by Roni Loren
“I whiffed my boss’s birthday. Aren’t I so smart?” Ori groaned and adjusted the headband keeping her hair away from her face. “Apparently, it was the same day as the party. So not only did I forget, but I threw a party for someone else.” She cringed. “So these are already guilt-ridden, I-screwed-up cupcakes, and then they made them pink when I asked for white. Dr. McCray doesn’t seem like a pink kind of person. And now I’m wondering if forgetting altogether would be better than after-the-fact, fluorescent-pink cupcakes.”
Lane processed the words, lining things up in his head. Birthday. The party. Her safeword. The night he’d spent with Elle had been her birthday? She’d been at a party for someone else and no one had acknowledged her. Goddamn. No wonder she’d been in such a shit mood. It didn’t give her an excuse for the way she’d treated him, but it explained a lot.
“So what do you think?” Ori asked, holding up a cupcake. “Bring them with a big fat apology or just forget it altogether?”
“Is she on the unit right now?” he asked.
Ori glanced at the clock above the door. “Should be. She takes an early lunch and is usually back by now.”
“How about I take them over for you?” The words were out before he could evaluate them.
Ori’s brows went up as if he’d just volunteered to jump in a pit of snakes. “Why would you do that?”
Good fucking question. But he forced a shrug. “I’m heading out, and it’s on my way. I’ll tell her the dates got screwed up and the cupcakes were delivered to the wrong department. She doesn’t have to know it was your oversight. If you go over there right now, the guilt on your face is going to show. You look like you killed her dog.”
She blew out a breath. “I know. In sessions, I can keep a poker face but for stuff like this, I’m hopeless. You wouldn’t mind?”
“It’s not a problem.”
“Lord, I feel like a chickenshit for passing this off to you, but McCray’s been in a seriously bad mood lately. Now I get why, but man, I’m not sure I have the energy for it today. Two of my patients got into a fistfight, and I spent all morning dealing with their lawyers.”
“No worries,” Lane said, walking over to the table and closing the lid on the box of cupcakes. “I’ve got it. She already doesn’t like me, so I’m immune to the bad mood.”
Joleen lifted her head, surprise on her face. “How can she not like you? I mean”—she looked away—“what’d you ever do to her?”
Sexy, filthy things that I can’t stop thinking about. He shrugged. “Some personalities just clash.”
“I think a lot of personalities clash with hers,” muttered Joleen.
Ori smiled. “She’s not as bad as all that. She’s great with the patients and smart as hell. I’ve learned a lot from her. But I’ve also learned that when she’s in a mood, to steer clear. I’d like to stay on her good side.” She pushed the box toward him. “Which is why I’m smart enough to accept a gift of mercy when one comes along. Thanks, Lane.”
“You’re welcome. I am going to take a cupcake for payment though.”
She handed him the one she’d been holding. “All yours.”
He took a big bite, the icing getting on his nose, and lifted the box.
Ori laughed. “Now you have pink all over.”
He polished off the rest of the cupcake and swiped at the rogue icing. “They’re Pepto-Bismol colored but at least they taste good.”
“Well, there’s that. Let’s hope it’s enough.” Ori gave a little wave as he headed out the door.
But just as he stepped into the hallway, he heard Joleen groan. “God, he even looks hot eating a cupcake.”
He shook his head and smirked. He’d hold on to that. Some women liked him. He’d remind himself of that when he walked into Dr. Ice’s office without an invitation and with an armful of everyone-forgot-your-birthday cupcakes.
Why had he signed up for this again?
Chapter 5
Elle swallowed down two aspirin before returning to her case file and typing up her notes. This Monday was turning out to be full of Monday-ness. The whole rehab unit was on edge after a fight had broken out in morning group between a reality star and a Tony award-winning actor. Neither guy knew how to throw a proper punch, but both had put on quite a show, and she hadn't had a chance to get some quiet time in her office until now.
