28
Brandon
“I really like your pretty doctor friend,” Mark told me when I went to check on him at his apartment later that evening. He was stationed on his couch in a mess of pillows with his latest script and his arm in a sling. Lara was out with friends. “She’s really fantastic. Cute. Smart. I like her.”
“Yeah, Aimee’s a great doctor,” I hedged. Were we going to talk about Aimee? I didn’t know if I was up to that at the moment. “She’s very well liked at the hospital.”
“No, I mean, I like her. As a woman. Do you think I could get her number?”
I frowned. “You want to ask her out on a date?”
Mark and Aimee? My blood pressure rose. This was way worse than her fake boyfriend, Daniel. Mark was a real threat. He was good looking, smart, kind… jealousy rose up in me. He made Aimee laugh, which was something I’d never managed. I wasn’t going to enable him, and I definitely wasn’t going to share her. My possessive heart pounded, and my inner caveman started looking around for a blunt object. The kind that was good for bashing skulls.
Mark blinked at my reaction. “Is that weird? Are you two…”
“No.” My voice sounded transparently defensive. A small, irrational part of me targeted the nearby lamp for skull-bashing and I squashed it. Mark was my friend.
“Do you want to be?” he asked. I honestly didn’t know how to answer that, but my expression must have betrayed me. Mark nodded sagely. “Never mind, man. Forget I asked about her.”
“She’s—” I started. “We’re—” I couldn’t find the words. I was not a stutterer as a general rule. What the hell was Aimee doing to me? I hated it but I couldn’t resist her.
Mark raised up his functional left hand and gave me a look that said he had me entirely figured out. I envied him. “Say no more, Doc. I’ll stay out of your way.”
We lapsed into silence. “She doesn’t like me,” I eventually said. “Actually, she hates me. I don’t think I have much of a shot with her, to be honest.” It hurt to admit it, but God knew it was true.
“I thought you two were friends. She said you were friends.”
“More like childhood enemies, really.”
“That’s basically the same as friends,” he told me.
“Is it?” I questioned hopefully. I wasn’t so sure.
“Dude, I’m just trying to encourage you. I don’t actually know.” He shrugged and then winced. “Do I seem like an expert child psychologist? Because I’m definitely not. I’m a soldier turned actor. Probably the least qualified person in the world to psychoanalyze anybody.”
I laughed weakly. “At least you’re on my side.”
“Yeah, because otherwise there’s no way she’d choose you over me.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Yeah right. Okay. Go ahead and tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”
Mark was far too nice to actually believe it, he had a weird amount of humility for an actor, but he might be right. Mark was younger than me and worlds more pleasant to be around. Everyone liked Mark. Especially women. Women absolutely loved Mark. I did pretty well with women, too, but not once they got a glimpse at my dour, overly serious and melancholic personality. Sometimes I wished I had half the optimism Mark did. It would make life a lot easier.
For instance, after I left Mark to his script, his pillows, and his healing shoulder joint, I couldn’t shake the worry that someone was going to beat me to Aimee. If it wasn’t Mark, it would be someone else, sooner or later, that would win her. She’d start dating someone. She’d fall in love with someone. Did she want me at all? Why did I need her so badly? The thoughts swirled around uncomfortably in my brain.
All the introspection was troubling on principle. I almost missed being emotionally unavailable. It was easy. I used to be able to neatly compartmentalize everything, but that was no longer the case. Thanks therapy! Now I’d “grown” and “healed” and “learned coping mechanisms.” Now I had to actually deal with my emotions instead of locking them up and losing the key. It was kind of terrible, even if it was ostensibly healthier than the alternative. It certainly didn’t help me with Aimee. It only made me know what I was missing.
Even a trip to the gym didn’t help. In fact, it made it far worse because then I had to go take a shower and see the exact spot where we’d hate-fucked that one time. No matter what I did, I couldn’t seem to put her from my mind. Everywhere I went reminded me of Aimee.
