Doctor's Orders (Complete Series)

by Lilian Monroe

  “You work too much, Val. It’ll kill you, you know. All that work.”

  “I like it, Em, you know that.”

  “How you could like it so much is beyond me,” she laughs. “But hey, I’m not the best real estate agent in Manhattan. I’m just a boring old accountant, and lord knows I wouldn’t be able to do that for eighty hours a week.”

  I laugh. “I’m close to the top of the sales board this month.” I tell her. “If I’m the best I get a bonus.”

  “Oh, bonus shmonus,” Emma chuckles. “Who needs money, anyway? So I’ll see you Saturday at one. You’d better not flake on me.”

  “I won’t,” I reply. “I promise.”

  “Good.”

  When I hang up the phone, I feel slightly better. My vibrator may not have worked, and I’m still living an orgasm-less existence. I’m still mortified at my behavior in Doctor O’Neill’s office, and I’m no better off than I was before, but I’m going to see my best friend on Saturday. We can make each other feel better for both our failed romantic lives.

  If I know Emma, I know that being ignored by that guy is upsetting her more than she’s letting on. She probably needs this brunch as much as I do. She’s been there for me since I broke up with my ex, maybe it’s time for me to return the favor with a little support. I’ve been too caught up in my own problems this week.

  It’ll do me good to see her. It’s been a lonely week and my thoughts have been circling around Doctor O’Neil far, far too much. I probably won’t even see him again so it’s better if I just forget about him.

  I just hope Emma doesn’t ask for too many details about my adventures with “Girl’s Best Friend.” Knowing her I won’t get away that easy though.

  I settle back into my desk and glance at the sales leaderboard. Hopefully, come this time on Monday afternoon, it’ll be my name at the top of it.

  14

  Clay

  It’s finally Friday. The intercom in my apartment buzzes and Dave’s voice comes through the speaker

  “You ready to party?”

  I chuckle. “Come up.”

  I buzz him in and turn to the mirror by the front door to touch up my hair. Messy in the best kind of way. I’m wearing my best tight white t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. It’s casual but put together, just the way I like to be when I’m not in the office.

  Dave bursts through the door with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other.

  “I haven’t seen you in weeks. We’re going hard tonight, Clay.” He brushes past me and drops the bottles onto the kitchen counter, heading straight for the glasses and ice. Dave’s the kind of guy who feels at home wherever he goes. I watch him open up my cupboards as if he’s lived here all his life, and I take a seat at one of the bar stools that line my kitchen island.

  We’ve known each other since college, and he hasn’t changed a bit. He’s always been a party animal, but somehow kept his life together through medical school and has been very successful at his plastic surgery practice. He breezed through his residency and is making a mint now. Somehow things always seem to go right for him, he has a natural charisma that people are drawn to. I smile as I watch him pour us drinks. This is just the distraction I need.

  “So what’s been happening Clay? Rough week?” He leans against the counter and watches me closely.

  “Yeah, busy mostly.” I run my fingers through my hair and rub the back of my neck before he hands me a drink. I take a sip and the liquid burns as it travels down my throat. I like the feeling though, it’s pain and pleasure in a glass.

  “Come on, man, you’re always busy. Something’s bothering you. I can tell.” Dave watches me over the edge of his glass. He puts it down slowly, not taking his eyes off me. His eyebrow raises ever so slightly.

  He knows me too well. I grin at him and he shakes his head.

  “It’s a girl, isn’t it? Didn’t I tell you they were always trouble?”

  “Nah, it’s not like that. I mean, yeah, it’s a girl, but I don’t know, I can’t figure out what’s going on. I don’t even know her. She just came into work last week and I can’t get her out of my head.”

  He’s staring at me as he sips his drink.

  “Did you fuck her?” he asks bluntly.

  “What? No. She was a patient. I didn’t even… I was professional. But Dave, you should have seen her. She’s blonde with these legs, and her ass–”

  “She gotten under your skin, man. It happens,” he interrupts. We both stare at each other for a few moments until Dave starts shaking his head from side to side. He pushes himself off the counter and walks around toward me, waving his drink as he talks.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to down a couple of these drinks and then we’re going to go to The Rouge and find you a hot little piece of ass and you can forget about this chick and how twisted she’s got you. Yeah?”

  I laugh and raise my glass.

  “Cheers to that.”

  Dave swallows his drink in one go, and I do the same. As the liquor enters my mouth, I can’t help but feel less than enthusiastic about our plans. The thought of getting drunk and rubbing up against New York’s hottest singles just doesn’t seem so appealing tonight.

  But this is what I do. I pick up women and I fuck them and then I never call them again. There’s a reason for that, and the reason is that I’m moving and I’m going to be the best cardiologist in the country, and nothing can get in the way of that. This is the life I’ve chosen. It’s the life I’ve enjoyed, and the life I’ve worked for.

  I absolutely do not obsess over a woman I’ve met once in a professional setting. We didn’t even flirt! Unless you count one glance. Even the thought of that glance and her open mouth makes my cock twinge. I tip back my glass, downing the rest of the drink. I need to get her out of my head.

  “Fuck yeah!” Dave shouts and then pours us another drink.

