Now he only had to get the grant documentation in order. The submission must be flawless. The competition was tight, right down to the written documents. Even the smallest element could make a difference between him and someone else receiving the grant.
Picking up his tablet, he pulled up his most recent reports and started reading. Halfway through the first one, he was pleased to find not a single mistake. Not that he really expected one but he couldn’t be too careful. Ms. Marcum had done a superb job and certainly in a timely manner. He should tell her so.
When his last transcriptionist had taken another position she’d given his office manager Ms. Marcum’s name along with a glowing reference. Because he didn’t have time to waste completing the grant he’d told his office manager to hire her without further question. Not known for making snap decisions, thankfully this one had been a smart one. He didn’t know what would have happened to his grant submission if she hadn’t been willing to take on the additional work.
Now he needed to make sure he kept her. He couldn’t have her quitting just when he needed her the most. He didn’t have time to waste hiring another, especially when there was no guarantee that the next person would be any good. His manager had already said they were lucky to get this one. He needed his dictation done in a timely manner and she had proven she could do that.
Pulling up his email, he entered Cynthia Marcum’s address. Her name made her sound like a middle-aged matron. It didn’t matter what she looked like. What concerned him was the quality of his papers and keeping her typing them.
Ms. Marcum,
I have reviewed your reports and I’m very pleased with your work. Thank you for getting them to me in such a timely manner. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that they were waiting for me when I returned to my office after coming out of surgery today.
I can’t say enough about how much I appreciate your efforts. I hope it’s still okay to send you additional work.
Very gratefully,
S. Marcum
Without hesitation he clicked the “send” button.
* * *
Cynthia was pleased to have his gratitude. It was always nice to get affirmation for her efforts. Good manners and a sexy voice. Two for two as far as she was concerned.
As much as she liked his praise she didn’t want to have to stay up late or work on weekends to get it. Hopefully other work he sent wouldn’t require her doing so. She’d handle that issue when the time came, if it did. She also had to honor her other clients’ needs as well.
Cynthia typed a message.
Dr. Donavon,
I’m so happy you were pleased. Just let me know if I can help out further.
Cynthia
She reread the note twice. It was polite, yet businesslike.
A minute later a message landed in her mailbox.
Thank you! I do, in fact, have more work for you. I will send it through today.
S. Donavon
Maybe she’d offered too quickly. Apparently this grant was extremely important to him. At least he hadn’t put a time period on when he needed these reports returned.
In the middle of the afternoon the doorbell rang. Cynthia answered it to find a delivery man holding a green plant in a blue ceramic pot.
“Cynthia Marcum?”
“Yes.”
“This is for you.” The man handed her the pot.
Dumbfounded, Cynthia was left to stare at it as he climbed into his van. No one had ever sent her something from a florist. There had been flower arrangements when her parents died but never something just for her. What was going on?
She looked down at the full, beautiful plant with broad leaves and a vivid red flower in the center. Tucked under one of the leaves was a white envelope with her name scrawled on it. Closing the door with her foot, she carried the plant to her office and set it on the corner of her desk. Removing the envelope, she pulled out the card inside. Written on it was: “Thanks, Sean Donavon.”
He’d sent her a thank-you plant. Cynthia couldn’t help but smile. That was thoughtful. Dr. Donavon had just earned another point. No matter what he looked like she could fall for someone who took the time to say thank you. She loved her brothers but “thank you” wasn’t something she regularly heard. She didn’t regret her sacrifices or what she did for them but she would like some understanding and appreciation sometimes. She looked at the plant again. Dr. Donavon’s office manager had no doubt taken care of sending the gift.
A short time later the work he wanted done came up in her system.
She opened her email and clicked “compose.”
Dr. Donavon
Thank you so much for the beautiful plant. You shouldn’t have, but I will enjoy having it on my desk.
I received your dictation and will work on it today and tomorrow. I’ll send the reports when they are completed.
Cynthia
* * *
It was almost midnight on Tuesday when she finally finished the last of her work. She’d spent most of the early part of her day typing her other clients’ dictation. Rick had had a basketball game that evening and that had meant she’d made it back to her desk chair late. Still she was determined to have all her typing done so she could start fresh the next day. That meant working late.
Wednesday morning, she opened Dr. Donavon’s normal surgical dictation and listened for the soft cadence of his voice as he spoke through her headphones. Smiling, she reached out and touched the tip of one leaf on her plant. Between his usual work and the special assignment, she was getting to spend many hours with his delicious voice. She was becoming moony-eyed over a man she’d never seen and knew nothing about. He could be married for all she knew. Enough of that—she needed to get to work.
Hours later she punched a key and sent the twenty separate reports she’d finished off to his electronic folder.