She was becoming an obsession for me. If I’d thought she was an invasive cordyceps fungus before, I must be entering the final stages of my infestation. It was only a matter of time before I climbed to the top of a tall building and let my brain explode. It would almost be a relief, because just waiting forty-eight hours to have lunch with her again was killing me. I went to sleep and dreamed of her.
The next day at the hospital, I was happily daydreaming about Aimee and doing paperwork when Melinda found me in the doctor’s lounge. Usually I hated paperwork, but somehow it wasn’t too bad when I had Aimee to look forward to. I heard Melinda’s high heels clickety-clacking on the tile floor before I saw her. Doctors don’t wear heels. We’re on our feet too much.
Out of nowhere, I was reminded me of Tick-Tock the crocodile from Peter Pan. I’d accidently cast myself as Captain Hook. And just like Captain Hook, as I looked up to see Melinda’s toothy grin, I worried that I’d traded something important for the sake of expediency. After all, it was because Captain Hook fed his arm to Tick-Tock that he got obsessed with the taste. No good deed might go unpunished, but neither do any devil’s bargains. I felt a sudden sinking sensation.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Koels,” she said happily, plopping down next to me on the couch. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. I’ve been busy.”
“Are HR directors allowed in the doctor’s lounge?” I asked her with a thin smile.
She gazed at me seriously. “I have a PhD in Human Resources.”
I managed not to laugh condescendingly. “I see. My apologies, doctor.” So not a real doctor then. Not even close. PhD’s are basically worthless.
“None taken, doctor.” She didn’t pick up on my sarcasm at all. “It’s actually very nice to be taken seriously by someone. I’ve got some fantastic news too,” she told me. “I bet you can’t guess what it is.”
“I won’t even try,” I told her. “I’ve never been good at guessing good news.”
“Well, you’re just no fun at all.” She pouted at me. Was she flirting with me? I hoped not. While not objectively unattractive, she wasn’t my type. She seemed like someone that would like yoga retreats, crystal therapy, essential oils or some other similarly pseudo-scientific bullshit. Crystals look pretty and oils smell pretty, but neither one cures cancer.
“I’m surprised it took you so long to figure that out. Being no fun is sort of my thing. That’s why everybody hates me.”
She rolled her eyes at me dramatically. Her dark eyes were cunning. “Okay, I’ll just tell you. I’ve won over at least one board member already. We’ve got at least four, maybe five to go, but trust me, we’re well on our way.”
“I’ve been thinking,” I told her conversationally. “If he’s going to retire soon, is all this really necessary? It seems like a lot of work for you. And going through all these records hasn’t been very fruitful yet.” I’d been going through my dad’s hospital records, assiduously looking for any misdeeds. So far, it was useless.
Melinda just smiled. “It is a lot of work, but of course it’s worth it.”
“But—”
She shook her head and cut me off. “Your father doesn’t deserve to go gently into his good night, for one,” Her voice was sharp. “He’s a bully, for two. For three, he’s been a force for autocratic nonsense and medical superiority for too long at this hospital. He’s totally unfit to lead this hospital, and he doesn’t deserve to go out on top. I want him fired and disgraced, not retired. I don’t want him to toddle off to some cushy pension. Do you?”
&nb
sp; I nodded warily. Despite my newfound, disturbing penchant for introspection, I still hated my dad. I might be able to forgive Aimee for, well, not really doing anything at all, but my dad? No. He actually deserved the hate I felt for him. He knew it, too. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Good,” Melinda told me. “I need you all in on this. We aren’t just playing around here. We’re working on regime change. Cleaning up this hospital will require you to be committed to this.”
I swallowed. “I’m committed to seeing him answer to the board for the misconduct you told me about, yes. Mostly because I want out of this assignment, but also because it’s the right thing to do and, despite what people think about me, I care about that.”
“This is the right thing to do,” Melinda told me. “I promise. As soon as he’s gone, we’ll get you out of here, too.”
“But it’s more than my dad, isn’t it?” I asked. I was starting to realize that Melinda was legit cuckoo.
