by Lexy Timms
“Well, you’re certainly not going to marry the witch doctor, now are you?” Williams snapped, too stupid to know better and shut up.
Brant’s hands fisted. Only the realization that Mangal would have him arrested if he so much as moved right now kept him from leaping over the table and bashing the man’s face in.
“All right, enough!” Mangal called out with a wheezing cough, and sat heavily in his chair. He waved at Williams, who backed off, slouching in his chair and contenting himself with shooting evil looks in Brant’s direction.
Mangal drew himself up. Even seated, he was still a force to contend with. “You have endangered the reputation of this practice. If there is even a hint of scandal, a breath of impropriety, you’ll be asked to leave… this office and, if I have any say in it, this profession!”
I can’t believe this. They couldn’t hurt him professionally. Except, he’d gone to a friend’s wedding in New York and ended up in Belize. That mistake was his. That could be made into a joke. Not that he cared about himself. But he had his mother, and there were also Mel and Maria to think about. This wasn’t just about him.
Brant stood there, breathing heavily, feeling the sweat trickle down his back despite the air conditioning. What was there to say? He looked at them each in turn. Mangal triumphant. Williams sullen. Steven…Steven refusing to bring his eyes away from the table.
“Then let’s end this now,” Brant said, feeling the tremble in his own hands. Not fear. Anger.
He had to get out of there. Immediately.
He spun and went through the door. Blown out into the void after all.
“Brant, wait!” Steven called and jumped up to follow him, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. He caught him at the door to the waiting room.
Brant spun on him, not caring that Lisa was watching as though she were observing the latest episode of some reality show. “How could you just sit there? You said almost nothing.”
“Damn it, Brant! Not everyone has your money, you know? I worked my ass off to get through school, and I still have crushing loans. I make a fortune here, but you’ve seen where I live, the old car I drive—it’s in the shop as often as not. I can’t lose this place, Brant, not for a while yet.”
Brant exhaled. He rubbed his face, suddenly tired. More exhausted than he could ever remember being. “I’m sorry, Steven.” He slumped against the wall, knowing that just because the rest of the world was made up of assholes that it didn’t mean he had to be one. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“Besides,” Steven said, looking down the hall toward the conference room. “I did what I could. Bringing up the ‘he doesn’t need to do this for sex thing.’ It’s what they were thinking; they’d said as much before you got here. You needed to know.”
“Should I thank you?” Brant’s words were sharp but, seriously, that was Steven’s idea of a rescue party?
Steven looked up at him for a long moment. “Yes, Brant. Yes, you should. I may not have much, but I risked most of it for you just now.”
The stupid thing was, Brant knew he had. Mangal ran the practice with an iron fist. Disobedience of any kind would not be tolerated. The only reason Steven had the job was because someone else had questioned Mangal’s methods last year and lost his. Last he’d heard, Roberts wasn’t even practicing medicine.
But he was just burned out, right? Mangal didn’t have that much reach, did he?
Suddenly unsure, Brant unbent a little. Righteous indignation was all well and good, but there was a certain practicality that had to be considered here. “I’m sorry, Steven. You’re right…I’m just…pissed. They’re way off. They have no idea.”
“Look, you and I both know that the old man can’t revoke your license. There’s little he can do you except kick you out of here. And that’s at the risk of losing his most well-known client. I don’t think he’d be willing to alienate your mother if he didn’t have to. Let him rage. He spoke his piece. It’ll be forgotten tomorrow.”
“Maybe I should leave,” Brant said slowly, feeling the germ of an idea coalesce. “Start my own practice.”
Steven snorted. “No one to cover for you? All the administration? You’re not a businessman, Brant. You have no interest in the number-crunching, the staff-hiring, all if it. You just want to do surgery. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. Don’t step on toes because of bullshit. These guys are retiring soon. You know that. They’re just not ready to hand their baby over to someone who might actually run it better than they did.”
Brant stared at his feet for a moment. “Fine…tell the old man there’s no scandal. I’ll be good.”
Steven smiled at him, relieved. “It only hurts a little, Brant. I’ve gotten very proficient at swallowing my pride.”
Brant nodded, and squeezed Steven’s shoulder. “Listen, come by, huh? I’d like you to meet Mel and Maria.”
Steven sighed and shook his head. “Brant. Pull some strings. Get a room for the girl. Ideally, a hotel for the doctor, but check the girl in to the hospital fast. Today. Kill the rumors now, before they start.”
“Seems like they’ve started already.” Brant sighed. What was he going to say to Mel?
“Then end them. Now. I’ll tell them you’ve cooled off and that you’re ready to play nice.”
Brant inhaled. Somehow the air smelled…off. He nodded, and left the practice without another word.
It occurred to him after he was in his car that Lisa had said something to him as he’d left, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it was.
Chapter 8
“Hey, I’m on my way home,” Brant said as he slipped the car through the L.A. freeway, hands clenching the steering wheel a little harder than necessary.
Mel’s voice came through the speakers. “We’re here. Maria’s already gone to bed.” There came a soft laugh. “I’m wandering around and snooping.”
