Been There Done That (Leffersbee #1) - Hope Ellis Page 0,19

a glance in my direction.

“Not half the way,” I protested. She was probably right, but I couldn’t go down as being that pathetic.

Leigh’s expression turned fierce. “And I’ll tell you now what I told you then. Screw that guy. Screw all of them, including,” she gestured back at Walker, “fuckboys who can’t bother to be honest with the women they’re dating, let alone themselves.” She gave a harrumph that would have made me laugh under better circumstances. “All while you’re sitting in the dorm alone, being a good little girl. All faithful and true while that asshole is Frenching women in the storeroom. And I hope you told him exactly that when you saw him today. Did you?”

When I hesitated, she groaned. “Aww. Shit. What exactly happened?”

I told them all of it, beginning with Nick’s sudden reappearance in my office doorway and ending with Erin’s exit.

Leigh’s mouth hung open. She held up her hand. “Am I to understand this man showed up after all these years, with no warning, and at some point you find yourself ass-up in front of him? While some recording plays about how you can’t get yourself off?”

“It’s a training—"

Walker shook his head. “Wait until Jackson hears about this.”

Leigh smirked, raising a brow at me. “Do we really care about what Jackson thinks? He’s never here.”

God. My life had finally imploded. And there was even more devastation to come.

“I’ve looked online.” We both turned to see Walker holding his head in one hand.

“You did?” I asked.

“I did. I hated seeing you so upset. But your librarian friend did better than I could. I have never found a trace of a Nick Armstrong.”

“He changed his name.” I shared a look with my sweet, sweet brother.

“Of course he did.” Leigh padded out of the kitchen, then returned with the iPad from my bag in her hand. “What’s the turd’s last name now?”

“Rossi.”

She resumed her seat, fingers flying across the surface of the iPad. Then suddenly, her eyebrow lifted toward her hairline. “Looks like Nick’s been a busy boy.”

My stomach spasmed at the obvious surprise on her face. I walked over to her on numb feet, barely registering my own movement.

“He’s . . . done well for himself. Very well.” Leigh turned the iPad around and nudged it in my direction. We crowded in together.

It was a magazine article in Forbes entitled, “He Did it His Way.” A photo of New Nick topped the page. In it, he lounged on a stone stairwell, elbows braced on his knees, strong forearms resting against his shins. A stunning view of a metropolitan city in the valley below served as the backdrop. From his elevated height, Nick resembled a lord of the realm. I took in the artfully tousled dark hair and the stubborn cowlick I’d stood on tiptoe to rearrange for him so many times. I stared into the depths of those vivid green eyes, searching for some sign, some clue to this man’s identity.

“Software engineering,” Leigh said. “Huh.”

I scanned the rest of the article. Nick had gone to the University of Michigan for software engineering in undergrad. Three years later he’d developed a powerful predictive tool which, with the aid of self-reported patient data and claims information, accurately forecasted catastrophic health events. A leading insurance company had acquired the algorithm for a reportedly undisclosed amount, but Forbes’ estimate was downright astonishing. Nick had gone on to establish his own company, working with a team of developers, engineers, actuaries, and clinicians to develop other groundbreaking innovations in health care technology. “The goal,” Forbes quoted him as saying, “is to empower patients to take charge of their own health with technology.”

Oh, Nick. I realized I had the tablet in a death grip and moderated my hold. I thought of my denied grant application and all the other work I’d attempted at the university. I shouldn’t be surprised that the past motivated us to act in such similar ways. Same purpose, divergent roads.

My head was inches away from Leigh’s as I leaned closer to enlarge the font and advance the text. Could she hear my heart slamming against my chest?

The article attempted to chronicle his past, which Nick rejected. “I’m from a small town in Tennessee, right outside of Knoxville. Nothing more interesting to report beyond that.” The reporter detailed his net worth and investment portfolio in painful detail before the article ended on a promising, almost prophetic note: Nick Rossi will revolutionize the way health care is delivered, the author concluded. The