Everyone had wanted to process their feelings about what had happened. Normally, she would encourage the patients to talk things out. But she hadn't slept well for over a week, and after two separate processing sessions, she got the feeling that the residents just wanted to gossip. It was always easier to talk about other peoples’ issues rather than deal with your own.
Speculation was that the two guys were fighting over a woman—an actress who was checking in early next week. Both had denied it, but things would probably only get more complicated when the actress in question got here. Sometimes Elle felt like she was running a co-ed dorm at a boarding school instead of a substance abuse program. She’d learned quickly once she’d gotten into this field that people trapped together in places for too long tended to dissolve into sophomoric behavior, with most of them fighting or screwing or both.
Fighting and screwing. She shook her head as she typed. She’d resorted to that kind of behavior the night of the party, and she’d only been trapped at a table with Lane for half an hour. So maybe she shouldn’t judge. She could be just as immature. And just as hormonal.
Lord knows she hadn’t been able to get that night out of her head since. It had ended in a mess, but the journey to get there had been one hell of a good time. She hadn’t had sex light her up like that…maybe ever. Had it been anyone but Lane, she would’ve already invited the guy over again. With all the day-to-day stress at her job, she could use a big serving of that brand of relaxation in the evening. But the cost wasn’t worth it. Dealing with Lane Cannon wasn’t worth it. Not that it mattered anyway. She’d effectively burned that option to the ground and then stomped all over it. He’d outright told her she’d never have a night like that again.
As if he were the only man who could do that to her.
She sniffed. Well, screw him and his ego. He was just a guy. Not a superhero. Now that she’d analyzed what specifically turned her on about that night with Lane, she simply needed to find someone who was willing to play those kinds of games without all the baggage that came from sleeping with a guy like him. Someone who wouldn’t ask questions afterward. Someone who had no interest in getting into her head.
Her cell phone buzzed against the stack of papers she’d set it on, breaking her from her thoughts. The screen lit with her mother’s name.
She grimaced. Since when did her mother call when it wasn’t a holiday? It’s not like she’d bothered on Elle’s birthday. Elle hit the button to send it to voicemail. She definitely didn’t have the mental energy to deal with her mother today. She’d rather be back out on the unit, separating big, angry men with swinging fists than having a conversation with Cassandra McCray, which really was never a conversation as much as her mother subtly trying to pry into her personal life or why she never visited. As if why she never visited was a mystery.
Even before her mother had let her down in such a soul-crushing way, Cassandra had never had a particularly warm and fuzzy relationship with Elle. Her mom had been married to her career and hadn’t been that interested in motherhood. But since Elle’s divorce, things had gotten even more distant and strained. When they spoke, they talked about everything except what really needed to be talked about. It took too much goddamned energy—not talking about things. So Elle had learned to avoid interactions for the most part.
The phone rang again almost immediately. Same number. Her mom didn’t like to leave a voicemail, but that wasn’t Elle’s problem. “Give it up, Mom.”
She picked up the phone with intentions of turning the ringer off, but before she could silence it, there was a sharp knock on her door. The interruption startled her and made h
er drop the still ringing phone onto the rug beneath her desk.
“Dammit.” Distracted, Elle called out for whoever it was to come in and then bent down to grab the phone and silence it. “If you want to talk to me, leave a freaking voicemail. I do have a job, you know.”
“I’m aware.”
The deep rumble of a voice had her head snapping up, and she promptly banged it on the underside of her desk. “Son of a bitch.”
The ringing that had stopped with the phone started in her head. She rubbed the sore spot, and sat up to find Lane standing in her doorway with a white box in his hands and an unreadable expression.
“You okay?”
The spot on her head was throbbing but she gave a curt nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “I’m fine. Why are you here?”
His signature smugness touched his lips. “Always such a warm welcome from you, McCray. I bet you worked your way through college as a greeter at Disney World. Am I right?”
“Yep. Wore the ears and everything,” she said, not missing a beat. “Now answer the question.”
