Manhattan was an hour away. Shannon bit down on her lower lip and then blurted out the words that came from her heart, too quickly to be censored by her mind. “Why don’t you stay the night?”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
“‘Think’ isn’t a word commonly associated with certainty.”
“You’ve accused me of overthinking this, and now that I’ve decided to stop, you’ve decided to overthink it instead? Are we ever going to get our timing right?”
“If you’ve decided to take things a day at a time, then I can, too.” He grinned. “Life’s too short to hesitate, and too long to live with mistakes longer than necessary.”
“Is there a contract I need to sign?”
“We’ll go on good faith. We got through a week that way. I think we’ll survive the weekend.”
Chapter 8
Brandon awoke with a start. For a moment, he stared at his unfamiliar surroundings before turning his head to study the lovely profile of the woman who slept beside him. At least she didn’t run away at dawn.
But where would she run? It’s her home.
He swallowed the ironic chuckle. Perhaps one week and one day was too soon to fall in love, but it wasn’t too soon to conclude, based on facts, that he had found someone with whom he could realistically build a long-term relationship. The one month that had separated their two physical encounters had proved one thing—he had not been able to keep his mind off Shannon. The dinner with her last night had reinforced one simple fact—he enjoyed spending time with her. Her unbridled enthusiasm for new challenges offset his calculated approach to life and its risks. Their education and backgrounds were comparable. Her long-term outlook, wanting both a family and a career, matched his. He just had to convince her of it.
All he needed was a chance to show her that their compatibility was real and it would work over the long term.
As long as he stuck to the logical and rational path, he would make the correct decision on his new relationship. No more repeats of the Cynthia situation. No more letting my emotions get the better of me.
He breathed a kiss on Shannon’s forehead before slipping quietly out of the bed. He tugged on his shirt and pants, and headed, barefoot, down the stairs. The clean, sleek lines of her furniture—a more upscale version of IKEA—was offset by her kitschy decorations, including painted plaster, handmade pottery, and framed cross-stitch patterns—Shannon’s art projects, no doubt. In the place of honor above her fireplace was the watercolor she had worked on while in Tuscany. If he hadn’t known exactly where she had sat while painting it, he would never have known that the green-splattered globs of paint were vineyards and the splotches of purple were fields of lavender. It looked nothing like Tuscany, and perhaps, that was the beauty of the painting. Inexperience and the possibility of failure had never kept Shannon from launching on whatever daring plan or new adventure she had selected for herself.
Except relationships. Why was she hesitant about relationships when she clearly knew no shred of fear over anything else?
Women. Even the most intelligent ones are a confusing mass of contradictions.
He explored her pantry and her refrigerator, and had an omelet in the frying pan by the time she came downstairs, blinking back sleep from her eyes. Her hair was a tangled mess, but something about her made his breath catch. Perhaps it was the surprise in her eyes, or the hopeful smile on her lips. “Breakfast, for me?”
He chuckled, warmed by the lilt in her voice. “Yes, for you. I was going to bring it up for you—”
“I’ve never had breakfast in bed before.”
“Always a first time.”
Their eyes met over the kitchen island, and she turned and scurried out of the room. Brandon laughed, loaded a tray with her omelet, a bowl of cut fruit, and a cup of tea, before carrying it up the stairs to her room. He paused by the doorway and exploded into laughter. Shannon was sitting upright in bed, her hands folded in front of her like a prim maiden aunt. He set the tray on her lap. “Well, enjoy.”
“You’re going to have to help me eat it.” Shannon picked up the fork. “I have to leave in a half hour to open the clinic.”
“A good meal shouldn’t be rushed.”
“I know, but having breakfast in the first place should be considered an improvement, right?” She jabbed a fork into the omelet and brought it up to his lips, before feeding herself. “Goodness, this is excellent, and it came from my kitchen?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I think cooking is going to be my next new thing.” She took another bite of the omelet. “Is there a cookbook you’d recommend?”
“What about a personal coach? I know just the man for the job.”
“I…uh…” She averted her gaze.
“What the hell?” Brandon shook his head. “You’ve initiated the sexual contact both times, but when I allude to a longer-term relationship, you act like a skittish school girl—which I know you’re not, at least not in bed.”
She flushed. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Not if you don’t tell me what it is. Look, Shannon. I’m interested in you, and I hope you’ve figured it out. I understand that you don’t think I’m the right long-term guy for you, and I also understand that you don’t think you have time for a relationship right now, but yesterday, I thought we agreed to take this a day at a time.”
“Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. I…uh…instincts?”
“Or habit?”
She winced. “Perhaps a bit of both. You’re not like Jerry.”
“And that’s a good thing, right?’
“An excellent thing.” She wrung her fingers together. “I don’t know how to say this, but Jerry made me feel…weird.”
“Weird? About what?”
“Wanting different things…in bed.” Shannon looked away, her cheeks stained with embarrassment. “Things like…you know…”
“Showing off your body? Wanting to be held down? What exactly is wrong with that?”
