr. Catanon’s good natured humor. He seemed like he’d be the life of the party, if one had time for them.

  Shirley looked Tiffany up and down as though weighing her competence. “We’ve been given two more patients. You can have Mr. Loster in room fifteen. I’ll take Mr. Yensen in room fourteen.”

  Not wanting to argue, Tiffany nodded.

  “You should know Mr. Loster is nil by mouth,” Shirley continued. “He already knows this. And Judy went home with a case of food poisoning, or so she claims.”

  Tiffany tried not to smile at the mix of professional directions and staff gossip. “Claims?”

  “That’s what she’s saying. She hasn’t been properly diagnosed, so she might just be trying to get out of work.”

  Tiffany cringed inside. “But she was at work on time and ready at the shift change. She’s a brilliant nurse, Shirley.” She tried her best not to get upset at her stiff-necked companion. “I hope she’s all right.”

  “I heard she’s sleeping with Dr. Fraser, and he’s off today, so you know, if you put two and two together…”

  “That’s all just gossip. It doesn’t matter. Whether she is or isn’t sleeping with anyone is her business. We all work ourselves to the bone around here. Don’t spread things around you don’t know. Judy’s married, and talk like that could cause trouble in her marriage, especially when it might not be true.”

  Shirley exhaled loudly. “I’m telling you, she doesn’t have food poisoning, and if you could follow her right now, I bet she’s going to his house.”

  Of all the time Tiffany had spent talking to Shirley that morning, only a few words of it had been useful. She was all for speaking the truth, but Shirley only cared about her truth and nobody else’s. In her mind, anything out of place reeked of scandal, whether there were any facts behind it or not.

  Tiffany gestured to Mr. Catanon’s room. “Look, I have patients to deal with, and so do you. Let’s not go making assumptions, okay?”

  “With the way you’re defending her, it sounds like you might be hiding something too.”

  Tiffany shook her head. “Never mind.” She broke away and returned to Mr. Catanon’s room. The work wouldn’t finish on its own. He probably had the next dozen jokes thought up by now. Tiffany made sure he’d eaten his breakfast and then pointed to the shower.

  “The next time I see you, you’ll be clean,” she said. “The shower is calling your name.”

  “Oh yes, I can hear it.” He leaned in. “That other nurse isn’t coming back today, is she? She has the personality of a toilet plunger. Is she always so…prickly?”

  “I plead the fifth on that one. The shower?”

  “Actually, I might need to drink my coffee first.”

  “All right. Drink your coffee, I’ll check in with another patient, and I’ll come back later.”

  She wasn’t exactly looking forward to her new “nil by mouth” patient. She was sure he hadn’t been there yesterday. He was in for a procedure, and he needed to be checked several times that day. Her other patients, for now, were doing great. That brightened her mood enough to shove aside the other thoughts stressing her out. She’d have plenty of time to think about her finances when she got home.

  Chapter Two

  That night, Tiffany could look back at a relatively smooth day. It had even been a decently fun one, looking after Mr. Catanon and all. Just thinking about some of his quips made her chuckle as she showered. Sure, they were mostly “dad” jokes, but they had their own charm. The warm water coursed over her tired body. Going to work felt like an endless cycle of paying bills. She wished she could just marry a billionaire CEO somewhere, but that wasn’t going to happen. Even if she happened to find a guy like that who wanted her, she’d have to love him back or it wouldn’t work.

  But being in her late twenties without a guy wasn’t hard, just annoying. If she was invited out with friends, and actually had time to go, chances were there’d be couples present, and she’d spend the entire time watching them adore each other. If she saw one more couple feed the other a shared bite of their meal, she was going to scream.

  Her mind went back to Dominic, a guy she’d dated a year ago. He was nice most of the time, but he had a temper she hadn’t expected. He’d get angry about the silliest things. Traffic holding him up, a line at the store, no milk in the fridge, or the football score. He knew he had an issue and had explained it to her. His counselor had told him that it was a learned behavior from his father, something he’d seen from an early age that he’d emulated because the “child” version of himself believed it was right to do so.

