Love After Hours

by Radclyffe

  “Oh,” Margie put in, “we were just talking about having sex.”

  Blake groaned. “Margie, jeez.”

  Abby looked from one to the other. “What’s the verdict?”

  Laughing, Margie pointed to Blake. “She’s your mom.”

  “Not fair—it’s two against one.” Blake sighed. “We’ve decided it will be awesome…if, whenever.”

  “Oh,” Abby said casually. “That sounds just right, then.”

  “That’s what I said.” Margie kissed Blake’s cheek. “I’ll call you later. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Blake rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Like I can.”

  He watched his mom and his best friend head out the door, feeling really, really lucky to be him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Carrie and Presley arrived in the Harold Rivers conference room, named after one of the Rivers forebears and past hospital presidents, the room was nearly filled with the heads of all the major departments—medicine, surgery, pediatrics, cardiology, psychiatry, intensive care, and all the other subspecialties. The meeting was only the second division head meeting Presley had held since taking over the reins of the hospital earlier that year, and the department chairs and co-chairs had turned out in force. Sussing out the new power in town, most likely.

  Edward Rivers, the medical staff president and Presley’s father-in-law, stood by the big coffee urn on the table at the rear of the room with Harper, the chief of medicine and next in line after her father to head the medical staff. Flann came in wearing scrubs a minute before the meeting was about to start and joined her sister and father. Abby followed a few seconds later, although she wasn’t technically part of the hospital staff in the same way everyone else was. Part of the restructuring Presley had orchestrated to ease the hospital’s overwhelming financial burden had separated the emergency services department into its own domain. Abby’s status was more akin to Edward Rivers’s, but she settled in among the other heads of departments with a cup of coffee and a casual greeting.

  Carrie passed on more coffee—for some reason her nerves were jangling—and sat on Presley’s left. She opened her iPad, scanned the agenda, which she knew Presley would have committed to memory as she never worked from notes, and prepared to jot down key points of discussion, disagreement, or, hopefully, consensus.

  “Let’s get started,” Presley said, handing out slim blue folders containing the agenda and printouts of flowcharts and financials. Carrie had initially recommended Presley use PowerPoint, but Presley felt this was more personal and, for some of the staff, more what they were used to. She didn’t need to impress anyone or prove she was in charge. What she needed was to convince the skeptics among them she was one of them, with the same goals for the well-being of the hospital and its staff as them, and win their support. SunView Health Consortium might have bailed out the hospital, but as Carrie knew only too well, they were far from safe shores.

  Presley began her presentation and Carrie settled into the zone. She had long ago realized she was good at her job because she wasn’t an expert just at time management, which came naturally, but something else that also came naturally. She could mentally multitask, listening to what was happening around her, homing in on the important parts, while another part of her brain worked out other issues.

  The other issue today was different and uncharacteristically bothersome. As she followed Presley working through the agenda, noting and annotating as department heads jousted for funding, space, prime clinic hours, and all the other issues that division heads were expected to secure for their people, she was thinking about her next meeting. Her meeting with Gina Antonelli.

  Gina shouldn’t even be on her radar, but there she was. Grinning with that little hint of arrogant self-confidence, taunting her with dares, and catching her by surprise with the ghosts of sadness in her expressive eyes when she thought no one was looking. Now that Carrie had seen those haunted passages written on Gina’s face, she wanted to know more, wanted to know why, and, inexplicably, wanted to make them go away.

  The urge to search out, to know the reasons behind Gina’s contradictions, raised questions she couldn’t answer, and couldn’t ignore. Listen to her intuition, Presley had said. Risky advice in this case. The trouble was, she didn’t entirely trust her intuition where Gina was concerned. Usually she was confident in her decision-making and relied on intuition mixed with a healthy dose of reason. She set goals, she met them, and she satisfied her competitive needs on the ball field, where intuition often ruled her actions more than in any other arena. But interpersonally, she was careful, a little more cautious. She had goals there too. She wanted some of the things her parents had—an equal partnership, a genuine liking for one another, a lifetime of challenging and supporting one another. Her mother was the go-getter, the activist, the one who saw a problem and charged out to the front lines to meet it. Her father, the philosophy professor, examined all sides and pointed out the rationales of even those he disagreed with. If she could think of one word to describe him, it would be “fair.”

  Growing up, if she’d been punished, she always knew whatever the verdict, whatever the price, it would be fair. That was one of the main reasons she liked working for Presley so much. Presley was a ruthless businesswoman, and she played to win, but never underhandedly. She never cut corners, she never undercut her competition in any way other than offering better quality at a better price. She was fair and she was honest. Carrie wanted all that in a relationship. Openness, honesty, fairness as the foundation. And at the heart? She wanted what she couldn’t define with reason or logic. She wanted to matter to a woman the way no one else did. She wanted a woman who stole her heart and claimed her passion.