  By the time we get to the club I’m definitely drunk. The taxi pulls up outside and we greet the bouncer with knowing nods. I look down the lineup at the door, glancing at the women waiting to get in. They’re all dressed in short, tight clothing and they all look good. Objectively speaking. I know they look good, but somehow, they don’t wake up that animal instinct inside me. My eyes glance from one to the other, all the way down the line.

  I’m looking for her, I know I am. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  A wall of pounding music hits me and Dave looks back with a grin on his face.

  “I need a drink,” I shout to Dave over the music as we push our way past a crowd of people. He points to the bar and we make our way to it. He orders us a couple of drinks and we turn around to case the room.

  There’s nothing less appealing than being in a loud club, surrounded by drunk people and flashing lights, when you’d rather be with one person in particular.

  I need to stop thinking like this. I turn around and ask the bartender for two shots. Hangover tomorrow or not, I’m not going to think about her tonight.

  Dave slides over to two girls standing next to us at the bar. I hear him use his usual pickup lines and the girls respond, giggling. The redhead is giving me the eye, but I turn my back and order another drink. She’s not my type anyway.

  Dave looks over at me and frowns. He nods his head to the girls and I know I’m messing up his moves. I order another couple shots.

  The night turns into a blur. I’m turning down girls that approach me until none of them even look at me. Dave has distanced himself, using my animosity to his advantage to make himself look like the Good Guy.

  I don’t give a shit.

  I’m drunk and I don’t care about any of these chicks. I’m not having fun. This was a bad idea. I need to go home.

  15

  Valerie

  Today is important. If my buyer likes this property, it’ll be a nice little commission for me and it’ll skyrocket me to the top of the office’s sales board for the month. It’s the month before performanc
e reviews which means I need to be on top of my game. Plus, who doesn’t like a bonus in their paycheck?

  Before I walk out the door, I look at myself one more time in my full-length mirror. My navy blue pencil skirt hugs my hips just the way I like, and my cream blouse is tight with a lace neckline. My blazer cinches at the waist the way I like it to and I’ve done my hair in loose curls and my makeup is understated and flattering. If there was ever a power suit, this is it. I feel fierce and ready to close this deal. I tug at the bottom of my blazer and spin on my heels, heading for the door.

  It’s 9:30 am, so I have more than enough time to meet up with the seller’s agent for the keys and then get to the property for the 11:00 am viewing. I’ll stop at that coffee shop across the road beforehand, as a treat to myself after a hard week. I always like a quiet moment before a sale to get my head together.

  When I step outside the sun is shining and I take a deep breath. This is good, and I can feel the familiar energy humming inside me when I’m about to try to sell. I love my job. I hop in my car and head to the other real estate agent’s office.

  “Chris, how are you?” I ask when I get out of the car. “Thanks again for the tip.”

  He’s waiting for me outside and shakes my hand warmly.

  “No worries, Val. It’s a stunner of a property, you’re going to love it. The owner has done it all up himself over the past few years and he’s done an amazing job. You won’t find anything of this value in that location. Is your buyer serious?”

  “Would I be here if he wasn’t?” I retort. Chris smirks at me.

  “Just had to ask,” he winks. I grab the keys from him and turn to my car.

  “You shouldn’t doubt me, Chris. They don’t call me the SoHo shark for nothing.” I grin at him.

  “SoHo shark?” he repeats with a raised eyebrow. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself, I think.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “I’d better head down there. All good for 11 o’clock with the owner?”

  “I’m just waiting on a call back now. He hasn’t answered his phone. We confirmed yesterday and there were no issues.”

  “And you’re giving me shit about my buyer being serious,” I say to him, rolling my eyes in an exaggerated motion. He laughs and waves me away.

  I make it down to SoHo in time to have that coffee. I savor it on the small chair outside the cafe, waiting for my client to show up. I pull out my phone and text Chris.

  Got that confirmation from the owner yet?

  A minute later my phone buzzes

  All good.

  I finish the last few sips of my coffee when my client arrives. He pulls up in his white Lamborghini, parking directly in front of me like the spot was held for him. Maybe it was. With Marino, you never know. Some people are just lucky. The driver’s side door opens and Marino steps out.

  He looks like he could be in the Sopranos, with slicked-back hair and a pale pink button-down shirt with one too many buttons undone. His neck is adorned with a gold chain, and his protruding stomach tells stories of rich pasta meals gone by.

  “Val,” he says with his arms outstretched in greeting, a million-dollar smile plastered all over his face. He swings his arm forward and grabs my outstretched hand in an enthusiastic handshake. Pumping my hand up and down a few times he smiles again.

  “Looking gorgeous as always, Miss Brooks,” he continues. “As I’m sure this loft will be. What’s this place like, anyway? You don’t usually drag me down here on such short notice.”

  “It’s not even on the market yet. I’m really excited about this one, I thought of you right away when I came across it. I think it would be a perfect little investment property for you.”

  We cross the road and head for the building. I fumble with the keys that Chris gave me, trying two before getting the right one for the front door. I force a smile at Marino and breathe a sigh of relief when the right key slides into the lock. We step through into a wide lobby.

