by Emily Childs
He’s not wrong. The clinic goes through strict financial audits quarterly. If there are discrepancies, we could have a heap of problems poured on us, the least of which would be our non-profit status.
“Sounds fishy,” August says.
“Good thing you know someone who might be able to help,” Jace adds, but she shoots me a mischievous glance. All at once, I’m not so sure my girl is on my side anymore.
What is my issue having Sawyer’s people come in? Is it because I’m worried about our clinic, or is it because this is utterly personal and unbearable? My voice is soft as I say, “I think we can handle a lot of it ourselves.”
Now I have my answer. It’s personal because I’m not sure I can handle this myself.
“I think a lot of good could be done if the clinic would sign with Sawyer,” Maddie mutters. She doesn’t look at me, but it’s a slight, no mistake.
“Why aren’t you on board, Dot?” Will asks.
I sigh, exasperated, and I don’t have an answer, at least not one I’m willing to admit to.
“It’s okay,” Sawyer interjects. “She cares for the clinic, and that’s how it should be.” Sawyer clears his throat and takes a drink of his coffee. He makes a face, a grimace-wince. “The bigger problem we have here is why y’all think this should be called coffee.”
At once, Will and Jace protest. There’s laughter, which is weird since Sawyer is here. Even his cousin, who has no shortage of sneers, breaks a smile a few times. Mostly at Will’s little remarks. Hmm, those two . . .
We don’t bring up the clinic again. Sawyer masterfully controls the conversation, ignoring me for most of it, but makes certain we don’t draw attention to us again. I wonder if it’s intentional. Maybe he hates the spotlight shining on our heads, on the unrelenting walls between us, as much as I do. I slip into silence, listening. Breaking inside. He can disregard me on a whim and be at ease with the people I care about most, while it takes all I have not to look his way.
When Jace insists she still has a great deal of unpacking to do, I’m more than grateful to be free of his perfect suit, his rumbling laugh, those eyes that aren’t as bright as they once were.
“You good?” August asks when he drives up to the clinic doors. “You’re quiet and it’s unnerving.”
I smack his shoulder before I slip out of his backseat to reach my car. “I’m fine.”
“Dottie,” Lily says cautiously. “I feel bad. We sort of got carried away talking to Sawyer. We are totally on your side, and I’m sorry—”
“Guys,” I say, stopping her. “It’s okay. He’s a nice guy. It’s one of his talents, putting folks at ease. I’ve decided here and now not to be a lunatic and forbid y’all from talking to the man.”
“We do have you’re back, though,” August adds, and it’s sweet hearing it, to be honest.
“Thanks. Now, get that cute girl home.” Brin is snoring softly in the backseat, and those pudgy cheeks are killers. I could probably kiss them all night. “I’m going to finish up a few things here.”
August shifts. Protective like an older brother. I can tell he doesn’t like the idea of leaving me alone after dark.
“I’m good,” I assure them. “Cross my heart. Security system is in full bloom.”
“Well . . . lock the door behind you,” August says.
“Locks automatically, Dad.”
I wave them off and hurry inside. In truth, the clinic is rather eerie when it’s silent like this. I won’t be long, though. I keep most of the financial reports on my computer, which includes the documentation from the staff. Going back a year, the financials are a web of weird. I can see where Josephine came in, invested in the clinic, and reversed the trouble we had when another physician accidentally billed for the wrong services for months. For about four months, things were on the up and up. We had everything in order, grew exponentially, then the leak happened. Reimbursements didn’t come in like expected, and that began the infamous month of battling insurance companies to no avail. They paid out what their policies stated. Then things started looking up and patients requiring more expensive services (at least on paper) started flooding the place.
Honestly, I’d almost stopped worrying. But Lily is right, something is still wonky.
Shoulders back, Nancy Drew incarnate in my head, I start going through documentation. Each service provided by nurses or physicians is followed by a code for insurance to read and reimburse from. The numbers are solid. I groan and drag my fingers through my hair. An hour later, I don’t see the problem and I’m so frustrated I could scream.
