Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
How in the fuck had he lived with the knowledge that he might one day get a call from a hospital to tell him that she’d died?
My stomach turns, and I feel slightly nauseated.
“Mr. and Mrs. Monahan,” a voice calls. I’m still staring at Regan. She doesn’t look over and neither do I, because of the unfamiliarity of the titles in relation to us. It hasn’t sank in to either of us that we are now a unit. A husband and wife team.
She’s Mrs. Monahan, and it’s the first time I’ve heard her called that.
I snap out of it first, turning to see a woman who looks to be about my age standing in the doorway that leads back to the inner offices. Manilla folder in hand, she scans the handful of people in the waiting room.
“Regan,” I say as I take the magazine from her hand. She lifts her head, blinking at me slowly. “They just called us.”
“Oh,” she replies softly, attempting a smile. She appears to be too tired to even manage that.
I push up from the chair, drop the magazine on the corner table that was between our chairs, and hold my hand out to her. She slips hers in mine, and we both turn to the woman who called our names.
She beams a cheery smile. “Hi. I’m Monica Sanders, and I’ll be handling your case.”
We approach her, shake hands, and then follow her through a maze of cubicles with five-foot divider walls in between the desks. The air is filled with the chatter of dozens of customer service reps on the phone helping people to navigate the world of insurance denials.
Monica leads us to the far end of the room to a glassed-in office. She’s clearly someone above the cubicle workers as she rates an office, and I take this as a good sign. We are here, after all, to make sure Regan gets her treatment with no hassles.
We’re invited to take seats as Monica moves around to sit behind her desk. She puts the folder down, flips it open, and does a quick scan of the top page before giving her attention to Regan.
“Mrs. Monahan, it looks like we have the necessary documents filled out and the approval by Dr. Marino in place, but your health insurance company hasn’t given the approval for the Salvistis yet.”
“Why not?” I ask, noting Regan just seems to stare listlessly at her. I’m so fucking glad I came with her as she doesn’t look like she has an ounce of “give a fuck” in her right now.
Monica turns to me. “The red tape is sticky, Mr. Monahan. Especially when you’re dealing with a drug such as Salvistis.”
“You mean when your company charges almost half-a-million dollars for a medication I’m sure costs a fraction of that to produce? Yeah… I get why it takes a while.”
“Dax,” Regan says, finding the strength to chide me.
I ignore her, keeping my eyes pinned hard on the representative assigned to help my wife. “That’s unacceptable. She has to have her treatment this week.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure you can understand we have certain protocols—”
“All I understand is my fucking wife has a life-threatening condition,” I growl as I push up from my chair and slam my hands on her desk. Monica jerks backward, eyes opening wide. “I want her treatment set up, and I want it set up now.”
Granted, Monica seems like a nice person who is just doing her job. And granted, it’s a dick move to go all alpha controlling on her. I just met her less than a minute ago.
But I’m not in the mood. Particularly when she opens her mouth and spouts off a smart-ass response of, “Well, Mr. Monahan… I’d be glad to set it up if you want to shell out thirty-five thousand for the dosage.”
Regan’s head drops, and she presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose. I study her a moment, livid she even has to be put through this stress.
Eyes hard, I pull my checkbook out of my back pocket and cock a brow at Monica. Taking a pen out of a cup holder on her desk, I ask, “Who do I write the check out to?”
Monica’s mouth drops open, and Regan’s head pops up. She reaches a hand out, touching her fingers to my forearm. “Dax… no.”
I don’t spare Regan a glance, just state firmly, “Yes, Regan. You’re getting your fucking treatment this week.”
My stare off with Monica continues for just a few more seconds before she finally averts her attention to a drawer where she pulls out a form. “I can set this up as a self-pay. If and when the insurance approves, you can get reimbursed.”
“That will be fine,” I say, softening my tone as I take my seat again.
I look at Regan, who stares at me incredulously.