Feeling good about what she had accomplished that day, she took a long, hot shower before heading to bed. Having forgotten to turn off the kitchen light, she headed down the hallway. As she passed her office door she noticed the light flashing on her cell phone, indicating she had an email waiting. She received few this time of night so she feared it might be something important. It was from Dr. Donavon.
Had she tried she couldn’t have slowed her rapid heartbeat. What was he doing working this late? She should wait until morning to open it but it would mean she would stay awake wondering what he had to say. Far too eager for her comfort, she double-tapped the key.
Thank you for the reports and you’re welcome for the plant. It was just my small way of saying thank you.
Good night.
S. Donavon
How could a simple business email make her so giddy? She had to get a grip where Dr. Donavon was concerned. More than his voice was starting to get to her. What would it sound like to have him say good night in her ear? A shiver went up her spine. Cynthia shook her head. She’d been up too late. Her mind was beginning to play tricks on her.
She climbed into bed, pulled her quilt over her and smiled before drifting off to sleep.
* * *
Sean didn’t make a practice of sending someone a thank-you gift for helping him with work he was already paying them to do, but he liked Ms. Marcum.
She’d really helped him out. He’d never sent a plant, or flowers for that matter, before. Even after a date. As far as he was concerned they were a waste of money, which was better used on something practical like a power bill or making an investment.
From the tone of Ms. Marcum’s emails, she seemed an agreeable person. Someone he could work well with for a long time. Sean liked to keep good employees happy to prevent having to search for new ones. He’d been successful at it too. His office manager and several of his nurses had been with him for years.
He wasn�
�t in the habit of taking chances. He’d seen more than once growing up what happened when someone took a chance. He didn’t do it with places to live, friends or when making decisions on which stocks to buy. Only sure things interested him. That was just what the grant proposal had to be: a sure thing. Ms. Marcum was going to help make that happen.
Sean had worked until two o’clock in the morning the night before and still hadn’t gone through all the reports and information he needed to review. Organization wasn’t his strongest skill. He was going to need help. He moved a pile of disordered papers to another area of his desk, then more to another spot.
Disorganization was one trait he’d gotten from his parents that he couldn’t seem to shake. It was almost ingrained. When they got involved in one of their schemes, record-keeping was part of the process and they didn’t do it well. Soon they had no idea how deep they were in financially and couldn’t put their hands on the documentation to figure it out.
When his father discovered the severity of it he would go out and get an hourly job. Then when the next big moneymaker scam came along his father would quit his job and devote all his time to building the new “business.” Sean had heard all his life, “This will be it. We’ll be on the road to riches this time.” That time had yet to come.
He’d left all he could of that behind, except for being unorganized. He needed someone good with written documentation computer skills to assist him. The sooner the better. He only had a few weeks until the submission must be flawless.
Ms. Marcum had done another superb job with the latest reports. She seemed efficient. In her last email she’d offered her assistance. Would she consider helping him out for a few weeks? There was only one way to find out.
Ms. Marcum, I have a proposition for you.
Sean chuckled. Maybe those weren’t the correct words.
Ms. Marcum, would you be able to come by my office around three p.m. tomorrow? I have an opportunity that I would like to discuss with you in person.
S. Donavon
Hopefully she would agree to their meeting and his need for help. He couldn’t allow her to refuse him. How was he going to get the work done if she didn’t assist him? His office staff was already busy enough. There was no time to hire someone else to handle it. He was reaching desperation level. Somehow he must gain her cooperation.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS LATE in the morning when Cynthia opened the email she’d saved for last.
She responded.
I’m sorry but I have another appointment at three. Can we make it four?
After a moment’s hesitation she sent the email out. She was tempted to rearrange her entire afternoon. She really needed this job. But Rick’s meeting with the scholarship council was too important to miss.
She didn’t have to wait long for a reply.
I have rounds at four. How about we make it five? I won’t keep you long, I promise.
S. Donavon.
Seconds later she typed: See you at five.
* * *
That afternoon Cynthia entered the glass doors of a modern single-story brick building. It was located across the street from the large multistory hospital in the center of Birmingham. A free-standing sign indicated the building contained Dr. Donavon’s office. It was late in the day and only a few cars occupied the parking lot. Most of the patients would have been seen and the staff was probably leaving for the day.
She’d only been here one other time when she’d signed her employment papers. Transcribers worked behind the scenes and Cynthia liked it that way. She didn’t have to leave home and that suited her lifestyle perfectly. That way she was able to work her schedule around her brothers’ needs. It was highly unusual for a doctor to call her to his office. So why was Dr. Donavon doing so now?
Doctors’ pictures were usually posted on their websites but she’d made it a point not to look for Dr. Donavon’s because she didn’t want to ruin her fantasy image of him. His appearance didn’t matter anyway; this certainly wasn’t a social call.
With a flutter of trepidation in her belly, she stepped to the reception window. Would she be disappointed when she saw him? The young woman with platinum blond hair and bright red fingernails behind the glass looked at her. She asked with an edge to her voice, “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Dr. Donavon,” Cynthia said in a firm tone.