  So she enjoyed casual relationships—had had quite a few pleasant friendships with women. Shared experiences, shared pleasures, and, now and again, mutually pleasant sex. She was pretty sure she was more cautious about sex than most of the women she’d dated, which might account for why she didn’t have a serious girlfriend. Sex mattered. She enjoyed it, sure, and she was by no means a prude. She didn’t think one had to have a lifelong commitment to share physical intimacies, but there had to be something more than casual liking. A spark, and if she admitted deep down, for her, passion. She wanted to really want someone, to hunger, and to be hungered for. And yeah, she was waiting for it.

  “I think that covers everything,” Presley said, closing her slim blue folder. “Doctors? Anything else?”

  Carrie mentally jerked to attention. Holy crackers. She’d missed the last five minutes or so of conversation! How had that happened? She felt her face warming and lowered her head, hoping no one would notice. She glanced at her iPad and let out a long sigh. She’d actually noted the time and made a notation just a couple minutes ago. She must’ve been listening, and she couldn’t remember what had prompted her notation, but she was thankful her subconscious mind was still in the game. All around her, people were rising, breaking into small groups, and talking about patients or the latest sports scores.

  Flann and Harper paused at the end of the table by Carrie and Presley.

  Harper murmured to Flann, “How’s Blake doing?”

  “He’s fine,” Flann said. “Handling his own drains. Not too uncomfortable.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “Yep,” Flann said. “So Margie spent the night with him.”

  Harper cocked her head. “Define spent the night.”

  Flann grinned. “Slept on his bed with him.”

  “Okay.” Harper rubbed her chin. “I didn’t pick up on that moving in that direction, I guess.”

  “I’m not sure exactly what there is to pick up on or if they know where they’re headed yet,” Flann said. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Do we need to have the talk again with Margie?”

  “I think if we do she’s going to hurt us.”

  Harper grinned. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” She clapped Flann on the shoulder. “I’m going to stop
by and see him later this afternoon. Let me know if there’s any change before then.”

  “Will do,” Flann said, as she turned away to talk to another surgeon.

  Harper leaned in to Presley. “Nice job, boss.”

  “You only have to call me that at home, darling,” Presley said, too quietly for anyone except Carrie to hear.

  Carrie smothered a smile.

  “That went well,” Harper said. “Somehow you managed to make both medicine and surgery happy. Not an easy task.”

  “You’re right,” Presley said. “You and Flann are both tough negotiators.”

  Harper grinned. “We’ve had a lot of practice competing with one another.”

  “I know. It shows.”

  “See you for lunch?” Harper said.

  Presley gathered up her papers. “Check with me about noon. I might have to reschedule a conference call.”

  Harper briefly touched her cheek. “Will do. I love you.”

  Presley smiled and murmured, “I love you too.”

  As Carrie and Presley walked out together, Presley asked, “Everything all right?”

  “Yes,” Carrie said. “Why?”

  “No reason.”

  “Did I miss something in there?” Carrie worried she’d dropped the ball and not noticed.

  Presley laughed. “Oh, not at all. It’s just you’re the queen of focus, after all, so any little hint of distraction stands out.”

  “You noticed.” Carrie sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My mind seems to be wandering.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m convinced you use more of your brain than the average human being. You can afford to let some of it rest now and then.”

  Carrie didn’t agree, but she didn’t argue with the boss when the boss was cutting her a break. “I’ll have those notes ready for you by noon.”

  “Nothing transpired we didn’t anticipate,” Presley said. “End of day is fine.”

  “All right, thanks,” Carrie said, intending to get them done by noon regardless.

  Presley paused by Carrie’s desk. “Are you leaving to meet with Gina now?”

  “Yes, if that’s all right with you.” Carrie tucked her iPad into her purse and checked her watch to confirm she was right about the time. 9:08.

  “Of course. Let me know how it goes.”

  “Sure,” Carrie said briskly. “I’m sure nothing very exciting is going to happen.”

  She thought about that as she walked to her car, wondering why her pulse raced with what felt a whole lot like anticipation.

  *****

  Carrie wanted to hurry, but she kept to the speed limit just to prove to herself she wasn’t rushing to see Gina, and turned off the two-lane onto the narrow dirt road that ran between two cornfields and up to her new home, only nine minutes late for their appointment. From the road, her place looked like many of the other unassuming farmhouses dotted throughout the countryside, a two-story white clapboard house with a brick chimney rising above a slate roof, the wide front door flanked by tall windows and fronted by a small porch. She couldn’t see the back porch that ran the full width of the house, but all the farmhouses she’d been in had had one just like it. Farm families lived in the kitchen and out on the porch much more than in the formal rooms near the front. Her kitchen was easily her favorite room already, and she couldn’t wait to give it the subtle updates it needed.

  She slowed as she neared the house, skirting two pickup trucks and the ugly green dumpster that took up most of her driveway. Gina’s truck, at least she assumed it was hers since that was the only one she’d seen that morning, was parked in the back where she usually left her Mini. She pulled in behind Gina’s truck and headed for the house. Two men were erecting a wooden chute from one of the second-story windows down into the dumpster. She assumed that was how they planned to get rid of whatever they were knocking down inside the house. They stopped to watch her as she climbed the steps to the porch, and she smiled in their direction.

  “Gina around?”