  Tiffany had eventually broken it off, worried that his temper might become worse over time. They were still friends on social media, but he’d moved on with Isabella, a woman a few years her senior with the biggest eyelashes in the northern hemisphere. She was a belly dancer with an entertainment company that catered to corporate functions, events, and private parties.

  He seemed genuinely happy in the photographs he’d posted online with her, and Tiffany was happy for him. She knew one day the right guy for her would come along. Her heart knew it, even if her wary mind couldn’t totally believe it. She’d had too many disappointments, too many “close but not quite” relationships to believe she’d ever find the one.

  After the warm, blessed shower, she decided to put on her soft pajamas. It was a luxurious brand. Normally, she wasn’t quite so loose with her money, but it was worth the indulgence. It had taken her a while to figure out her budget, and now she was paying for it, but she figured she might as well enjoy what she had. Selling her things wouldn’t help, as they’d never earn back the money she’d paid.

  She sighed. The clock was made to look like a mouse with a flicking tail whose eyes moved from left to right, and he seemed perfectly content to swallow up her free time along with the pieces of yellow bits of cheese that surrounded him. It was a favorite, quirky piece that matched her personality—when she was in the right mood. Right now, her worries made her feel more like Shirley.

  As she often did in her times of need, Tiffany picked up her cell phone and called Ginger. She’d been friends with her for about four years, and they enjoyed a great friendship, despite their busy working lives. She might call Nicole soon, too—another friend who stayed busy in Manhattan, working her way up the ladder in the advertising company she worked for. That night, she felt like she needed all the help she could get.

  She picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Hey you,” Ginger said, launching right in without taking a breath, as usual. “How are you doing? I had the best day at the cafe. The new barista guy is a hot tamale, and he asked me out. He said, ‘I think we both make great coffee. Let’s go out for one.’ And then he winked at me. Freaking corny, but it worked.”

  Tiffany laughed. “He sounds lame. Were you high on caffeine when you said yes?”

  “He’s not lame! He has chocolate eyes, and his muscles burst through his uniform like a superhero out of a costume.”

  “So he’s total marriage material already?” Tiffany asked.

  “Oh no. I just want him to wine and dine me.”

  “Hold it, cowgirl. That’s about all I can handle. You’re making me jealous already.”

  The line was silent for a moment. Then there was a weird noise in the background. “Sorry, my sister’s visiting,” Ginger said, “and she’s blending some witch’s brew in the blender. Okay, she’s stopped now. How are things with you? I know you’ve been working heaps. Nicole said you’re pulling extra shifts at the hospital.”


  “Yeah, I’m just trying to make more money. My student loan payments are draining me dry.”

  “Are you looking for something in the evenings? I know this guy who’s looking for models.”

  “I’m not that photogenic.”

  “Not that kind, silly. Artist models. You sit for a few hours while people paint you and you pose. Don’t worry—it’s with clothes on. It’s pretty good money from what I heard.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Tiffany asked when Ginger rattled off some numbers. It was all second-hand knowledge, but if they were close… “I take care of sick people for a living, and I make less than that. Just for sitting still?”

  “Yep, and I think you need to let them do your hair and makeup and give you clothes to wear. You have to sign a form to say people can sell their versions of you too. But it’s completely legit.”

  Tiffany was intrigued. It sounded like such a break from sick patients and gossiping fellow nurses. “Sign me up and call me Mona Lisa. I’m in. Give me the number.”

  “Hang on. I just need to find it. Ugh, it’s downstairs in my other bag. I’ll text it in a minute.”

  “Okay. I hope there are still places left. This could solve all my problems. Thanks.”

  “No problem. It sounds like a good deal, but it won’t be a full-time gig or anything. They’re pretty much only part time or occasional.”

  “That’s okay. That’s all I can do anyway.”

  “Right. Good point. Okay, I’ll have that number to you soon!”

  Ginger got off the phone a few minutes later, right when her sister started up the blender again. She seemed to have her hands full.

  Tiffany waited for the bleep to come through on her phone, but at last she had the information. The guy’s name was Trent, and his number was next to it. A smiley face punctuated the end of Ginger’s text, her happy mood still carrying over from her way-too-attractive coworker.