“He said it wasn’t natural. Not for someone like me.”
“Which is what exactly?”
“You know…professional working woman. A doctor. Solidly middle class. Protestant family. Goes to church every Sunday kind of girl.”
“He said that? What the hell is wrong with him?”
Shannon’s head jerked up. “You don’t think…”
“You experiment with almost everything else, Shannon. Look at your crazy art collection downstairs. Why would sex be any different?”
“Because some things can’t be experimented with, in the same way that drugs and alcohol are, or used to be, off-limits for me. I know I experiment, but I also know there are limits, and I’m afraid of crossing those lines.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve seen kink, and trust me, if sexual fetishes were a big Gordian knot, you’re a tiny thread in that big messy ball. You’re dabbling on the edges of it; your little toe isn’t even really wet.”
“It just didn’t seem like something that would be right in a long-term relationship, you know?”
“So you decided to seduce me, play out your wildest dreams, and then dismiss me as a one-night stand?” His eyes narrowed. “Nice try. Didn’t work.”
“I’m starting to realize that.”
He grinned wickedly. “Your little flash of kink turns me on.”
She turned bright red. “I never meant—”
“Doesn’t matter what you intended. The point is it did, together with everything else about you. Promise me, Shannon. A day at a time. If I’m not right for you, I’ll walk away, but I swear, I won’t make you feel bad about who you are, because you’re adorable.”
She bit her lower lip. “Adorable isn’t really the look I’m working toward.”
“No, it doesn’t suit the middle-class-doctor-who-goes-to-church-every-Sunday look you’re striving for, but you are adorable, especially when that dimple digs into your cheek.”
“Right.” He pushed up from the bed, wishing that it were as easy pushing away his doubts. “Any chance of seeing you next weekend?”
The refusal was on her lips. He could see it in the hesitation in her eyes. “Never mind. Why don’t you call me when you think you’re ready for tomorrow, whenever that might be?”
She bit her lower lip. “I only have to work a half day at the clinic. I’ll be home by 2 p.m. If you’d like to hang out here, we could have a late lunch and perhaps spend the rest of the weekend together?”
The tightness in Brandon’s chest eased, and he leaned in to kiss her lips. “Sounds perfect.”
Brandon had the house to himself after Shannon raced off to work. Frowning, he settled down at the dining table and opened his briefcase. Jerry was an asshole. What right did he have to make Shannon feel wretched about who she was just because she didn’t match his image of what he wanted in someone he could take to a dinner party? At least he now knew what Shannon’s problem was. He had something tangible to work on, a way to direct his focus and energy.
He set his laptop to the side and reached for the folder Henry Hammerstein had given him. The big malpractice case—his chance to redeem himself and set himself back on the partner track. He opened the folder and his gaze raced across the page before focusing on the named defendant.
Northridge Urgent Care Clinic, Westchester, N.Y.
Shannon’s half-day at the clinic could not pass quickly enough. Odd how a five-minute conversation with Brandon over an omelet could begin unraveling that horrible knot of shame and uncertainty in her chest. She knew it would be a while before she could fully dismiss the memory of Jerry’s cold and studied disapproval, but the cloud of doubt was no longer as dark or as ominous as it had been.
Her step was a great deal lighter when she arrived back at her townhouse, shortly after 2 p.m. The first thing that struck her was the absence of the delicious scent of herbs and spices. With a jolt, she realized she had been expecting a home-cooked meal. Wow, presumptuous much? When had she gone from uncertainty over a possible relationship with Brandon to dismay over the lack of home-cooked meals? “Brandon?” she called out.
After a moment, he responded. “Here.” His voice snapped with irritation.
She walked into the dining room in time to see him shove a laptop and a folder into his briefcase. He looked up at her, and she froze, stunned by his narrow-eyed glare. “Brandon, are you all right?”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “I—” He shook his head. “—was working.”
“Okay.” She bit her lip. “I’m back now, and I’m done with work for the rest of the weekend. Did you want to go out and get some lunch?”
“Sure. Something fast, simple.”
“There’s a deli around the corner—soup, salad, sandwiches, that kind of thing.”
“Sounds great.”
She turned to the door. “Brandon, are you sure you’re all right? You’re incredibly…tense.”
He shook his head sharply. “It’s just work. I got distracted. Lost track of time.”
She chuckled, trying to infuse lightness and humor into the situation. “It happens to me, too. Like today, at the clinic, someone came in and—”
He placed his hand on her arms. “Let’s not talk about the clinic.”
She gaped at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t want to discuss the clinic right now.”
“Then what do you want to talk about?”
“Something else. Anything else.” The tone of his voice whipped out like a lash.
She jerked her hand out of his. “If you’re having a bad day, don’t take it out on me.”
“I’m not…I just…” He ground his teeth. “I should go. There’s a lot of work I need to do.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “All right. Fine. Go.”
