CHAPTER 3
By the third day, Andrew had come to the conclusion that Nancy Taylor was an annoyance. Not a significant one ,yet, but persistent.
"Why are you staring at the pill like it personally offended you?" Nancy leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed and eyebrow arched.
Andrew didn't bother to look up from the tablet in his hands. "It did."
"Really? How?" Her tone was light, teasing even.
"It exists," he replied flatly.
"Right. Because dealing with a terminal illness is so much easier when you avoid the medicine that could actually help you."
"Thus overselling its importance," Andrew said, maintaining his focus on the screen.
She let out a small sigh, pushing herself upright. "Mr. Cross…,"
"Andrew," he corrected, still scrolling.
She paused, clearly considering the shift. "...Andrew," she said slowly, almost as if testing the syllables on her tongue. "Take the medication."
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't need it."
"You do realize that you so much need it."
"I don't."
"Yes, You do."
Andrew finally looked up, his expression flat. "If every conversation is going to go like this, I'd rather stay quiet."
A small smile crept across Nancy's lips. "If you take the pill, you might actually get through that quiet time."
He held her gaze for a moment. Then, defiantly, without looking away, he picked up the pill bottle, shook one tablet into his palm, then set it back down, untouched.
Nancy blinked in surprise. "Andrew, that's not…,.."
"There. Progress," he interrupted, returning to his tablet.
"Progress? You didn't even take it."
"I acknowledged it."
"Acknowledging something isn't the same as acting on it."
"It's a start," he insisted, smirking slightly.
Nancy studied him for a long moment before releasing a soft breath that almost resembled a laugh. "You're unbelievable."
He leaned back, crossing his arms with a hint of satisfaction. "I've been told that."
"By who?"
"Everyone."
"That checks out."
The tension in the room shifted, not dissipating entirely but becoming oddly lighter. Nancy noticed it, and it didn't escape Andrew's attention either, though neither acknowledged the change.
Later that afternoon, Andrew made the impulsive decision to leave the penthouse. It wasn't with any fanfare or flourish; he simply grabbed his jacket and phone, heading for the door.
Nancy materialized in front of him. "Where are you going?"
"Out."
"That's not an answer."
"It's sufficient."
She stepped in front of the door, blocking his path.
Andrew halted, annoyance flickering in his gaze. "...Move."
"No."
"I have a meeting."
"You canceled it."
"I rescheduled it."
"To when?"
He didn't answer, and she nodded sagely. "Right."
His patience thinned. "You're not my assistant," he snapped.
"Correct," she agreed. "But I am the person ensuring you don't collapse halfway through whatever you think is more important than your health."
"I'm not going to collapse."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"You don't."
"I do."
Andrew exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. "This is exhausting."
"You're welcome," she replied cheekily.
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I know."
They stood in silence for a moment, the air thick with tension. Finally, Andrew tilted his head slightly, studying her.
"Let's clarify something, your role is to assist, not to interfere."
Nancy raised an eyebrow. "Those sound awfully more like the same thing."
"No, they're not."
"They are when the person you're assisting flatly refuses to cooperate."
"I don't refuse," he said, a stubborn edge creeping into his voice.
"You do."
"I evaluate."
She nearly laughed at that. "You 'evaluate' everything into doing nothing."
"That's inaccurate."
"Is it?"
Andrew stepped closer, not in a threatening way but enough to change the dynamics between them. "I built my empire by evaluating," he said quietly. "I'm confident in my decisions."
Nancy held his gaze steady. "Yeah, but this isn't a business deal."
The words hit him with unexpected force, a flicker of vulnerability sparking in his expression. "It's my life," he replied, almost defensively.
"Exactly."
Silence enveloped them, the weight of unspoken thoughts sitting heavily in the air. Then, unexpectedly, she stepped aside.
He frowned, not anticipating her acquiescence. "Go," she said simply, no argument in her tone.
He hesitated for just a moment, then opened the door, only to be hit by a sudden fit of coughing.
It came on fast, sharp, and deep, the kind he couldn't suppress. He turned away slightly, struggling to regain control as the cough dragged on longer than he intended.
Nancy watched without chiming in, simply counting the seconds. When it finally eased, he straightened, attempting to mask the incident. "I'm fine," he insisted.
She nodded once, an unreadable expression on her face. "I didn't say you weren't."
Something about her response grated against him, and he replied, "I'll be back later."
"Okay."
The ease in her tone struck him as strangely disarming as he stepped out into the hallway, the door closing quietly behind him.
He barely made it past the elevator. Not because he was physically incapable of moving, but because the tightness in his chest lingered, subtle yet persistent, as annoying as an itch he couldn't scratch.
Andrew stood there for a moment, staring at the closed elevator doors, jaw clenched. Then he sighed, turned around, and walked back.
Nancy was exactly where he left her. She was sitting on the couch now, busy scrolling through her phone, seemingly unbothered by his unexpected return. She looked up as the door opened, giving him a casual smile. "Back already?"
He shut the door behind him. "The meeting can wait."
"Of course it can."
Andrew narrowed his eyes slightly. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"That… tone."
She feigned innocence. "I don't know what you mean."
"Come on. You know."
"Maybe."
He stared at her longer than he intended, then walked past her, decisively heading toward the table. "I'm working from here."
"Good."
Another pause, and she added, "it's time to take your medication."
He froze mid-step, slowly turning his head back to her. "You really don't let anything go, do you?"
She shrugged lightly. "Not important things."
Time passed, and he held her gaze before walking to the table, picking up the bottle from earlier, shaking out a pill, then, this time, he actually took it.
Nancy didn't react at first, just watched him with a keen expression. Then she nodded once. "See? Progress."
Andrew swallowed the water, placing the glass down with a soft clink. "...Don't get used to it."
She leaned back against the couch, an almost giddy gleam in her eyes despite her best efforts to remain stoic. "Too late."
That evening, the penthouse felt different. Not quieter, not louder, just fully occupied. Andrew sat by the window again, the vast city stretching endlessly below. But his thoughts were distracted, trailing toward the movement in the kitchen.
Nancy was bustling about, her eyes darting between cabinets and the stove, with an ease that felt oddly at home. Then, despite himself, he frowned slightly, his irritation resurfacing. "You're doing that on purpose."
"Doing what?" she replied playfully, glancing over with mischief dancing in her gaze.
"The humming."
"It's involuntary."
"It's distracting."
"Then stop listening."
Andrew didn't respond but found that he didn't tell her to stop again either.
Moments later, she emerged into the living area, two plates in her hands, setting one down in front of him. He looked at it and then back at her. "I didn't ask for this."
"I know."
"I don't need it."
"I know."
"Then why is it here?"
"Because you're going to eat it."
Andrew let out a breath, half-amused and half-exasperated. "You're very persistent."
"I've been told."
He picked up the fork, examined the meal, and finally took a bite.
Nancy watched carefully, her eyes keen on his reaction, not overt but attentive.
As he chewed, he felt a uncharacteristic warmth spreading through him. "It's acceptable," he said finally.
"High praise," she said brightly.
With a glance at her, he surprised himself by adding, "Better than the green thing."
At that, her laughter erupted, genuine and warm, filling the space with a sound he hadn't realized he had missed. In that fleeting moment, the burdens he carried faded, at least a little.
And as Andrew truly looked at Nancy, something unfamiliar settled quietly in his chest. Not discomfort. Not irritation. Something surprisingly lighter.
For the first time since the diagnosis, he didn't feel like he was just waiting for something to end. And that, more than anything, felt dangerous.