Some of the tension left his fingers. “Find anything good?”
“I’m too afraid of looking,” she admitted and he could picture it, the soft fall of hair over her face as she ducked her head. Shy. Uncertain. “I’m afraid I might break something.”
Brant smiled. “Don’t worry about that; you’ve got a gentle touch.” He could almost feel her blushing. “I shouldn’t be more than a half hour, maybe a little more. I wanted to talk to you, though, since Maria’s asleep.”
“Oh? The meeting go okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” She was asking without pressing. But he wasn’t going to tell her anything. She’d be on the next flight home if she knew what had transpired this evening. “I’m thinking of calling in a favor and getting her into the hospital now. I know it’s early; she isn’t scheduled to be admitted until the day after tom—”
“Yes. Do it.”
“I’m sorry? That was quick.”
There came a soft inhalation of breath. “Brant, do you remember Kenneth?”
He frowned, and changed lanes. “No, can’t say that name rings a bell. Someone important?”
“Head of Doctors International.”
“Oh. Him.” The tension was back. And then some. He swerved into another lane. Didn’t bother signaling this time. “The one who tried to get me arrested and deported and…”
“…and tried to get your license revoked. Yeah, him.”
“What about him?” His words were terse. Clipped. He had the distinct feeling this was going to be something else he didn’t like.
“He just called.” She hesitated. He heard movement. Her sitting down somewhere, he guessed. Probably twisting a strand of hair around her finger the way she did when she was tense. “Brant, I’m worried. He’s planning on using Maria to get donations; poor little third-world girl gets a big break kind of thing. He’s already trying to set up talk shows!”
Brant found his foot pressing a little too hard on the accelerator, and checked himself as the speedometer crept up toward three digits. Slow down, buddy. You want to start something?
Hon
estly, he did. Here he was clipping along at 85 and an asshole was still angling to get around him. It was one thing to misjudge your speed because you were driving a small car and it just didn’t feel all that fast. But that guy was looking to kill someone. Didn’t they know how much reconstructive surgery he’d done during his residency on guys like him, who thought they were driving their own personal Indy 500 every time they got behind the wheel? He had a healthy respect for driving the posted limits despite his collection of sports cars.
Yet if Kenneth happened to be standing in front of his car this moment, he might just gun the engine after all.
He was grinding his teeth. Years of orthodontia come to nothing over some friggin’…
“Bastard,” he growled, then shook his head. Locked down the emotions so he could drive like a sane person. Counted to ten. He was scaring her; he could hear her breathing on the other end of the line, all tense and quick. “Look, if we can get her in a room, there’s security all over the place in there. I’ve got a good working relationship with the nursing staff; they’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Oh, really?” Mel’s voice took on a lighter tone: teasing, playful. Trying just as hard as he was to make this whole thing right. To push the bad away and embrace the good. Whatever they had left of it. “What kind of ‘working relationship’ do you have with the poor little nurses, hmm? I imagine they’re all swooning over the devilishly handsome surgeon and just looking for that empty room…”
Brant laughed. It came out kind of forced. He hoped she couldn’t tell. “You haven’t met these nurses. I would pit most of them against gang members and Navy SEALs.”
“This is a nice place, right?” Mel was suddenly hesitant.
Brant laughed again, this time for real. It even felt good, like a real laugh. “It’s the best. I think there’s a nurse or two who came from a more violent background. Keep in mind, though, the ones here work with spoiled wealthy people who are getting surgery in the pursuit of vanity. They’re good at saying ‘no’.”
There came a pause. Another minute hesitation. She was twisting her hair again. He’d bet money on it. “It’s a very different world you live in Doctor.”
“Says the woman who battles snakes and panthers and elephants.”
“There are no panthers or elephants.”
“…and zebra and gazelle and cantaloupe and…”
“That’s a melon!” She was laughing now.
“…and spiders the size of VWs.”
“Well, that’s true.”
“Wait, what? Are you serious?”
“Come back to Belize and let me show you.” Mel smiled. He could hear the smile in her voice.
“Ah…”
“By the way,” Mel switched gears in that abrupt way that still put him off- balance, “what was the emergency? You said everything’s fine, but you seemed worried when you left.”
“It’s just odd.” Should he tell her the truth? “We had a discussion with the partners.” Brant sighed, really not wanting to get into it. He chose his words carefully. “It seems that helping a young girl to regain her face and her self-esteem is somewhat scandalous if said girl isn’t independently wealthy.”
“They didn’t say that!” Mel sounded outraged.
Brant checked his speed again. “Almost. What they did say was worse. Apparently, it’s inappropriate for me to invite her into my home.”
“But I’m here,” Mel said, the confusion apparent in her voice. “I’m her doctor, and her chaperone.”
“Doesn’t matter. Apparently, you’re under my spell, too. These old men are afraid I’m seducing you both.”
The silence on the other end of the phone was more damming than if she’d screamed. When she spoke again, it was as cold and chopped as Brant’s speech to Mangal. “Are you serious?”