  The older of the two, who looked to be in his midthirties, wearing a red T-shirt and blue jeans with his work boots, tilted his head toward the upper open window. “Upstairs.”

  “Thanks.”

  The temperature inside was headed toward uncomfortably warm already as the sun came in through the windows and bathed the rooms on the east side of the house. Fine flecks of dust floated in the air, making it feel warmer than it probably was. She left her bag on the sofa in the living room and headed upstairs. “Gina?”

  “In here,” Gina called back.

  Carrie turned into the first room at the top of the stairs, an eight-foot square with one small window that had probably been a bedroom but was too small for one, in her opinion. She’d thought about using it for a walk-in closet, considering that all the other closets were way too small to be useful.

  Gina stood with her hands on her hips by the window, looking down on the men at the dumpster. The sun on her face gilded the strong line of her profile, and Carrie thought she’d never seen a more striking woman.

  Gina looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Carrie swallowed. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Not by much.”

  “Going on eleven minutes.”

  “Stop. That’s scary.”

  Carrie laughed. “Really?”

  “No. It’s fascinating, really.”

  “Oh.” There went her vocabulary out the window again. Carrie ordered her brain to function. “So—it looks like you’re under way.”

  “Just prepping. Where are you planning on staying until we’re done?” Gina asked.

  Abruptly, Carrie’s brain cleared. “Sorry? I’m not planning on staying anywhere except here.”

  Somehow Gina managed to look surprised even as her eyebrows drew down into a frown. “That’s gonna be a little difficult if you want your bathroom renovated. You know, in terms of taking showers and whatnot.”

  “Oh. Well, how long is it going to take for you to finish the bathroom?” She could camp with Mari for a night or two.

  Gina lifted a shoulder. “Hard to tell. Figure at least ten days from when we get to it.”

  Ten days? Carrie knew her mouth was open. That couldn’t be very attractive, and she pressed her lips together in a thin line. “Ten days? Why?”

  “Well, once the demo’s done, we have to do the framing, order the materials, get your new fixtures—get the place painted, the floor finished, everything in and plumbed.” Gina spread her hands. “At least ten days. And to be safe? Three weeks.”

  “And what am I supposed to do for the, you know, facilities during that period of time?”

  Gina gave her a look. “Stay somewhere else?”

  “Why is it we always seem to have circular conversations?”

  Gina laughed. “Maybe because we have different mental pictures of things.”

  “Well, my picture is very clear, and it doesn’t consist of me moving out since I just moved in. Can you start somewhere else besides the bathroom?”

  “Sure,” Gina said, “but if we do, it’s probably going to take longer to get everything done, and when we get to it, you won’t save much time. I’d rather start with the places where we know we’re going to have to do a full overhaul—framing, drywall, floors—”

  “Yes, yes, I know, fixtures, plumbing, I got that.”

  “You’re quick.”

  “Don’t flatter me.”

  Gina grinned. “Wasn’t.”

  “All right, why don’t we try to come up with a game plan that works for us both.”

  “Very reasonable. That’s why we’re having this meeting, after all.”

  “Correct. Good.”

  Gina had a great smile.

  Carrie’s skin prickled. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not even a little?”

  Gina waggled a hand. “Maybe a little. I haven’t seen you flummoxed
before. It’s kind of—”

  “Please do not say cute.”

  “Ah…okay.”

  Carrie laughed. “And I’m not flummoxed. I’m reassessing. Readjusting expectations.”

  Gina studied her. “You can do that that fast?”

  “Sure. I’m…flexible.”

  “Handy,” Gina murmured.

  “So can we discuss what we need to do here?” Carrie felt more on stable ground now. At least they were on the same side for a change. She just wished every single encounter with Gina didn’t leave her a little bit off-kilter. She’d never had trouble sorting out project details, devising a timetable, and constructing compromises and work-arounds with anyone. She was good at all of that. And every one of those organizational skills disappeared the minute she looked at Gina. What she needed was to move this discussion onto her home field. Like the kitchen. “How about we do this over something cool to drink and a little bit of shade. It’s already so hot inside. You’re going to die working up here.”

  “We’ll be okay. We’ll bring in fans. Besides, we’re used to it.”

  Carrie shook her head. “It must be awfully uncomfortable this time of year.”

  “Nah,” Gina said. “This is nothing. Now, January, that gets ugly.”

  Carrie shivered. “Tell me about it. California girl, remember?”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. Wimp.”

  Carrie arched a brow. “I’m going to make you regret that the first time I’m on the mound.”

  “I won’t be batting, remember,” Gina said.

  “Then I’ll think of some other way to make you suffer.”

  Gina laughed. “Can’t wait.”

  Smiling, Carrie spun on her heel and headed downstairs, listening for the sound of Gina’s footsteps behind her. She knew she was there—she could feel the air moving between them, heavy and hot and somehow filled with expectation. Like a long summer night when the hours stretched forever and the only way to make love was slow and lazy.

  “Lemonade?” Carrie busied herself at the fridge while resolutely putting thoughts of warm nights and warmer bodies from her mind.