How Much I Feel - Marie Force Page 0,11
letting me join their staff won’t be a mistake. Can I count on you?” I don’t mention that her morning exploits cost me more than six hundred dollars—not that I care in the least about the money—but she owes me a favor. “Carmen?”
She makes me wait a long time before she replies. “I want the full story before I agree to anything.”
“Fine.” I stand to leave. “I’ll tell you the whole sordid tale tonight over dinner.”
“Wait. I never said anything about—”
“Please?” I give her my best imploring look.
After a long pause, she writes something on a piece of paper and hands it to me.
Her address.
I’m weak with relief. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Pick you up at seven thirty?”
“That’s fine.”
Right at seven thirty, I park on the street outside her building and walk up two flights of stairs to Carmen’s apartment. I feel guilty about the way I insisted she see me tonight. The fact is, I don’t know what else to do. I need someone who knows the local area and can help me figure out a plan to ingratiate myself with the hospital board so they’ll take a chance on me.
If they don’t, my career and years of research will be in serious jeopardy.
I can’t let that happen. I’m so close to a critical breakthrough that’ll have a major impact on the treatment of pediatric brain tumors. It’s important work that I’ve devoted tremendous time and resources toward, and I can’t let one conniving woman ruin all that progress.
As I knock on the door, I refuse to give her that in addition to what Ginger has already taken from me, namely my reputation as well as my faith in humanity and womankind.
The door opens, and once again, I’m struck speechless by the sight of Carmen Giordino. She’s wearing a black wrap dress that accentuates the curvy figure that makes me want to drool. Her dark hair is down around her shoulders, and I’m delighted she’s left it curly rather than straightening it into submission.
When I say the last freaking thing I need is another romantic entanglement with someone associated with my work, I mean that with every fiber of my being, and yet . . . I’m incredibly attracted to this woman.
“Come in. I’m almost ready.” She gestures to the kitchen. “I opened a bottle of wine if you want some. Glasses are over the dishwasher. I just need another minute.”
I can’t imagine what she still needs to do to improve on perfection, but I know better than to ask. I wander into the kitchen, pour half a glass of red wine and wander around her small but stylishly furnished apartment. My gaze is drawn to an array of framed photos on the wall. One is of Carmen with a handsome dark-haired man in a police uniform. Next to it is their wedding picture.
I suddenly remember what happened earlier at the police station while recalling my earlier observation that she doesn’t wear a wedding ring. I realize with a sinking feeling that she must be the widow of a police officer. Before I can begin to process this new information, she returns, bringing a scent with her that makes me want to get closer to her.
She notices I’m looking at her photos.
I feel like I should say something. “Handsome guy.”
“Yes, he was.”
“What happened?”
“He was shot and killed on the job when he walked in on a robbery in progress at a convenience store.” The words sound well practiced, as if she’s said them a thousand times before.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She takes a sip of her wine. “We’d been together since our freshman year of high school and married almost a year.”
I ache for her. “What was his name?”
“Antonio, but we called him Tony.”
“You were a beautiful couple.”
She smiles even though her dark eyes are sad. “We were happy together.”
“How long ago did you lose him?”
“Five years. He was in his second year on the job.”
“You must’ve been very young at the time.”
“I was twenty-four.”
“Oh damn. I really am so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
Something about the way she says those words indicates that even though five years have passed, the loss is still fresh for her in many ways.
“Where should we go for dinner?” she asks.
“You’re the local expert. You tell me.”
“What do you like?”
You. I like you. The words pop into my brain, an involuntary reaction to an innocuous question and the sort of thought I have no business having toward my new colleague. “I’ll