Friday. Fourteen days and I still haven’t given up—or committed murder. It’s seven in the morning when my phone rings. Amber’s name flashes across my screen.
“Yeah?”
“We’re cranky,” she jokes.
I stretch my arms, dropping the phone, but yell, “No. I’m tired.”
“Are you finally on your way home?” I can vaguely hear her question.
“Just a second,” I say as I leave the bed to get dressed.
If Fisher arrives, he won’t catch me wearing anything but a pair of tiny shorts and a raggedy t-shirt. I need to find a laundromat or…I hope I don’t have to go to the lake to wash my clothes because they don’t have the technology. I’m almost out of clothes.
“Okay, what were you saying?” I ask once I grab my phone from the top of the bed.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“I want to.” I think.
“You don’t need to prove to us that you can do this.”
“But I can do it,” I insist.
Am I being stubborn? Yep. There’s no way in hell that I’m leaving this place without knowing what I want to do with the rest of my life. Maybe in a few months, I’ll discover that medicine isn’t my calling. If that’s the case, I’ll find a hobby or a second career. There’s a study that says most Americans change careers at least three times in a lifetime.
“Sure, but why do it?”
If I tell her, will she understand?
How can I explain to her that even when I haven’t seen any patients, and I might be poor by the end of next month, I’m happy? I’m away from the pressure of everyone who knows me. I love Amber but even she can be pushy and her need of winning and knowing what she wants from life screws with my head. I want to compete against her, and I shouldn’t.
“One of the reasons I’m staying is because I like a good challenge.”
“I’ll let you off the bet.”
“It’s not about the bet, it’s about trying to make this practice the best, even if it is small.”
Can you? Because you don’t have any patients. Okay, so there are a few things I need to work on, but it’s doable, isn’t it?
After a long silence, Amber breaks it. “Are you okay?
“I’m totally fine.”
Peachy. I barely slept, and I’m concerned about my future, but I don’t have the stress of everyone trying to butt into my life.
“You’re not. You want to be stubborn, so be it. I’ll call you next week to see what time you need me to send the car to pick you up from the airport.”
I don’t tell her that I’d need a U-Haul to drag my things home. Do I even have money to move out if this doesn’t work? It doesn’t matter. I’ll make it work, at least until this place is good enough to sell.
Chapter Eleven
Nathalie
I’m an ER doctor. Well, I was. I worked a hectic schedule. Ten to fourteen-hour shifts were the average. I enjoyed working at night. My sleep pattern was all over the place, but I never felt as tired as I do in this small town where the head of nonsense barely sleeps and keeps me awake all night long.
It never fails that he doesn’t let me sleep until he goes home. Last night he didn’t go home at all. Is he doing this because he let me borrow the shop’s washer?
What is wrong with him? Since I can’t be responsible for my actions, I drag my ass to the coffee shop. There are plenty of people here at seven in the morning. With so many witnesses, I might not kill him. The moment I enter the shop and spot Fisher, I point at him. “You!”
He gives me that lazy smile that if I didn’t hate him, I’d find sexy. “You’re up early, Doc. And a little grumpy. Did you go to bed late?”
Is he freaking kidding me?
“I didn’t sleep, no thanks to you,” I groan.
He doesn’t acknowledge me. He’s focused on his magical espresso machine. The least he could do is put some of that caffeine into an IV solution so I can plug it into my veins. I could use the needle to stab him and let him bleed. If we were in New York, I could push him into the street and watch a few cars run over him.
“When I can’t sleep at night, I try doing some exercise,” he says, looking over his shoulder and grinning. “Let me know if you want me to take care of that. I have a few ideas on how to tire you out.”
“Do you know why I’m tired? Because you felt like playing music all night long. Did you have to do it? Do you ever go to bed? Are you a vampire or some kind of paranormal being who doesn’t need sleep? You suck people’s souls, don’t you? First, you isolate them, then you torture them and—”
“Here, drink this. It’ll make you feel better.” He interrupts me by handing me a cup of his magical dark elixir.
I take a small sip, and it gives me a zing of energy. His coffees are that good. I hate that even when I want to despise him, I can’t. He makes it so difficult. I’m addicted to his coffee and some days to his voice, but I won’t admit it.
“Did you put some kind of drug in it?”
He laughs at me.
He actually laughs.
“Why would I do that?”
“So people will drink it and become your slaves for eternity.”
He brushes some strands of hair from my face and smiles. “You’re cute, even when you’re grumpy.”
“I swear, I’ll figure out where you live and kill you in your sleep.”
“Eggs, breakfast burrito…what can I serve you today, Doc?”
I sigh. “Do you think breakfast is going to solve this issue? You were drinking with your buddies and partying all night long.”
“As one does on Sundays before something important happens,” he states, walking behind the counter. He shows me a muffin. “Do you want to start with this while I scramble some eggs?”
“Ugh.” I grab the delicious pastry, which, as usual, melts inside of my mouth.
Why can’t he just be annoying?
It'd be so easy to ignore him, but it’s impossible when he shows up at my door with food, plays the piano like a…I don’t even know who else is as extraordinary as him. Plus, he cooks like a master chef. I bet he could go on one of those TV shows. He’ll win the audience with his sexiness and his charm. He’s even funny. He’ll win the popular vote too because his people skills are impressive. Also, he’s hot.
Nathalie focus.
You’re mad at him.
You have to make him understand that playing music at odd hours is wrong. “What can be so important that you deprived us of sleep?”
“That’s classified.”
“I hope it’s a matter of life or death, or the next time I’ll be the one doing the killing.” I glance at him from head to toe. “And you’ll be the victim.”
Something beeps and he looks at his watch. “But I’m taking care of you, Doc. And if you allow it, we can fix the tension too. I’ll make sure that every muscle in your body is relaxed.”
The way he says it with a husky, sexy voice that promises all kinds of pleasure makes it hard to ignore him. I have to remember that he’s just playing, and this charade is the one he uses with anyone who has a pulse.