My eyes dance over to the sweet tea bottle with the quarter inside. Pulse racing, I pick it up, swirling the coin around inside. I don’t know how long I stare at the coin, one minute, ten?
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I say to no one as I grab my purse and abandon the office before I can change my mind.
The blue palace is dark but for a few lights scattered throughout the five-bedroom beach house. My throat is dry, but I cling to the file folder in my hand. I can do this.
The walk to the front door feels like ten miles. My hand hovers over the door much too long, like creeper long. I think I stand there, frozen as a statue, fist raised for a solid five minutes before I gnaw my bottom lip between my teeth and knock.
Chapter 7
Sawyer
The bubbles in my game are officially rainbows. Might seem simple, but getting the code right about drove me to crazytown. I don’t whoop out loud like the moment deserves—Maddie went to bed too early for a grown person and Kyler is out—where, I don’t know. He got weird when I asked—however, I do punch the air and let out a breathy yessss.
The knock at the door sort of ruins the moment, though.
I’m not really dressed. Basketball shorts and a T-shirt with a hole in one shoulder. But since I left the lights in the kitchen on, and all my blinds are open, it’s safe to assume anyone at the door will know someone is up.
I don’t expect to meet her dewy eyes on the stoop. Dot is having her lip for dinner and she’s about as fidgety as I am. My chest pinches tightly. I start to feel a little sick, but in the weird, good way. Like when adrenaline rushes your body and your insides tangle up.
“Dorothy-Ann?” I don’t make the mistake of using Dottie because I’ll die a little inside if she calls me Lucky without kissing me like she used to. “Uh, what’s up?”
She closes her eyes, as if she’s bracing for what she’s about to say. “I can’t find the problem.” Her shoulders slump, defeated. When I first came here, I wanted to see that look, cruel as it sounds. Now it feels all wrong and I want to fix it until her head is held high again. “I can’t find it and if I don’t, I’m not sure what’ll happen. Our audit is coming next month and—”
“Hey,” I interrupt. “It’s all good. Come in.”
Dot hurries in and takes a place on the opposite side of the counter in the kitchen. A wall between us. But she pauses at my open laptop, and the barest hint of a smile tugs at her mouth. “What’s this?” She points at the rainbow bubbles raining down, then bouncing back once they hit the barrier of the screen.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just something for fun.”
“A game.” Her eyes brighten and she’s really smiling. “Did you make it?”
“Uh, yeah.” This burns like a thousand pins in my skin, her acting like she loves this part of me when I know better.
“This is great. I’m really glad you’re still doing this.”
She almost sounds genuine. I arch one brow. “Are you?”
“It’s the only thing that really made your eyes light up,” she says. “May I ask why you didn’t go back to school and finish the software degree? I was surprised you kept on with insurance.”
“I chose to make something of myself instead of finishing the degree,” I say briskly, and close the computer, shoving it away.
Her smile fades. “Make something of yourself? You keep saying that, but you already were something, Sawyer.”
“Really doesn’t matter.” Her body stiffens, but I need to focus or I’ll do something stupid like pretend nothing changed between us. “So, tell me what the problem is.”
The businesswoman in Dot returns and she opens the file folder on the counter. “I have checked the last twelve months of financials, tried to cross check them with the documentation, then billing codes. Our payouts are all over the place, but on paper—I can’t find the problem.”
I drag the file over the counter to me, encourage her to take a seat on one of the barstools before taking my own. She has a printout of everything she’s saying and on instinct I start to dig through it all, but pause after a breath. “Before I go on, tell me exactly what it is you’d like from me, Miss Gardener?” I try to say it as smugly as I can.
Pink tints the bridge of her cheeks as she tightens her mouth in a white line. “I would . . . like your expertise to help us, Mr. Lanford.”
“What happened to impressing you in Atlanta?”
“I still expect it, but . . .” she pauses. “I wouldn’t be opposed to you impressing me a little early either.”
