Been There Done That (Leffersbee #1) - Hope Ellis Page 0,6
regressed. Lost control. This moment? It ranked high on the list of my most embarrassing moments, and that was saying something. Get it together, Zora. After having safely backed out from under the desk without banging my head and adding to the list of embarrassments, I became aware of Nick offering his hand. He appeared to be biting his lip, magenta staining his upper cheeks.
For just one moment, I regarded the hand I’d once known as well as my own. That hand had held mine, resided on my thigh when we were alone. That same scar still stretched across the length of his index finger, from that camping trip when the fishhook caught under his skin. The scar was old, faded white, a remnant of forgotten pain. Had it been so easy to forget me? To forget what we’d had? Had he moved on from that pain so easily?
I turned away, planted my hand on the height of my desk and hauled myself up without assistance.
Now upright, I took in the expressions of the peanut gallery in my doorway. Dean Gould looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. Nellie clutched her throat. Erin was red-faced and stifling her laughter.
I cupped my forehead in one hand. “Young adult cancer patients typically don’t get enough counseling about reproductive health and fertility, or their sexual health. It’s a training video. One of my projects uses videos to train clinicians on how to discuss some of the stickier subjects in these areas. It also helps other patients know they’re not alone with the questions or concerns they may be too afraid to ask their own doctors. We took a poll to see what other topics our patients wanted featured with the remaining funds we have on hand. And . . . this was a popular suggestion among our female patients. This is the rough cut. We’re going to have it shot professionally with actors next month.”
Nellie stepped forward, her face frozen. “How interesting. We’ll discuss this later. Erin, why don’t Dr. Gould and I continue on with Mr. Rossi?” She rearranged her features before turning back to Nick. “I’ll let you know if Dr. Leffersbee is able to find some free time tomorrow.” She flicked a brief, venomous glance my way as she steered Nick and Dr. Gould out through the doorway and into the hall.
I gave their backs a thumbs up. “Thanks for stopping by,” I said, injecting my voice with the syrupy sweetness my mother used with guests who had worn out their welcome. My knees shook, but I stayed standing until the office door closed with a resounding thud. Only then did I allow myself to plop into my office chair with a pained groan.
God. What a disaster.
If life was kind, if fate was fair, this haunting should have resembled a Dickensian specter: weighted with the chains of disappointment, groaning with the misery of past heartbreak, moldering with the stink of indifference.
Not something straight out of my private fantasies. And yet, Nick Armstrong was back, had only improved with time, and was now one of the hottest men I’d ever seen. Given what he’d done to me, it was patently unfair.
But life is not fair. And fate, I’d long since learned, is a calculating bitch. That bitchy bitch-faced bitch.
Erin shut the door behind them. “Well. That was exciting. The most excitement I’ve had in some time.”
I huffed. “I’m glad you got a charge from it.”
“Zora.” Erin said the single word with great solemnity, then dissolved into unrestrained laughter. “What the hell just happened?”
I lowered my face into the cradle of my hands, noting the faint tremor in them. Now that the immediate danger had passed, my heart settled into a jitterbug rhythm that tripped up my breathing.
What the hell had just happened? I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe you can tell me.”
“Never mind.” She waved her hand in the air. “Tell me what’s going on with you and Mr. Rossi. You two are acquainted, clearly.” Erin stated the fact as she perched on the edge of the couch. “I knew he was full of shit. He tried to appear off-handed when he asked about you, but he didn’t quite pull it off. Something about the way he looked and the specificity of his questions. I’d planned on asking you about him,” she said, lifting her hands as if in supplication, “but he managed to find his way to you sooner than I thought he would. Are you going to meet with him tomorrow?”