“Yes, it’s definitely more than just him,” Melinda said, nodding knowingly. “His cronies, too. Dr. Alvarez, Dr. Raj, the Carters, and definitely Dr. Ford, too. The good news is that Aimee Ford already publicly hates you. It won’t be hard to manage that conflict with the board.”
For once, I was grateful for my stoicism. Aimee? Melinda was after Aimee? I was confused, but I kept a straight face. Who the hell had I allied myself with? “What’ve they done? I thought we were just going after my dad for being such a dick all these years.”
Melinda laughed a mirthless little laugh. “You can’t stop a flood just by building a dam. You have to divert the flood somewhere and cut off any escape channels. If Martin’s disciples are allowed to stay, it’s going to be more of the same.”
“I see,” I lied. I had no idea what she was talking about. I didn’t even follow her metaphor. It was a dumb metaphor. Shouldn’t she be stopping a fire and not containing a flood? “Not that I’m going to have a chance to benefit from this because I’ll be long gone from this hell hole of a town, but who will inherit the keys to the kingdom, so to speak?”
“Whoever the new meritocracy selects. It’ll be a power vacuum temporarily, but the cream rises to the top.” She obviously meant herself. “First,” she continued, “we need to move away from medical superiority at this hospital.”
When I’d first talked to Melinda, she’d sounded pragmatic and levelheaded. I thought she shared my view of my dad, which was incredibly rare because people thought he was some sort of genius-saint. Now, I wasn’t so sure how stable Melinda actually was. She sounded totally nutty. “What does that mean exactly, medical superiority?”
“I mean doctors, basically. Medical doctors and other medical professionals have far too much power at this hospital. I want your dad and all his cronies fired. And I won’t give up until I do it.”
Somehow, I managed not to sneer. Doctors and other medical professionals have too much power at this hospital? What. The. Actual. Fuck. Who should have power at a hospital if not medical professionals? I’d clearly gotten myself into some shit. I’d allied myself with a crazy woman who wanted to hurt Aimee. Still… was my dad corrupt? I couldn’t quite resist the possibility. I thought there was a high probability that Melinda was crazy, but there was a small possibility she might be crazy like a fox.
“Got it. So, what’s next on the agenda?” I asked instead. The temptation to get out from under my father’s thumb had gotten the best of me.
“I’m so glad you asked,” Melinda replied with a grin.
29
Aimee
“Rot rally?” I asked Brandon. “That sounds gross.”
“The Republic of Texas rally,” he clarified. “R.O.T. for short. It’s a motorcycle rally and festival. The biggest one in Texas. There’s a parade, bands, food. You’d love it.”
We were at our second lunch of the week, and I had to admit to myself that I was actually enjoying it. Spending time with Brandon was fun once we stopped fighting over things that happened decades ago. Color me surprised.
“You have to be joking,” I told him. Did I seem like the sort of woman who liked motorcycles? I might play video games in my (rare) free time, but that was about as edgy as I got. I had a kitten-themed calendar on my wall and slipped into fuzzy pink slippers when I got home. I kept a strict exercise, eating, and sleep schedule. I was not, and I repeat not, a spontaneous, risk-taking person. I had a plan and I stuck to it. For everything. Motorcycles were not in the plan.
Brandon didn’t look like he cared. He smirked at me across the table at the Italian restaurant we were lunching at. He had a smoldering, teasing look in his dark eyes that I couldn’t look away from. He held me hypnotized, and I’m sure he knew it.
“I’m one hundred percent serious,” he replied. “We should go together this weekend. On a date.”
I frowned. “A date? A real date? No blackmail?”
“No blackmail.”
I thought about it for a moment. Looked for a reason to say no. Caved to temptation.
“It sounds loud,” I said weakly.
He laughed lightly. “It is loud.”
“And dirty.”
“Oh definitely.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
“Plus, I hate motorcycles.” I stuttered.
“Have you ever been on one?” he asked, sitting forward intently.
“No, but—”
“Then how do you know you hate them?” He argued. “This will be good for you. You work too much, and it’ll be good to do something new. Something that’s not like you. Plus, you’re going to look ridiculously sexy on the back of my bike.”