He grabbed his jacket and strode to the door. “I’m sorry, Shannon.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” she lied even though her heart ached and her head throbbed as if it was about to burst. What’s going on? she wanted to ask, but she could not get the words out past her trembling lips. The last time a man had been as brusque and abrupt with her was moments before Jerry had told her that she was not meeting his needs and had walked out on her forever.
She wasn’t ready to hear those words from Brandon’s lips.
“Goodbye, Shannon.” He walked out of her townhouse and got into his car. The engine roared, and his car vanished behind a trail of exhaust. It was out of sight before Shannon realized one horrifying fact.
Brandon had said nothing about seeing her again.
Chapter 9
The weekend dragged but eventually rolled into Monday morning. Back at work, Brandon schooled his expression into cool professionalism before knocking on the open door of Henry Hammerstein’s office.
Hammerstein looked up from his perusal of the newspaper and waved Brandon in. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to talk to you about this malpractice case.” Brandon set the file on the desk between them before sitting down in the chair across from Hammerstein. “I reviewed it this weekend.”
“What do you think?”
“It’s not a strong case.”
“No, it’s not.” Hammerstein leaned back in his leather seat and laced his fingers across his chest. “That’s why I gave it to you. We need our sharpest talent on it. There’s a lot of money riding on it.”
“Is there? The defendant is a small urgent care center in Westchester. At best, it’s a going concern, but I doubt it’s rolling in cash.”
“The clinic itself probably won’t be paying out, but it will have malpractice insurance. The doctors will, too. If you can prove deliberate negligence on their part, the payouts could be massive.”
“The doctors’ insurance rates will jump.”
“Inevitably.”
“And the bad press will shut down the clinic.”
“More than likely.”
Brandon shook his head. “And what will that accomplish? A few people will collect a small financial payout, but Westchester will be short an urgent care center, one that has anchored the community for more than forty years—”
Hammerstein’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you going with this, Brandon?”
“Is the case worth it?”
“What are you suggesting? I’m sure the plaintiffs will be happy to settle outside of court, as long as they get paid, and as long as we do, too.”
“No, what I meant was whether the case is worth pursuing at all. The cost-benefit ratio doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, it’s your job to maximize the benefit, isn’t it?”
Brandon gritted his teeth. “It’s not—”
Hammerstein leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk. “I don’t understand. Are you saying that we should turn down this case?”
“We could convince them to drop it. They don’t have much ground to stand on, and whether they win or lose, it could mean the end of the clinic. I don’t think that’s what they want.”
“The plaintiffs know what they want, Brandon. They want to hold someone responsible for what they consider negligence, however weak their case may be. If it means the closure of the clinic—” Hammerstein shrugged. “—then so be it.”
“I think—”
“We’re taking the case; it’s not up for discussion. I know some of those plaintiffs personally. They’re not going to drop the case, and if we don’t take it, another firm will, and they’ll profit from it.” Hammerstein shook his head, a frown on his lips. “What’s the problem, Brandon? I thought the challenge would appeal to you. It’s exactly the kind of case to prove that you haven’t lost your edge after…what happened last year.”
Brandon’s breath escaped as a soft sigh.
“This case is important to the firm, and
to you, personally,” Hammerstein continued. His tone hardened subtly, and Brandon took it for what it was—a warning. “It’s your route to partner. I argued hard to give this case to you instead of to Travis. Don’t let the firm down. Don’t let me down.”
Shannon scribbled the prescription on a piece of paper and handed it to the young Latina. “This is for your pre-natal vitamins,” Shannon said in badly mangled Spanish. “You can find them at the grocery store. Make sure you take them every day, and then come back and see me in a month.”
The woman accepted the piece of paper with a trembling hand. “No tengo dinero. No tengo de seguros.”
No money. No insurance.
Shannon patted the woman’s hand gently. “Don’t worry.” She smiled. “Just come back here. I’ll see you.”
The woman mumbled her thanks and shuffled from the consultation room. Shannon followed her out, and Andrea met her in the corridor. “There are two more patients in the waiting room, but Curtis will see them if you want to grab a half hour for lunch.”
“I think I will.”
Andrea continued down the corridor but paused before opening the door that led back to the reception area. “How did your date with Brandon go?”
Shannon frowned. “I…don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“We had a great dinner and a great…after. The next morning, we kind of agreed that he would stay for lunch.”
“Kind of?”
“All right. I confess I was a bit half-hearted about it, but I realized he was right. I was over-planning, saying ‘no’ now when what I really meant was ‘no’ sometime in the distant future, if at all. But then, I guess he changed his mind in the time it took me to make up mine.”
“What do you mean he changed his mind?”
“He’d all but talked me into giving us a chance, but when I got back that afternoon, he was distant. Snappy, and not in a funny way.”
“Did you try to talk to him?”
“I was about to, but he cut me off. He said he didn’t want to hear about the clinic.”
Lured: A Love Letters Novel Page 7
