How Much I Feel

by Force, Marie

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  Somehow.

  I should’ve called an Uber for Betty. My carefully calculated budget has no room for even incremental payments on a six-hundred-dollar debt. I’ll have to pick up some extra shifts at the restaurant to settle my debt with him as soon as possible. So much for thinking my waitressing career was over now that I have a big new job.

  “Don’t worry about it. I need to get back to the hospital, so can we please expedite this transaction?”

  “Fine,” I say through gritted teeth as he reminds me that my disaster is affecting his first day of work, too. I step back to give him room to sign the credit card slip. Sneaking a glance, I find his signature remarkably legible for a doctor and then berate myself for caring.

  After one of the workers delivers the Porsche to the parking lot outside the office, Jason takes a long measuring walk around it, checking every inch for damage.

  I twist my hands together and say two Hail Marys while I await the verdict. “Is it . . . Did they . . .”

  “She seems fine.”

  They probably hear my sigh of relief all the way up in Broward County.

  Jason opens the passenger door and gestures for me to get in.

  I let out a yelp when my ass connects with sizzling leather seats.

  “Watch out, the seat might be hot.”

  “Gee, thanks for the warning.”

  Needing to do something with my restless hands, I reach for the seat belt and have it secured by the time he slides into the driver’s seat. Here I am sitting in the world’s sexiest car next to what could very well be the world’s sexiest man with a rat’s nest on my head, a seat burn on my bum, holes in my hose and a vinyl smear on the front of my pricey suit. This could happen only to me.

  “I really will pay you back as soon as possible.” If I have to waitress every night for weeks, I will pay back every dime he’s spent to get me out of this mess.

  “You can pay me back in trade.”

  CHAPTER 3

  CARMEN

  I stare at him, my mouth hanging open in shock.

  “Close your mouth, and get your mind out of the gutter.” His chuckle is sexy and galling. “As appealing as your idea might be, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  I feel my face go hot and not from the bright sun beaming down on us. “You don’t know what I was thinking!”

  “Oh, please. Like your every thought doesn’t show on your face.”

  “It does not!”

  “Does too.”

  “I never knew neurosurgeons could be so immature.”

  That draws another laugh from him. “Our childlike brilliance makes us so charming and lovable.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever.” I’m surprised there’s room left for me in the small car with all the space his overblown ego requires. Good thing the top is still down.

  “What I meant was I need your help.”

  “You need my help? With what, exactly?” I can’t wait to hear this.

  “My reputation has taken a rather serious hit, and I need to fix it—fast.”

  I’m intrigued by the agony I hear in his voice. I know what agony feels like, and despite my best intention to stay removed from him, I find myself shifting in the seat so I can better see him. And, oh my . . . He’s put on the Wayfarer sunglasses, has one hand casually looped over the wheel of the powerful car, and the sleeve of his starched dress shirt is rolled up to reveal the golden hair and an expensive watch on his forearm. Yum.

  “What do you mean? What happened?”

  “When we get back to the office, do a search for my name. The whole thing is out there for the world—and the board at Miami-Dade General—to see.”

  I gasp. “You met with the board?”

  He releases a short laugh. “If you want to call it that.”

  “Oh God.” Is it possible to get thrown in jail and fired in the same day? I fear I’m about to find out. My stomach takes a sickening dive. Giordinos don’t get fired, and they sure as hell don’t get arrested. When I think about the huge party my family held at the restaurant to celebrate my new job . . . I just can’t go back and tell them it all went to shit on the first day.

  “What?”

  “Mr. Augustino requested that I, um, keep you clear of the board meeting.”

  His hand tightens on the wheel. “Great,” he mutters. “You might’ve mentioned that to me.”

  “As if you gave me the opportunity!” Remembering him tossing me his keys and his gal pal has me scowling. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Because I want you to see what I’m up against before you hear my side of it.”

  “Are we talking personal or professional?”

  “Personal. Extremely personal.”

  There’s something about the way he says that . . . I don’t want to be interested. I do not want to know what personal matter has left his reputation in tatters. Yeah, sure. I want to know all right. I want to know so badly I have to resist the urge to ask to borrow his phone so I can start searching right away.

  My mind spins with scenarios and possibilities, none of them pleasant. I’m almost afraid of what I might learn about him. For some odd reason, I don’t want to read anything that will force me to dislike him forever. I much prefer the kind, thoughtful man Betty described to the arrogant, entitled jerk I expected him to be.

  “Just remember,” he says, glancing at me, “you can’t believe everything you read. There’s always another side to the story.”

  His words send a nervous flutter through my abdomen.

  We arrive at the hospital, locate the staff lot and secure him a parking pass rather efficiently in light of how the rest of my day has gone. When we’re parked in his assigned space, he stops me from getting out of the car. “It was wrong of me to ask you to take care of Betty, but I want to thank you for your help.”

  “Even if it cost you more than six hundred dollars and got your car impounded?”

  “You’ll pay me back, and the car is fine.”

  “It might take me a while to pay you back, especially if I get fired.”

  “Why would you get fired?”

