Just One Inch

“The medication is one called Pernacular,” said the good doctor slowly. “Maybe you’ve heard of it. It’s a single-source generic produced by only one company, which recently raised its price to over a thousand dollars per pill. Janie would need three pills daily for six months I’m afraid, making any treatment unrealistic.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m so sorry to break the news to you. It’s hard to know that there is an option just out of reach.”

But my mind had screeched to the halt at the word “Pernacular.” Pernacular, Pernacular, Pernacular, the words kept ringing in my mind like a taunt. I’d cut off Janie’s father because of his ruthless profit-seeking, but suddenly I knew I had an option, a way out. Sure, I’d have a ton of explaining to do and it wouldn’t be easy, but I’d do anything for my little girl … even if Jake drove an impossible bargain.

12

Jake

I was growing bored at the head of the conference table. As usual, my brothers and I were surrounded by a bevy of lawyers, bankers, media strategists, publicists, and their hangers-on, all wanting to tell us what to do. I wanted to tell them, “Listen, Manning Pharma has made you rich as fuck … so shut the fuck up.”

But no such pronouncement left my lips. I didn’t want to be branded a rogue CEO anymore than necessary because there was already a ton of bad press about Pernacular and Manning’s decision to jack up the price. What people didn’t understand was that the decision wasn’t so simple, nor the outcome so black and white. Despite the price increase, patient co-pays are actually lower; many patients get the drug at no cost; Manning has since expanded our free drug program; and half of our drugs are available for one dollar, making them accessible to all.

Unfortunately, the media had focused on only one aspect, Pernacular’s list price, which isn’t the price insurers pay. Anyone familiar with the drug industry knows that insurers often haggle like old women, driving down the actual price to a mere fraction of what we charge. So the $700 pill touted by the media was largely an illusion, subject to the whims of a host of interested parties.

I cursed mentally. And yet here I was in this miserable position, listening to publicists put forth their plans for “re-framing the issue” and such bullshit. I wanted to kick their asses for putting us in this position in the first place.

Fuck my life. I just couldn’t see how things could get worse. The woman I was crazy about had left me with no reason except that “she couldn’t do this.” What the fuck did that mean? It was so vague and evasive, impossible to understand. What started as a hot fuck had turned into much more, Tina’s intelligence and sassiness intriguing me until I was downright near-obsessive about the girl.

But I had no idea where she was now. I’d been tempted to set a PI on her trail, but my male pride had forced me to let her go. So the brunette had disappeared into the masses and I was too proud to admit that my heart had been broken by a woman I’d slept with only twice … but gotten to know in a myriad of ways, good and bad, her amazing and her less amazing traits, all of which I adored.

Fuck me, I cursed. Life just sucked on all angles. Fortunately, at that moment Mary Beth opened the door and said, “Gentlemen, I’ve received an urgent call for Mr. Manning,” she said, nodding my way. “Please excuse him for a minute.”

MB is my long-time assistant and she calls the shots. If an issue was urgent, then I trusted her judgment. But more likely MB knew I was dying and was pulling me out of the meeting so that I could get a much-needed break. Fuck, Matt could take care of it, he was the VP of Marketing after all.

I made my excuses and headed towards the door.

“This way, Mr. Manning,” said MB. “You have a guest waiting for you in your office.”

I strode into my office, my mind on a million things. I looked around, ready to dismiss my visitor but came to a full stop when I saw who it was. Tina. The girl who’d left me gasping, empty, my nights fucking endless, my days a nightmare as I fought through the media storm. Why was she back?

“Hi Jake,” she said quietly, her eyes wide. She looked delicious. Instead of wearing her usual plaid, Tina was dressed in a navy blue shirtdress which clung to her curves, outlining that voluptuous body. Her hair was a riotous mass of curls, unrestrained and springing free, those chestnut ringlets gleaming in the light. Plus, she had high heels on, my favorite, showing off her toned calves to their best advantage.