Because the sooner he did that, the sooner she could get him out of here. Just seeing him leaning against her doorframe with that lazy, self-satisfied way of his had her mind replaying the scene from that night in her head. Only the highlight reel, of course. Not the ugly parts. Not the part where she ended up alone on her living room floor having a freak out. Her dirty mind was fantastic at editing out the stuff she was supposed to be focusing on.
He lifted the box. “I come bearing cupcakes.”
At first, all she heard was I come. Boy, did he. With sexy grunts and brute force. She shook the images from her head. God, she turned into a horny teenager when she was around this guy. Pack the hormones away, Elle. She cleared her throat. “Cupcakes?”
He opened the box and revealed eleven cupcakes with hideous bright pink frosting. “These got delivered to the wrong building on the wrong date, and I’m guessing with the wrong color, because no one who wasn’t having a pretty, pretty princess birthday party would choose these. But they were supposed to go to you for your birthday. Happy late birthday, Elle.”
She kept her expression smooth, even though hearing someone finally wish her happy birthday had her throat tightening. She swallowed past the unexpected and unwelcome emotion. “What happened to the twelfth one?”
He set the box on her desk and the door closed behind him. “I did a poison test for you. They’re safe but turn your tongue and teeth colors.”
He stuck out his fluorescent tongue and then grinned a toothy, pink smile to demonstrate.
She couldn’t stop the snort that escaped. She pressed her fingers over her mouth, trying not to show any break in her stone wall.
He waved a hand. “No, go ahead. I know. So many jokes that can be made. Don’t let your head explode from not saying one.”
“You should get that checked.”
He gave another encouraging flick of his hand. “I know there’s more.”
“Did Miss Piggy at least buy you a drink before you went down on her?”
He grinned wide.
“Did she taste like bacon?”
He laughed at that one, a warm, open sound that he’d never made in her presence. “I knew there was a sense of humor in there somewhere.” He lifted an eyebrow. “And Miss Piggy bought me a whole meal, which is more than I can say for the last woman I slept with.”
She stiffened at that, and the smile that had slipped out fell away. “Thanks for bringing them by but—”
“You’re busy. Yeah, I’m sure you are. And I got that we’re not supposed to talk about it. But look, here’s the deal. I have a very low tolerance for drama in my life these days. This”—he pointed a finger back and forth between the two of them—“is drama neither of us needs. So consider what happened done. I do. Both of us should’ve known better. We didn’t get along to begin with. A hot night in bed isn’t going to change that.”
She tipped her chin up, trying to maintain her cool composure. “No, it’s not.”
He smiled. “Got you to admit that it was hot.”
“Lane.”
He lifted his hands. “Just messing with you. You make it too easy. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that it was your birthday and that no one knew. That sucks.”
She shrugged, though the move felt tight. “I wasn’t interested in celebrating.”
“Oh, come on. Everyone should celebrate their big twenty-one.”
She straightened the file in front of her, needing to do something with her hands and searching for a way to get him out of her office before she did something embarrassing—like let him see exactly how much this conversation was getting to her. “Don’t mock me, Lane. I’m well aware that we’re in different age brackets. I’d rather not remind myself of the cliché of the older woman taking a younger guy to bed on her birthday.”
He crossed his arms like a bouncer about to eject her from the building and gave her a bored look. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, doc. You didn’t seduce some college student. Well, technically you did, but—”
She stilled. “What?”
He smirked. “I’m taking classes, so technically a student, but I’m thirty. I can’t imagine we’re that far apart in age, and you didn’t take me to bed. That was the other way around. The taking, that is.”
“Lane,” she warned again.
“You’re blushing, McCray.”
She pushed the box of cupcakes to the edge of the desk, ignoring the heat running over her skin, and turned on her terse doctor tone. “Thanks for bringing these by, but I don’t want them. Put them in the break room for the staff. I need to get back to work.”
He glanced down at the box and his affable expression fell away at her brusque dismissal. “So that’s how it’s going to be? I’m just another worker to do your bidding?”
She stared at him, not offering a response.