“Yep.” He sighed and realized that the exit ramp was across five lanes of traffic, and he had very little room to accomplish the maneuver. There was no way he was going to make his exit. Apparently, he was going the long way home today. “That’s a reason to get her into the room as soon as possible, too. If those ancient eunuchs can conjure that out of thin air, so will others, and I do NOT want this getting back to her. She’s gone through enough.”
“How. Dare. They. What sort of…person would think for a moment… How…” Mel was sputtering she was so angry.
“Listen to me,” Brant spoke loudly, trying to be heard over her outrage, and deciding to try for the exit after all. He cut off a minibus full of nuns and barely made it, wincing at the near scrape with a police car that left him holding his breath and praying to whatever gods protected you from irate cops. “What they think is immaterial. Small men will always see the lowest end of themselves in others; you can’t argue against stupid. Let it go. Remember why we’re here: to give a little girl back her smile and to find smiles of our own.”
“Are you finding yours?” Mel asked quietly. Brant could tell this wasn’t over by a long shot, but Mel was willing to let it go long enough for him to get back to her. They had an action now: getting Maria to safety and away from the invasive eyes that threatened them from both sides. The good news, as his father might have said, is that now they knew who the enemy was and they could stand united against them. It’s when you don’t see the blow coming that it does the most damage.
“Yeah,” Brant said, smiling just talking to her about smiling. “I’ve had this big, stupid grin on my face since you said you were coming—finally.”
“You had a big, stupid grin on your face since that first night,” she countered.
“I’d like to argue that one!” Brant laughed. “Second night, out by the little swimming hole. That first night, I was still trying to watch for snakes.”
Mel laughed.
“And just to be clear,” Brant cut off for a moment to negotiate the switch to the 405, “you weren’t serious about the spiders, right? That was just—”
“Sorry, you’re breaking up,” Mel said in a perfectly clear voice. “Can’t hear you; must be driving under a bridge or something.”
“Yeah, I thought so.” Brant chuckled. “Liar.”
“I have photos.”
“Shit. Mel.”
“What?”
“Don’t go back. Ever.”
There was a long silence. He’d said too much. Been too much in earnest. Brant knew that he was pushing the boundaries, that the clinic was her job, her passion, and he knew that this was a short-term arrangement. He also knew that at the end of the summer he would have to let her go again, and that knowledge hung over him like a delayed death sentence.
The talk was light, the talk was loving. He chose that moment to make a move, to state once and for the record that he wanted her to stay with him, in his house, in his bed, in his life. Impossible, unfair, but done.
Traffic slowed and came to a crawl, even this late at night.
“I’ll think about it, okay?”
Brant could have cheered. He looked up at the speaker above the rearview that carried Mel’s voice and said simply, “I’ll be home soon.”
“’Bye.”
“’Bye. I love you.”
Another long silence. Brant thought he might have heard a gasp.
“I…I love you, too,” Mel said in a rush, and the connection went dead.
Brant would have cursed the traffic, would have railed against the pointless delay in getting back to her. But he couldn’t work up the anger.
She loved him. And for a wonderful moment, sitting on the freeway, he was convinced that everything was going to work out just fine.
Chapter 9
Mel stood in the kitchen, at a total loss. It was huge, but she was getting used to that. She’d been in a mansion for less than eight hours and it was already becoming kind of familiar. But the kitchen could easily have been an industrial-grade kitchen from the back of a designer restaurant.
It had been a rough meeting from the sounds of it. The anger still burned from it. Mel thought t
he least she could do was to make him something to eat since he’d never gotten so much as a bite of that delicious soup. Surely, she could handle a simple domestic chore she’d not done for anyone but herself in years. But where to start?
She looked at the brushed steel wall that earlier she’d discovered to be a refrigerator, and tentatively tried to pry it open. How had she done it when she’d put away the leftovers? No, Maria had handled that part of things, hadn’t she? It took some doing to figure out how the thing came apart, and then only to discover it opened outer doors and then inner doors and then there was a separate freezer next to that…
She pulled out the leftover chicken and then thought better of it. The microwave looked way too intimidating even from here. But he’d need more than leftover soup, wouldn’t he? In the end, there was a package of hot dogs sitting in the drawer that she scooped up in a reflex of recognition. They were some ultra-healthy, chicken and no filler…whatever. It seemed to her that Alice did the shopping and Brant just ate whatever was put in front of him. More likely, Brant didn’t eat at home much. Doctors tended to grab whatever they could find when they had a moment to eat.
At least the range was remotely familiar. But then there were only so many ways to make a gas burner confusing. She soon had a pan of water bubbling along and slipped the hot dogs under the bubbles. She scrounged around but couldn’t find any buns, but there were frozen tater-tots and she laughed at the thought that a multi-millionaire would have something so usual. At least it was more filling than the soup which she’d finally relegated to the back of the fridge. Reheating leftovers didn’t feel as…special…as putting together the meal herself.
And she wanted this meal to be special.
With the oven baking them, the wieners on to boil, she had a mad impulse to run into the bedroom, find one of his dress shirts, and wear only that when he came back. It was an enticing thought, and had it not been for Maria…