Finally. I spin on the stool and lean over the file, grinning. “At your service, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The woman is organized. She has neat spreadsheets of services billed to various insurance companies, the proper codes associated with each service, and the dates. Insurance can be dull sometimes, but that’s why Liam and I tried to branch out into trainings and investigating. Adds a bit more flavor to dull, endless paperwork.
“Look at this,” I say an hour into our sleuthing. Turning one sheet toward her, I point at a piece of documentation from one of the doctors. “He billed for a shoulder dislocation, but if I’m following the trail right, the payout from the patient’s insurance came back as a complex fracture. A higher payout amount. See?”
She wrinkles her brow and studies the page. The tip of her tongue pops out one side of her mouth and I chuckle softly. I always loved when she did that. Dot turns away and ruffles through her numerous spreadsheets on the financial statements. “I see the date,” she says. “But our accounts didn’t receive payment for a fracture, but we were paid for—” Dot goes pale, her hand grips my forearm. I have half a mind to move, but don’t. I’d be crazy to move away from her touch, and too soon I’m right back where I was a year ago. Aching for a love that feels unreachable.
“Sawyer,” Dot says. “In our accounts the deposit is the amount that would be returned for the original billing. The dislocation.”
“Dot.” My jaw tightens. I cover her hand with mine. This outcome is what I feared.
She blinks through a glisten of tears, sniffs, and brushes her hair back off her shoulder. “Okay,” she goes on, hiding the tremble in her voice. “Okay. Tell me if I’m off base, but if I’m looking at this right then . . . then I think . . . we might have an embezzlement issue.”
“I think you do. I’m sorry.” Whoever the crook is, they’ve worked hard to cover their tracks. Altering the billing to look low, then high, then normal. It’s a mess and clever. There weren’t enough discrepancies all at once to notice until now.
Dot clears her throat. “Nothing to be sorry about. I should be thanking you. I guess . . . well, I just thought our people were all wanting to do good in this town. Not steal from it.”
“Greed isn’t prejudiced. Even the best people can be tempted.”
She blinks, and a rogue tear rolls down her freckled cheek. I don’t even stop to think before I brush it away with my thumb. Dot draws in a sharp breath, eyes on me. My throat is dry, I’m almost positive my heart lost its place in my chest and is somewhere in my knees. I’m so focused on her eyes, mere inches away, I don’t even care that my hand is still on her soft skin. My palm covers her cheek, thumb, still damp with her tear, strokes the gentle slope of her top lip. Dot’s shoulders rise and fall in heavy breaths. We’re facing each other on opposing barstools, our legs touching. Her fingertips brush over my bare knee since my shorts pulled embarrassingly high.
Why did we let this go? I can’t remember, all I know is in this moment I’d do anything to get closer, to touch her like she’s mine again.
My hand curls around the back of her neck. I draw her closer. She doesn’t resist. After an agonizingly long absence, my lips brush against her, hardly a touch. There and gone. We hover closely, as if neither of us knows what to do next. Dot’s fingernails dig into my shoulders, she tugs on my T-shirt, urging me to her until we’re chest to chest. My other hand curls around her waist. My pulse won’t stop pounding in my head until I close the gap between us and the world goes silent.
I kiss her, deep and thorough. Her taste, her skin, her body awakens a part of me I buried a long time ago. I can’t get close enough. Dot melts against me, her fingers in my hair. How could I forget the intoxicating way she kissed? I don’t think I forgot, maybe pushed away the truth because if I allowed myself to dwell on the fact that I lost this, I’d lose my mind.
All at once, Dot pulls away, breathless. “What are we doing? What am I doing?” She shakes her head, maneuvers around me, and starts gathering the papers. “I’m not . . . I can’t do this.”
“Dottie—”
“No, I . . . I can’t do this, Sawyer. I can’t pretend you didn’t utterly destroy me.”
Like a slap to the face, heat rises and my mouth tightens in anger. “And what about you! You didn’t leave me any choice, but somehow I’m the one who gets blamed for it all.”
She clutches half the folder to her chest, eyes wet with tears. “Because it was your fault! You broke up with me a week before we were supposed to get married, Sawyer. With no explanation, by the way.”
