“Okay, Boss.”
As I’m heading toward the garage, Pietro calls and gives me the address of a bar downtown. When I get in my car, I check the location on my phone. Almost an hour away. Fuck. I hit the steering wheel with my palm and rev the engine.
I lean back against the bar and lift my glass to take a sip of my drink when I notice a man in navy pants and white shirt entering. Shit.
“For God’s sake, Pip.” I groan. “Did you seriously invite Randy on our girls’ night out?”
“Of course not.” Pippa follows my gaze. “I might have mentioned it at some point. We were on the night shift together on Wednesday, but I definitely didn’t ask him to come along.”
“Fucking great.” I take a big gulp of my drink and watch Randy approach, a broad grin plastered on his dull-as-dishwater face.
“Girls! What can I get you?”
“We’re good, thanks,” I mumble.
I’ve told Randy so many times that I don’t want to go out with him, but he won’t leave me alone. If this goes on much longer, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t tell him off for asking me out and sending me flowers. That would be rude. Also, he’s a doctor who’s been working at St. Mary’s for five years, and I’m just a nurse completing the residency program. If it comes down to a public confrontation, everybody will take his side. Anaesthesiologists are hard to find.
“Would you like to go see a movie next week?” he asks.
“Randy, please. I’ve already told you that I’m not going out with you.”
“I have to pee,” Pippa jumps off her chair.
“Now?” I glare at her. I don’t want to be alone with Randy.
“I really need to go. I’ll be back in five.”
The moment Pippa’s gone, Randy places his hand over mine. “Come on, Milene. Just one date.”
“No.” I pull my hand away “Can you please leave?”
“Why are you being so difficult? It’s—”
Randy stops midsentence and looks over my shoulder. At the same time, an arm wraps around my waist.
“Sorry I’m late,” a deep baritone resonates next to my ear.
My body stiffens. I recognize that voice. He only spoke one word in the parking lot, but it’s hard to forget a voice like his. I turn my head and look up. The jacket guy. I blink at him, slightly stunned. It was early evening when we met before, and I wasn’t exactly in the best mental state, so I’d failed to fully take in his appearance. This time, my attention is more focused, and I’m seeing him clearly. Black suit, with a black shirt underneath. Both surely expensive. His face is all sharp lines and edges, as if carved in hard granite. He has an aristocratic air about him. The jacket guy is seriously hot.
“Milene?” Randy asks. “Who’s your friend?”
I smile at Randy. “This is Kurt. My boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” Randy asks while still staring at the jacket guy behind me. “Pippa said you broke up with him.”
“We had a fight, and I was angry, but we’re back together now.” I grin.
The arm around my waist tightens, and I find myself plastered against the muscular chest at my back.
“And we’re getting married in December,” the jacket guy says as he looks down at me. “Aren’t we, Goldie?”
Kurt and Goldie? I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. “Yup. December first.” How can he keep a straight face? “So you really need to stop asking me out, Randy. Kurt doesn’t like that one bit.”
Randy looks at the jacket guy, mumbles a sort of goodbye, and reluctantly heads toward the exit. The arm around my middle vanishes and I feel a pang of disappointment.
“Thanks for the save,” I say, reaching for my glass on the bar. “So, it’s a small world after all.”
The jacket guy regards me for a second, then moves even closer, leaning against the bar next to my stool. He has more gray than I thought, mostly at his temples, but also some up top. It’s unusual, but somehow the effect complements his face and those light brown eyes.
“Why Kurt?”
“I rewatched Tango and Cash yesterday. It was the first name that came to mind.” I shrug. “What’s your real name?”
“Kurt works for me just fine, Goldie.”
“Oh, a man of mystery?” I bring the glass to my lips, but it’s him I’m drinking in with my eyes. I don’t remember ever meeting a man with such a powerful presence before. He commands attention just by being in the room, and his looks seem to have little to do with it. “So, what do you do in life, Kurt?”
“You could say that I’m in management.” He tilts his head, and a strange look lights his eyes, as if he’s trying to figure me out. “And you? Delivered any more babies recently?”
“God, no. I’m still trying to process the first one.” I take a sip of my drink. “I was scared to death.”
“Yes, I could tell.”
“You could? Shit. I thought I’d hidden it quite well.”
The bartender leans in between us, asking if we need anything. I nod toward my glass for a refill while Kurt waves him off with his left hand, showing a black leather glove. Is he one of those germ-obsessed paranoids? His right hand is resting on the bar. No glove. Strange.
“Did you always want to be a nurse?” he asks.
“Yup. Since I was in third grade.”
“Why?”
“That’s a good question.” I nod. “I don’t know why. It’s something I always wanted. How about you?”
“I’m carrying on the family business. It’s what was expected.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” I drain my glass.
It was expected of me, as well. In my case, though, it meant being wedded to a husband chosen by the don. Well, not happening. My sister was lucky. Bianca ended up married to a man she adores, but there is no way I’m going back home to risk becoming a bargaining chip in the Cosa Nostra deals.
“Is that guy your ex, or something?” my mystery stranger asks, and I shudder.
“Randy? Christ, no.” I make a disgusted face. “Just a creep from work I can’t shake off. He’s been sending me flowers and pathetic notes for months.”
“What kind of notes?”
“The last one said my hair reminds him of sunrays.” I snort.
His gloved hand enters my field of vision, and my breath catches as he takes a lock of my hair, wrapping it around his finger. It’s a rather intimate act, touching someone’s hair, and it should bother me. It doesn’t. Not even a little.
“Not a romantic soul, are you, Goldie?”
“No, not really, Kurt.” I say, trying to keep my voice steady while my heart races.
He’s so close I can smell his cologne. It’s the same scent as when we met in front of the hospital, very discrete and slightly spicy, and I can’t help but lean forward just a little. His facial expression remains completely neutral as he asks, “And you also don’t like flowers?”
“I have nothing against flowers. I just don’t feel comfortable getting them from creeps,” I mumble into my glass. “And it looks like I’ve somehow obtained a second one.”