  “Hello? I failed to do the only thing my boss asked me to do and ended up in jail on my first day of work. If he doesn’t fire me, it’ll be a flipping miracle.”

  “He doesn’t know about the jail thing,” Jason assures me. “Mona promised me she wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Mona?”

  “The executive assistant who took your call from, um, jail. When she tracked me down and told me what’d happened, I asked for her discretion.”

  “And I’m sure she was more than happy to give you anything you requested.” I can’t help the disgust that drips from every word I say to him. Guys like him can get any female they encounter to march to their orders just by looking at them with their bedroom eyes.

  “She assured me she wouldn’t tell anyone, which I figured would be important to you.” His shrug makes me feel small for questioning his methods. How does he manage to infuriate me and endear himself to me in the same second? He’s giving me whiplash. “And by the way, I like your hair all curly like that.”

  I reach up to smooth the ratty disaster area. “Now you’re just making fun of me.” I get out of the car and slam the door, setting out for the nearest entrance, aware of the warm breeze rushing over the hole in my hose.

  Jason catches up to me. “I’m not making fun of you. I like your hair curly. Why is that a felony offense?”

  “Because it’s not curly. It’s frizzy. It looks horrible! I spent an hour straightening it this morning for nothing.”

  “Doesn’t look frizzy to me. It looks curly. And sexy.”

  “You should probably have your eyes checked before you go digging around in anyone’s brain if you think my hair looks good right now.”

  He cracks up, and of course laughter is a very nice look on him. “First of all, I don’t ‘dig around’ in people’s brains,
and second of all, I think it looks nice like that, better than it did when it was all straight and severe looking earlier.”

  “You need to stop talking.”

  “And you need to learn to take a compliment.”

  If we weren’t about to enter the hospital, I might’ve screamed in frustration or compounded my troubles by assaulting the hospital’s new neurosurgeon. He drives me freaking bonkers—in more ways than one. In the lobby, we wait for the elevator. I push the number five and wait for him to choose his floor. When he doesn’t, I look over at him. “Where’re you going?”

  “To meet with Mr. Augustino to find out what the board decided to do about me.”

  “Do about you? What does that mean?”

  He leans against the back wall of the elevator in a relaxed pose that’s in sharp contrast to the tension that has his jaw pulsing and his lips flat. “Apparently, there was some considerable debate about whether they’re going to extend privileges for me to practice here.”

  “Aren’t you supposedly some sort of world-class pediatric neurosurgeon?”

  “Supposedly.”

  “So why would they deny you privileges?”

  “Do that search. You’ll find it highly illuminating.”

  In the executive suite, the woman I assume is Mona greets us with a sympathetic look for me and a lustful gaze at Jason. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I haven’t told anyone.”

  “Thank you for that.” It occurs to me that I owe Jason a debt of gratitude for anticipating the need to keep a lid on what happened to me. Without his quick thinking, the news of my stint in jail would be ripping through the corridors, and I’d be a laughingstock on my first day.

  “Did that happen in jail?” Mona asks, pointing to the smear on my suit jacket.

  I almost forgot about that. Funny how that disaster pales in comparison to the others that followed.

  “It was an industrial accident,” Jason offers in a grave tone.

  “Oh.” Mona’s eyes go wide with dismay as she tries to figure out what kind of industrial accident I encountered. I figure she’s in her early fifties and single, judging from the lack of a ring on her left hand. She has a sweet round face and an unfortunately choppy haircut. To Jason, she says, “Mr. Augustino is available whenever you’re ready.”

  “Well,” he replies with the charming smile that makes my insides go batty and my panties damp, “here goes nothing. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” Mona says, clearly enthralled.

  “Yes.” I clear the lust from my throat. “Good luck.”

  He leaves us with a deceptively jaunty wave and heads for the hospital president’s spacious office on the far side of the suite.

  “He’s dreamy, isn’t he?” Mona watches him until he’s out of sight.

  Since the last thing I want to talk about is Jason Northrup’s dreaminess, I turn the focus toward work. “Is Taryn around?” She’s my other boss, the director of public relations.

  “You haven’t heard? She had her baby early. She’ll be out for the next six weeks.” Mona lowers her voice. “I don’t think she’s coming back, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

  This day goes from bad to worse, and I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. I break into a fit of nervous laughter that I struggle to contain. I’m going to be either laughing hysterically or sobbing any second. The chance to work for Taryn was one of the things I was most excited about. She seriously impressed me with her savviness during my interviews. I was looking forward to learning a lot from her.

  “She left instructions in your office and a thumb drive with some other documents she thought you’d find useful. She must’ve had a premonition that she was going early. Let me know if I can help with anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  I step into my office and sink into the desk chair. I’m hungry, thirsty, miserably sweaty and disheveled beyond repair. But before I attend to any of those pressing concerns, I fire up my computer and open the browser to type Jason’s name into the search engine.