“Right. Well, save your directives and bring the doughnuts yourself. I’m not your employee. Not right now. And not that night.” He flattened his hands on the edge of her desk, his green eyes calm but holding her gaze without reprieve. “Hear me, Elle. You can’t control me with your money or intimidate me with your position, so stop trying.”
“I didn’t mean—”
He pushed off the desk and straightened. “Yes, you did. It’s your way. But I’m sticking to my no-drama clause and am going to let it go this time. Here, let’s practice treating someone like a normal co-worker. Dr. McCray, I have brought you a treat from your dedicated staff with belated birthday wishes.”
His tone was breezy, the words painfully polite.
She hated that version of him, the falseness of it all. But what else could she do? He was right. They needed to bury this so they could work together. If they kept arguing every time they saw each other, she’d just end up pissed off, frustrated…and completely turned on. Something about their clashing did it for her. So the best defense was treating him as if he were a benign colleague. “Thank you, Lane. I appreciate you walking them over.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Have a great day.”
“Right.” A little smile touched his lips, and he tucked his hands in his pockets. “Polite looks so wrong on you, doc. But I appreciate the effort.” He turned for the door. “Enjoy the cupcakes.”
He strode out without looking back, giving her an unimpeded view of his wide shoulders and well-sculpted backside. The door clicked shut behind him before she’d gotten her fill.
Elle sagged back in her chair, all the breath whooshing out of her. God, she hated that guy.
And still wanted the hell out of him.
She sighed. What else was new? The scoreboard was only getting worse. Poor taste in men: three. Elle: zero. Story of her life.
She reached out and grabbed a cupcake from the box, pink teeth, calories, and sharing with the break room be damned.
That night, Elle picked at a kale salad, trying to offset the four cupcak
es she’d managed to polish off at work, as she flipped through movie stations. But she wasn’t really hungry and she was looking through the TV instead of at it. Maybe she was tired.
No. She stabbed a slice of tomato. She was restless and annoyed and…lonely.
Lonely. The word rattled around inside of her and made her stomach turn.
She set aside her salad and reached for her glass of wine instead. Usually she was one-hundred percent fine with being alone. Growing up, she’d gotten accustomed to it. Her parents had both worked long hours, and she was always left home and responsible for her younger sister, Nina, when the housekeeper left for the day. Then once Nina hit her preteens, Elle didn’t even have that on her plate. Nina was always out at a friend’s house or a sleepover. The girl had popularity as a part of her DNA and had never been short on invitations. Elle had been less outgoing and had spent most of those nights reading, studying, or working on some hobby or another. So flying solo was her default setting.
But lately, after Donovan, and particularly since her night with Lane, her evenings had felt vaguely empty and…depressing. She took a measured sip from her glass and turned that word over in her head. Depression. It was an ugly, scary word. One she was far too familiar with. After her marriage had fallen apart, she’d been walloped with a bout of it that had lasted for months and had left her feeling dangerously hollow.
She’d confided in a friend from med school when things had gotten bad enough that she was finding it hard to get out of bed and do her job. She hadn’t wanted to die. But she just didn’t care about…anything. She’d overslept. She’d barely eaten or had eaten everything in sight. She’d only put in the bare minimum effort at work. Being cheated on by her husband was bad enough. She hadn’t wanted to add unemployed to her list. And she certainly hadn’t wanted to give her ex the satisfaction of knowing he’d broken her. She hated knowing that she could be broken by someone. That she’d allowed herself to be that vulnerable. So she’d decided to do what she could to try to fix it.
Ainsley, the friend she’d told her secret to, had suggested therapy and meds. Elle had sucked at talk therapy. Doctors were notoriously bad patients, and she had been beyond difficult. She’d quit a few weeks in. But the prescription had helped, and once she was able to get some of her energy back, she’d forced herself to start eating right and exercising again, and had thrown herself into her work and research. Eventually, it’d gotten her out of the hole, and all that hard work had afforded her an opportunity to interview here at The Grove—a job she’d wanted for a long time.