  “So the building only has four units, and this one takes up the entire top floor on the third story. It’s been refurbished beautifully over the past few years.”

  I keep talking, pointing out features as we walk toward the elevator. It comes easily to me, talking and selling and keeping people interested. I ask open questions and make sure to seem interested in the responses. It’s a bit like flirting, really. You just have to make the other person feel good about themselves. Then, they’re all yours.

  We get into the elevator and I use the swipe key to get access to the top floor. The doors close and we start going up. My heart is beating unusually fast. I’m excited for this sale.

  Marino is one of my best buyers, always on the lookout for another investment property. He’s looking around with a knowing eye. He’s quiet, but I’ve come to learn that that’s a good thing. I’m glad that the owner confirmed the viewing this morning, Marino can be very fickle and I know it would have annoyed him to reschedule. But now, he’s here and I can tell his mind is almost made up.

  The elevator door dings and we step through.

  “It’s just through here,” I say, fumbling with the keys again.

  We’re standing in a short corridor with only two doors. One leads to a stairwell and the other to the SoHo loft that is about to propel me to the top of the leaderboard. The walls in the hallway are an old exposed brick, and the door has been painted a sleek black with a simple number “4” hanging at eye level. There’s only one key left to use, so I slide it into the lock. It clicks effortlessly and I open the door, getting out of the way for Marino to step through.

  “Ladies first,” he says with a wink. Never heard that one before, I think with a tight smile. I step through to a large loft space.

  Chris wasn’t kidding, it’s been refurbished beautifully. The nervousness inside me fades just a little as I look at the space. The exposed brick runs along the entire side of the wall, and the front of the room is floor to ceiling windows. Bright white sun streams into the apartment, showing off the sleek and modern decor.

  It’s a large open plan space with the kitchen directly to the right and a living area straight ahead. Everything is white, sleek, granite, stainless steel. Exactly what you’d want if you were buying an upscale loft in SoHo. Exactly my kind of place. I would love to live in a place like this, and I’m guessing whoever owns it is sad to see it go. I walk in and step aside, letting the property speak for itself.

  A few steps take me to the living area. I notice a few dirty glasses on the coffee table and frown. As I get closer, I notice an empty bottle of whiskey lying on the floor next to the couch and my heart drops to my stomach. So much for the property being ready for viewing.

  Anger is bubbling up inside me and I make a mental note to mention it to Chris. If I’m going to be bringing through my best clients, the property needs to be spotless. Anything less than perfection is completely unacceptable. And to have old alcohol bottles laying around as if there was some kind of frat party here? Do the owners know that this thing will be selling for millions? The buyers for these kinds of properties are turned off by the slightest imperfection, and it reflects badly on me as a professional.

  We walk around and Marino inspects the kitchen. He looks at me and nods.

  “It’s nice,” he says. He glances at the dirty dishes on the living room table. “And it’s…lived in,” he says with a chuckle. My cheeks burn.

  “Sorry about that, the seller’s agent confirmed it was ready this morning, maybe the owner was in a hurry.”

  “It’s no problem Val, a few dishes don’t take away from the look of the place. I could definitely turn this into a moneymaker. There’s a separate bedroom?”

  “Separate bedroom with a huge bathroom and walk-in closet. You’re going to love it.”

  We take a few steps toward the closed bedroom door. My palms are sweating and my heart is beating unusually fast. Typically people don’t leave their doors closed for a viewing, but this owner could just have different habits. Still, I’m m
ore nervous than usual. I take a breath and plaster a smile all over my face for Marino’s benefit. I turn the handle and step through the door in one fluid motion.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  The scene that greets me is not the pristine multi-million dollar bedroom I was expecting. It’s a disaster. My eyes circle around the room and take in the scene. Marino is close behind me and I hear him make a wordless exclamation under his breath.

  There are clothes everywhere, like someone stumbled home and took all their clothes off and left them wherever they fell. The bed is a mess. There are pillows strewn all over the floor and it hasn’t been made. The room smells stuffy and is dark with the blinds closed. I take another step in. The horror spreads from my stomach up to my throat as the blankets start moving.

  Someone is in the bed.

  I’m frozen still, watching as the person starts waking up. My shock turns to anger. I am seething. White hot outrage is ripping through me. Chris lied to me. There’s no way he got confirmation the property was ready. By the looks of it, the owner forgot about the viewing, got completely plastered and has been sleeping off his hangover.

  I’m frozen, waiting for this good-for-nothing hungover irresponsible owner to wake up and see us. I can’t believe this. He’s going to ruin this sale for me. I can’t even turn away to look at Marino, my eyes are glued to the bed. I clench my fists as I try to control my anger.

  Whoever is in it is moving a bit more now, clearly waking up. All of a sudden, he makes a noise and jumps up, sitting in bed looking at us.

  “Who the fuck are you? Shit.”

  My jaw flies open. It can’t be him. I can’t believe this is happening. He’s rubbing his eyes and temples, clearly very, very hungover. Finally, I take a deep breath and say the name that’s been at the front of my mind all week. The name that I’ve been vowing to forget. The last name that I ever expected to say in a situation like this.

  “Doctor O’Neill?”