Been There Done That (Leffersbee #1) - Hope Ellis Page 0,26

hands and knees under my desk.

I needed to project cool, professional distance, but I was no longer sure if my feet could carry me to our next destination. I winced, angry at myself and the insecurities that would eventually cripple me. Rage was far more manageable in flats or Birkenstocks.

I’d almost reached the corner when I recognized the woman headed in my direction.

“Hey, Carly.” I slowed to a stop to greet one of my research assistants. “How goes it? Do we have a taping today?”

She gave me a cautious smile, her gaze running over Nick behind me. “Hey, Dr. Leffersbee. No, I’m actually working out of the center today. I just stopped by to let the repairman into the capture room. He’s all done.”

I introduced her to Mr. Rossi and listened to his follow-up questions as he queried her about our colon cancer prevention program. Carly was a tightly wound, neurotic woman of few words, known for barking at other research staff if they asked too many questions. Yet she stood patiently, cheeks reddening and eyes wide, as Nick fired off questions about at-home colon cancer test kits.

Great. He charmed everyone in his path.

I half-listened as their conversation meandered through random topics. After a while I realized Carly, who never had more than a few non-work related sentences to share, was telling Nick all about her son, his senior year, and the planned senior trip. They were almost friends by the time their chatter finally ended and I led him to the designated door.

“This is a closet,” Nick said, sounding scandalized as I swung open the door.

“It’s just the right size,” I countered, feeling the tiny room was even tinier than I remembered.

It had been a janitor’s supply closet. After its conversion to a “capture studio,” it only needed to accommodate a team of two research assistants. A narrow strip of fluorescent light lit the room, but the dark cement walls somehow absorbed any illumination, throwing the room in perpetual shadow. A narrow desk ran the short length of the room on one side, with two chairs tucked under it.

We didn’t have far at all before we reached the console in the corner that controlled the examining rooms’ cameras. I powered it on, narrating my efforts to demonstrate the cameras’ capabilities. The monitor came alive with side by side displays of the room we’d just left. Nick was a pillar at my elbow, peering closely at the screen as I managed the navigation controls, zooming in and changing angles.

“Carly’s a single parent?”

The question was so unexpected and the topic so random that I turned in his direction without thinking. He was close, really close, stooped low over my shoulder to see the camera displays. I could see each of the dark hairs dotting his chin, the individual strands of silver at his temples. I looked directly into his eyes without thinking and my heart stopped.

Damn it.

His gaze searched mine. His chest lifted with an audible inhalation.

Damn, I missed him. I’d loved him so much. But that was so long ago. Why wasn’t there a button or a switch I could turn off in my brain?

“Carly’s my employee,” I said carefully. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to disclose any of her personal information—”

“It’s okay, I get it.” His gaze stayed on mine, briefly dipped to my mouth, returned to my eyes.

All the nerves along my face and arms tingled, as if I’d stepped into the intense glare of some immense heat or light.

“Zora—”

“Alright, that should do it,” I said, hoping he would accept the note of finality I injected in my voice. “So, that’s my lab. I hope you found it helpful. Should you have any other questions, Nellie knows how to contact me.”

Silence.

I willed myself not to look back, not to get lost in him again. I powered down the console, gathered up my bag and turned to go, intent on shepherding Nick out of the room.

And out of my life.

He stood in the doorway, arms folded, gaze disturbingly intent.

My mouth went dry.

“Uhh . . .”

“This may be my only chance to get this said. So I’ll ask you to just . . . let me get it out.”

“What?” I regretted it as soon as I said it. I’d always been annoyed by manufactured displays of ignorance. Here I’d gone and done the same thing.

However, as of today, I better understood the instincts that fueled these kinds of verbal games. I thought I’d wanted an explanation, a justification of