I shoot off my stool and lace my hands behind my head as if I’ve been running all night. “I can’t believe this,” I say more to myself, then wheel on her. “When will you just admit you didn’t want me?”
Dot’s mouth drops, her face is flushed. Rarely is the woman rendered speechless, but silence mounts like sharp edges between us. She simply stares at me. Her face contorts into something between a grimace and a snarl and she stomps past me, our shoulders hitting as she goes.
“How dare you. I died the day you let us go,” she mutters. “You know what, forget this happened.”
“Gladly.” Not my most mature moment to be sure, but my mind is whirling at top speed, hands are shaking. Thoughts ping-pong in my skull. Memories of us. Angry nights alone. Imaginings of what could’ve been. It’s a hurricane and I’ll need to go for a ten-mile run before I can even think of focusing.
She pauses at the front door. “I hope you can still find a lick of professionalism during this trip.”
“My professionalism is not even on my list of worries, Miss Gardener,” I snap. “Just be ready Friday morning.”
Dot’s chin quivers. She nods, opens the door, and gasps. “Oh, Ky.”
I groan. My brother stares between us with wide eyes. The last thing I need is him seeing Dot leave the house crying.
“Dottie,” he starts, but she shoves past him, too.
“Sorry, I need to go.”
With that, she bolts to her car.
I curl over my knees and close my eyes. Kyler gently closes the front door, places his car keys in a bowl on the narrow entry table. He doesn’t say anything, but he’ll wait for me to speak first.
“How long were you there?” I ask.
“Long enough to hear more sounds than I’d like to hear from my younger brother.” Kyler gives me a sympathetic smile. “You two need to talk. After you cool down, of course.”
I’m breathing heavily, all my focus on the closed door. The way Dot omits her part in all this—it’s driving me insane.
“I just need to get through this deal, and then I can put this all behind me.”
Without giving Kyler a moment to retort, I abandon the kitchen and hurry upstairs. Disappointment from my brother follows me every step of the way.
Chapter 8
Sawye
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Maddie: Your business partner really found someone that quickly? This is looking a heck of a lot like a couples’ retreat.
Sawyer: Not a couple’s retreat.
Maddie: It’s a resort, Seesaw.
Sawyer: Your point? I’m rooming with Liam. Dot will need to deal with mystery woman.
Maddie: I’m not a fan of she-ex by default, but maybe you should vet a stranger before you lock them up together. Who is this chick going with Liam?
Sawyer: One of our recently hired bookkeepers from Raleigh.
Maddie: Dirty. Going on a weekend getaway with the boss.
Kyler: I’d like to chime in and remind you that if you keep going on like you’re going to get even with Dot, it’s going to blow up in your face and I’ll be forced to say I told you so. Then laugh at you after you’re done crying.
Sawyer: I’m glad to know I’m a grown man who can make his own decisions. I’m leaving now. Oil change. Don’t wreck my car while I’m gone Mads.
I tuck my phone inside my pocket and ignore the soft buzzing that comes from their replies. Nervous energy thrums in my veins. Since the mishap in my kitchen, the idea of her hands on me again has whirled on repeat in my head. I might be nonchalant about this Atlanta trip on the surface, but underneath I can hardly keep still.
I wish I could go for a run before we leave, but I’m pushing the clock as it is. The only way I’ve found to get rid of jitters is through running. I’ve always been a mover, my head bouncing between all the shiny things life has to offer. In school, most students, even teachers, found my busybody ways annoying. Dot didn’t. She knew how to calm me before I spiraled into one of my rambling rabbit holes, enough that I could get out what I was really trying to say. Dot used to . . .
I shake my head. Rabbit hole. Not going there.
Instead, I focus on keeping aloof and professional. Kyler lectured me last night about the dozen ways this could backfire and plop me right back to the mess of a man I was a year ago. Then, he went on to warn me not to mess with Dot. Liam has wholly encouraged a hate-filled, angsty night, and I guess I didn’t shut down the idea enough, leaving Kyler thinking I’m going to cross the line with Dot. Too close to that line and I know I won’t have the strength to get back.
