He alights from the car with catlike grace, tall, muscular and even handsomer than his photo—of course. As he comes toward me, he flashes a cocky smile, and damn if every cell in my body doesn’t stand up and sing “Hallelujah” in a loud chorus of tightening nipples and dampening panties, which infuriates me.
I don’t want any part of me reacting to any part of him, but I’d have to be dead not to notice this man. And while I might’ve been mostly numb for the last five years, Dr. Northrup is living proof that I’m still very much a living, breathing woman who recognizes a hot man when she sees one.
He props Wayfarer sunglasses on hair that’s messy from the convertible. On him, messy is sexy. His golden eyes sparkle, his smile is straight out of a toothpaste commercial and his body . . . Wow. He must’ve spent as many hours in the gym as he logged in medical school.
I realize I’m staring but can’t seem to bring myself to blink. Have I ever seen a more perfectly beautiful man in my entire life? The thought makes me feel disrespectful to the memory of the only man I’ve ever loved and snaps me out of the stupor I slipped into at the sight of Northrup.
I clear my throat and clutch the portfolio more tightly to my chest, desperate to hide any evidence of my ridiculous reaction to him. “Dr. Northrup?”
“That’d be me. And you are?”
“Carmen.” I extend a hand that I pray isn’t sweaty. “Carmen Giordino, assistant director of public relations. Welcome to Miami-Dade General Hospital.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Giordino.” Somehow he makes the act of taking my hand, squeezing it lightly and releasing it into an erotic sex act that once again steals the breath from my lungs and the starch from my spine.
I hate him for making me react to him the way every other woman with a pulse has probably responded to him since puberty. I hate him even more when I discover he’s pressed a fifty-dollar bill into my hand. I’m about to ask him what it’s for when he fills in the blanks for me.
“Do me a favor, and please take Betty to the cafeteria, buy her some breakfast and send her off in a cab,” he says in a low tone that only I can hear.
“But—”
“Did someone ask you to meet me and see to my needs?”
The way he says the word needs has me imagining him sweaty, naked and at my disposal, which infuriates me. I’m not sure who I’m more pissed with—him or myself. I feel my face go hot, and when I open my mouth to respond to his outrageous request, nothing comes out.
“What I need is for you to take care of her.” He gives me an imploring look, and it’s all I can do not to swoon. “Okay?”
It’s insulting enough to be asked to babysit a neurosurgeon, but being asked to babysit his bimbo one-night stand is another story altogether. “I’m sorry, but I’m not willing—”
Ignoring me, he turns and gestures for “Betty” to join us on the curb. “Come on over and meet Carmen Giordino. She’ll help you find the cafeteria and a ride to the airport.” He kisses the blonde’s cheek. “It was good to meet you, but I’ve got to get to work now.”
“Thank you so much for everything, Jason,” Betty says with her worshipful gaze fixed on his perfect face.
Northrup flashes his version of a sincere smile. “My pleasure.”
I roll my eyes, imagining what “everything” included in this case. The pang of jealousy that nips at me only serves to further annoy me. What do I care if she got to take a spin with him?
He tosses his car keys to me, and I have the immediate choice of either catching them or letting them hit me in the head. I grab them a second before they would’ve hit me. “Can you find the staff lot and get Priscilla settled for me?” Winking, he adds, “Thanks. I owe you one.” Glancing at Betty, he flashes that brilliant grin. “Or maybe two.”
“But where’re you going?”
“To check out my new digs. I’ll catch up to you after a while.”
“I’m supposed to—” I stop myself when I realize I’m talking to his back. So now I’m babysitting a bottle blonde and a Porsche 911? This day just gets better and better. I’ve never been prouder of the years I spent sweating my way through college and graduate school than I am in this moment.
My low growl has Betty stepping back from me, tottering on sky-high heels. “I’m not really all that hungry.” Her nervous titter bugs the crap out of me.
I release my tight grip on the leather portfolio and let my arms drop to my sides, feeling utterly defeated an hour into my new “dream job.”
Betty’s eyes go wide, her red lips forming an O.
“What?” I look down to see what Betty is so focused on and notice that the veneer on my “leather” portfolio has baked onto the front of my very expensive and still-not-paid-for navy power suit. I let out a shriek of frustration.
“I’m sure it’ll come off at the dry cleaner.” Betty’s kind smile makes me feel bad about the nasty thoughts I’ve had toward an innocent bystander to my career implosion.
Deciding I have nothing to lose by making Betty my ally, I glance at the other woman, who towers over me thanks to those four-inch heels. “Could I ask you how you came to meet . . . him?”
“It was the oddest coincidence.”
Aren’t they all?
“I was at the luggage thingy in the airport waiting for my bags that never came and my now ex-boyfriend who never showed up to get me.” Betty swipes at a tear. “Then the airline couldn’t book me on a flight home until this morning. I used all my money and maxed out my credit card flying here to see the jerk who stood me up. No luggage, no money, no jerk. Jason saw me crying and asked if he could help. Thank God for him, or I would’ve had to sleep in the airport. He even took me out for a nice dinner and bought me a bottle of my favorite wine.”
“And what did he get in return for all this hospitality?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. Horrified, I’m about to apologize for my rudeness when she continues.
“Nothing.” Betty doesn’t seem insulted by my question, which she absolutely should be. “He did me a favor and asked for nothing in return. He even slept on the sofa so I could have the bed. Then the alarm on his phone didn’t go off. He was running late for his first day and was all stressed out. Do you know what time it is? My flight to Philly is at ten thirty. I’d like to see if they found my bag before then.”
I check my phone, see that it’s almost nine and eye the Porsche. “Get in.” I wonder if it’s possible to be fired on my first day. I’m about to find out as I slide into the scorching leather driver’s seat and kick off my heels so I can drive this thing. The car starts with a growl that vibrates through my body, reminding me of the tingling reaction I had to its owner. His car smells the way I imagine he does—citrus and spice and hot man.
I’m thankful to Tony for teaching me to drive a stick in high school. That skill is about to come in handy.
If my palms were sweaty before, they’re downright wet now as I navigate onto the busy interstate in a car that costs more than I’ll make in ten years. Dr. Northrup told me to park it, not drive it nine miles each way to the airport. What if I crash it or hit something? The thought makes me sick to my stomach, as does pondering what the humid breeze is doing to hair I spent an hour straightening earlier.