The woman looked down her nose at her as if Cynthia had requested the impossible. “Is he expecting you?”
“Yes. I’m Cynthia Marcum. The transcriptionist. He told me to be here at five.”
“Let me see if he’s still here.” She picked up the phone and spoke to the person on the other end. Putting it down, she said briskly, “He’ll be right out. Just have a seat.”
Cynthia did as she suggested. She studied the functional room containing metal chairs and a few end tables. There was a magazine rack on the wall and a fake potted plant in the corner. It was quiet and there was only a lone overhead light on. Minutes later the woman switched off the lights over her desk, came out from behind it and headed out of the front door without a glance in Cynthia’s direction.
Was she alone in the building with just Dr. Donavon? What did she really know about the man? Even doctors could be ax murderers. She should have said no to meeting him after-hours. Waited until morning. She hoped she was a good judge of character even if her decision was based on emails alone. Shaking the idea off, she nervously shifted in her chair. She’d been so caught up in her fantasy she hadn’t been thinking straight. Now she was letting her nerves get the better of her. Surely there was someone else in the office as well.
Cynthia watched the minute hand move for five agonizingly slow minutes before sounds of footsteps coming in her direction caught her attention.
What did he look like? The flutter increased, along with her curiosity. Steps grew closer. The quivering grew to a swirling. She felt as if she were going to meet her favorite rock star. After the way she’d pictured him maybe she was.
Cynthia shook her head and glanced at the ceiling to regain rational thought. She stood. No one could be that good-looking no matter how wonderful his voice was.
She was wrong. On both counts. The man towering over her was at least six feet tall. With dark hair and crystal-blue eyes, he would make any woman swoon. The fact he still wore a white lab coat over a blue-checked button-down shirt and tan pants didn’t hurt his look of authority. He was glossy-magazine-front-cover gorgeous!
Her breath caught as she stared. His looks matched his voice and then some. And she was making a fool of herself right in front of him.
He smiled while giving her an odd look. “Ms. Marcum?”
Cynthia let out the breath she’d been holding. When had she ever been so focused on someone’s looks? She wasn’t that shallow. Still this man had her gaping at him. She needed to find a flaw if she was going to regain her sanity. She croaked, “Yes.” Then cleared her throat and continued. “Please call me Cynthia. I’m not much on formal names.”
“Good. Come with me. We can talk in my office.”
He started down the hall. When she didn’t follow immediately he stopped and looked at her. “Ms. Marcum. Cynthia?”
“I’m sorry. I’m coming.” She needed to get control. Stop embarrassing herself.
She followed him along a hall with exam rooms on both sides. She saw a nurse standing at a counter at the end of the hall. With relief, she saw they weren’t alone after all.
He stood beside an open doorway, inviting her to enter by extending a hand. He joined her, making the area suddenly feel small. Moving behind a desk that had seen better days and was piled high with paper stacks, he remained on his feet. Positioned on her side of the desk was a straight-backed wooden chair that reminded her of one in the library of her elementary school and appeared just as in
viting.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Cynthia. Please have a seat.” He took the chair on squeaky wheels behind his desk. It was by no means the latest model either.
Cynthia sat, then glanced around. This might be the saddest doctor’s office she’d ever seen. She’d envisioned a businesslike area filled with books, which this one was, but it also had a feeling of neglect. Somehow she had expected more. Minimal yes, but not so outdated and drab. There were no pictures of a wife or children, not even a dog. No indication of a hobby. No curtains hung above the utilitarian blinds. The one lone lamp on the desk only added to the sadness of the cluttered atmosphere. The space was an enormous contrast to the outstandingly handsome man sitting in front of her. What had happened to him for him to keep his personal space so...impersonal?
Did his home look this needy as well? Didn’t he have a wife, a mother, or at least a girlfriend who could help him out with decorating? Every fiber in her wanted to buy him an antique desk and two tufted chairs. He needed her plant worse than she did.
Dr. Donavon cleared his throat and her attention returned to him. Those piercing blue eyes watched her closely. “You don’t like my office?”
He was observant. She needed to make sure she schooled her emotions from showing too much on her face. “I just hadn’t expected your office to look...um...like this. Sometimes I let my imagination carry me away.”
Dr. Donavon leaned back in his chair giving her a direct look with a small smile on his lips. “How’s that?”
She glanced around again. “I don’t know. I just thought it might not be so uh...” How could she say this without sounding critical? “Maybe have more chrome and glass.”
“I’m not really into chrome and glass.”
Cynthia gave a nervous laugh. “I’m not either. Please forget I said anything. You didn’t ask me here to insult your décor or to be your interior decorator.”
“My apologies as well. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You’re not what I expected either.”
Stolen Kisses with Her Boss Page 2