  A quick scan of the headlines that pop instantly onto the screen shocks me to the core. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

  JASON

  After a grueling thirty minutes with Augustino, I return to Carmen’s office, trying to prepare myself for her disappointment and disillusionment. I sensed her attraction to me even though I could tell she didn’t want to be attracted. Interestingly, I had the same reaction to her—instant attraction at the worst possible time.

  Arriving this morning to find her waiting for me outside the hospital, so prim and pretty and put together, reawakened something that’s lain dormant in the long weeks since “the disaster.” The urge to muss her up, to unbutton that sexy power suit and run my hands over her extravagant curves the suit tried—and failed—to hide, took me by surprise. I wasn’t lying when I told her I like her hair curly and loose, as if she just rolled out of bed.

  The thought of her naked in a bed catches the attention of the libido I feared was lost forever—until images of her in white cotton underwear assailed me earlier.

  Forcing myself to put a damper on the salacious thoughts—for now anyway—I stand in the doorway to her office, arms propped on the doorjamb over my head, watching her dark eyes dart across the screen as she reads about what a scum-sucking slimeball I am. What she won’t find anywhere in the vast coverage of what happened in New York is mention of how I was victimized by a woman with an agenda.

  She’s so absorbed in her reading she doesn’t notice me there until I decide she’s probably seen enough to get the gist. “Quite a story, huh?”

  Jolting in surprise, she looks up at me, and in that brief instant of eye contact I see all the things I feared as well as a healthy dose of revulsion that makes me sadder than I’ve been since it first happened.

  I drop into a chair, exhausted after weeks of sleepless nights tinged with heartache and serious fear over what’s to become of my once-promising career. “Too bad most of it isn’t true.”

  “What part isn’t true? The fact that she was married to the chairman of the hospital’s board, or the part where you slept with her for months before he caught the two of you together?”

  I expected the indictment, but for some reason it hurts more than usual coming from her. “The part where she didn’t tell me she was married and used me to get rid of a husband she’d grown tired of.” I watch Carmen’s expressive face as she processes the information, but unlike earlier when her every thought and emotion were on full display, now she’s closed off, guarded.

  “You’re saying she set you up.”

  I nod. “And I fell for it hook, line and sinker. Her husband demanded my immediate resignation, but the board balked because of all the research money and grants tied to my work. So they voted to ship me off to their sister facility in sunny Florida. Turns out, though, sunny Florida isn’t so sure it wants me, either. And in case you didn’t know, it’s damn tough to practice neurosurgery without hospital privileges.”

  “What did Mr. Augustino say?”

  “He jumped at the chance to hire me when offered the opportunity. Unfortunately, he wasn’t told about the scandal, only that I was looking for a transfer. So his neck is on the line now that I’m here, bringing all that crap with me. The board is apparently unhappy with him—and me—to have been put in this position and wants two weeks to thoroughly review the situation before they decide.”

  “What’re you supposed to do in the meantime?”

  “Cool my heels, play tourist, repair my reputation. You know, the usual stuff people do on vacations.”

  “Why don’t you just quit and go somewhere else? Surely you’d have no trouble finding a position elsewhere. I read your CV, too.”

  She’s referring to my curriculum vitae, which boasts an impressive list of accomplishments and cutting-edge surgical achievements, for all the good that does me now. “Because I have years of work tied up in research and grants that’ll be lost if I leave. The only way I
can continue my work is to stay within the East Coast Health Partners system. This was the only pediatric neurosurgical opening available in a state where I’m already licensed. East Coast requires us to be licensed in multiple states so we can be called in to consult on cases where needed. I’ve actually worked at Miami-Dade once before, when I was brought in to assist with a surgery.”

  Carmen rolls her lip between her teeth. “Why didn’t you go public with how she set you up? You could’ve saved yourself a lot of grief if you’d told your side of it.”

  “Two reasons. One, it’s damned hard to refute the fact that her husband caught us naked together in their Hamptons house.”

  Carmen winces at that.

  “And two, she has teenage children who don’t deserve to be dragged any further through the mud. It’s not their fault their mother is a calculating bitch who was cast as the victim in the media that savaged the handsome, douchebag neurosurgeon. To hear them tell it, I seduced the unsuspecting wife and mother. She never said anything to discount those assertions.” Even all these weeks later, it’s still hard to reconcile the calculating bitch with the warm, giving woman I thought I was in love with.

  “Her children matter more to you than repairing the damage to your reputation?”

  This is where it gets sticky. “My father had a rather ambitious extracurricular track record.” My dull, flat tone is the same one I’ve used anytime this subject has arisen over the last twenty years. “I remember far too well how it felt to learn he was cheating on my mother and to have the whole town talking about it. I can’t be responsible for doing that to innocent kids who can’t help what their mother is.”

  Is that admiration I see coming from her? And why does it matter so much to me? “Will you help me, Carmen?”

  “You need a team of crisis communication experts, not someone right out of school with hardly any experience—”

  “I want someone who needs a big win as much as I do. We’ve got two weeks to prove to the board that letting me join their staff won’t be a mistake. Can I count on you?” I don’t mention that her morning exploits cost me more than six hundred dollars—not that I care in the least about the money—but she owes me a favor. “Carmen?”