His Forbidden Love (Manhattan Billionaires #2) - Ava Ryan Page 0,14
into.”
Unmitigated horror from Kelly. “Wait, what? What meeting? What does he want?”
“No idea. He texted me a little while ago.”
“Well, what does it say?”
I scroll over to the message so I can give her a direct quote: “It says, ‘Stop by my office after three. Thanks.’”
“Ally, you can’t just come running every time that arrogant SOB snaps his fingers,” she says with a bit more exasperation than I think is strictly necessary.
Easy for her to say. She doesn’t understand that, as interns, we were trained to come running every time our chief resident so much as thought our names. We were all like Pavlov’s dogs by the end of the year. Besides which, the female side of me is dying of curiosity to see what he could possibly want.
“Agreed. This is a one-off,” I say, standing. “Gotta go.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do,” I say, then I hang up and head into the suite.
The empty reception area has that fresh paint smell. It still has moving boxes stacked around the perimeter but manages to look as though it belongs to some chic boutique hotel, with boxy modern chairs and striking minimalist artwork on the walls. The windows provide a great view of Bryant Park. I can only imagine that the ladies-who-lunch set from the Upper East Side will stream here in droves, like pilgrims to a shine. This is all money in the bank for Dr. Jamison, who may as well have set up a printing press for thousand-dollar bills in one of his back rooms.
“Hi,” I say, approaching the receptionist at her window, where she’s arranging items on her desk. “I’m Ally Harlow here to see—”
A door a few feet away swings open without warning. Dr. Jamison appears, looking as handsome and imperious as ever in his lab coat and scrubs and generating a corresponding adrenaline surge inside me.
“Harlow,” he calls. “You’re late. Tick-tock.”
I check my watch. One past three.
I thank the receptionist and head his way, not bothering to hide my scowl as I ease past him into the inner area, which features exam rooms and offices around a central nurses’ station. The place is a hive of activity, with people scurrying to unpack and organize supplies.
It’s elegant. Cutting edge. The ideal office setup, if you ask me.
But I need to stay focused. I need to say my piece, find out what he wants and get the hell out of here before I relapse into obsession. I’ve got to avoid him at all costs. That’s the key.
I take a deep breath and hike up my chin, determined to stand my ground and remember that I’m no longer a peon. I’m also determined to ignore the subtly woodsy scent of his skin—he’s way too close—and its effect on my impressionable lady parts.
“Okay, first of all, you invited me to stop by after three,” I say. “Which I am doing. Second, I’m no longer on your service. I’m actually a fully grown medical professional now. Maybe you should remember that the next time you command me to show up at your office.”
“Old habits die hard,” he says, demonstrating zero signs of actual remorse. “How do you like my setup?”
“It’s amazing. You must be so excited.” Arrogant as he is, I don’t bother trying to hide my delight at his accomplishments. He’s worked hard and earned everything he has. I can’t take that away from him. “Congratulations. I’m thrilled for you. And congratulations on selling your medical device. You’ve been busy the last few years, haven’t you?”
He doesn’t quite smile, but a gleam of quiet pride commandeers his face.
I stare, arrested.
Swear to God, there’s no legal reason why anyone should be this sexy and handsome. It’s just not normal. It’s like beholding twinkling starlight in a bottle. There’s just no getting used to it no matter how much you try.
“Thanks,” he says gruffly. “Wasn’t sure you’d heard about that.”
I hesitate because I can’t decide whether there’s a veiled question in there or not. If there is, I’d rather not admit that of course I’ve followed his career and press coverage. To tell the truth, if I spent as much time on my exercise bike as I did scrolling through articles about him and his medical innovations, I wouldn’t still be worried about those twenty stubborn pounds.
“That kind of news travels fast,” I say, my cheeks and ears burning.
“Ah.”
“So when do you start seeing patients?” I ask as he leads me down the hallway.