I flushed. I couldn’t argue with the assertion that I worked too much and had gotten into some serious homebody habits either. That was simply a fact and one that was probably broadcast by my every personality trait.
But would I look sexy on the back of a motorcycle? The little, vocal part of my brain that was still a lovesick teenager for Brandon desperately wanted him to think so. Still…
“Motorcycles are dangerous. People get hurt on them all the time.” I shouldn’t have to explain such a thing to a doctor. “Your own friend Mark just got hurt on one.”
Brandon cocked an eyebrow at me. “Mark’s fine. He knew the risks. People get hurt putting on their underwear in the morning and taking showers too. That doesn’t mean those things are bad. Besides, even some bad things are worth the risk.”
“I don’t have a death wish, Brandon.” I tried for confident, but the truth was that I was seriously tempted. A crazy, bohemian vision of Brandon and me riding off into the sunset on a beach somewhere flashed through me.
Yeah right. I frowned.
Brandon shook his head at my expression, clearly not deterred. “It’s incredibly fun, and it’ll be worth it.” His eyes flashed with excitement and I felt my heart pound in response. “Come on Aimee, live a little bit. I promise to keep you safe.”
I don’t know what came over me in that moment, and maybe it was the carbohydrate coma I was teetering on after a plate of penne pasta, but I felt my conviction waiver. Brandon wanted to go out on a date with me. A real date. With motorcycles. It was a horrible idea. I wanted to do it.
“If you hate it,” Brandon added, “we can leave right away.” His smile widened. “But I have a theory about you. I think you’ve got a secret wild child in you. You’re gonna love it. I bet I won’t be able to get you off the bike once you get a taste.”
I shifted nervously. “Promise we’ll leave if I hate it?”
“I promise.”
“Don’t be mad, but I changed my mind,” I said, staring at Brandon’s bike a few days later. “It’s too scary. Let’s just take my car.”
The motorcycle, a silver and burgundy beast that made a noise like a small airplane and caused my stuffy neighbor, Rebecca, to frown at me from across the street, was beyond intimidating. I’d never been particularly good at physical activities. Growing up as a bit of a fat kid, I’d never developed strong muscles or bala
nce. It had suddenly occurred to me that this activity required both.
“But I got you a present,” Brandon told me. He slipped an arm around my waist and scooted me closer to the bike. “Don’t you at least want to see your present before you chicken out?”
I blinked up at him in surprise. “You got me a present?”
Had he bought me flowers or chocolates? That seemed a bit strange for a motorcycle date, and not very much like Brandon at all.
Brandon nodded and scooped out the wrapped parcel from a compartment on the bike. I noticed there was a helmet for me as well, but most of my attention was on the present. “Open it and take a look. I hope the size is right.”
Size?
My fingers tore through the paper and dug into buttery, wonderful-smelling softness. I drew it out and looked at it. “A leather jacket?”
Brandon nodded. “Do you like it?”
I bit my lip, sure that my expression betrayed me. I loved it. The black motorcycle jacket looked expensive and was, in fact, the perfect size. With a rich, satiny dark red lining and shiny gold hardware, it somehow managed to look both luxurious and tough at the same time. That was a look I’d never managed to pull off before, but I found myself wanting to. A good, expensive leather jacket wasn’t something I’d ever buy for myself and couldn’t justify as an expense with my massive student loans. I had always secretly wanted one though.
I felt myself flushing. My face probably looked sunburned. “You shouldn’t have.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s purely practical.” I looked at him dubiously and he explained. “It gets cold when we start moving, and obviously leather is tougher than your skin. Plus, I’ve always had a thing for sexy blondes in leather.”
I was wearing a pink and black polka dotted tank top and jeans. I shrugged into the jacket and it felt like a hug. “What do you think?”
He looked me up and down appraisingly. “I love it,” he growled. “Now, do you really want to chicken out when you look so damn sexy?”
Bad For You: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Page 13
