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“Buffalo,” Derek says before standing.
“Ah.”
I pop a tender morsel into my mouth and moan.
“Good, huh?” Max asks.
It’s then I notice Derek has wandered off. “Where’d he head off to?”
“You know, Bedrock. He’s probably going to watch until he finds someone he can pound into the wall.” We both chuckle. It seems like yesterday when we met Derek here for the first time. He’d lost his wife after a tough battle with leukemia. I think it took him a while before he was ready to begin a relationship with anyone. He confided one night when we were all together here that while he wasn’t ready to date, he was quite ready to fuck.And fuck, he did.
Apparently, he was in a room next to Becket once he got his groove on. And from what Becket described, Derek gave a whole new meaning to the term pound town. He’d said it sounded like the bed would come through the wall at any moment. And that’s a mighty feat, given how much soundproofing Gianni has put into the place. Poor Becket said he couldn’t finish from laughing so hard.
Taking a sip of my scotch, I lean back in my chair and steel my nerves before diving into this uncomfortable conversation.
“Max, how long have we known each other?”
“Uh oh.”
“What?”
“You’re not like the others, Broadie. Slick Willy or Becket butter me up whenever they need something. But you’re a straight shooter. Come out with it.”
Scratching the day-old stubble along my chin, I decide to do just that. “I’m hoping you can help me. I need to email someone from an untraceable account.”
Max silently raises a brow at me.
“What?”
“Cut the crap. You have Russell Stewart on your team. I’m sure he could manage this. What’s this about?”
Stu has helped. I’m afraid to ask how he managed to get that form from HR Poppy completed. Yet, I need Max’s expertise to reach out to her about winning. This has to be flawless. And no one can accomplish this like Max can. “I need you to help me email someone that they’ve won a contest.”
The corner of Max’s lip curls into an undeniable smirk. “It’s that girl. Isn’t it?”
Our eyes connect, but I admit nothing. Why should I humiliate myself any more than I already have?
“What’d you do?”
Taking another sip of my scotch, I place the crystal down on the coffee table in front of us and share the details. I explain how I approached Brantly Martin with an offer he couldn’t refuse. I advised him that I was in no way interested in taking on the medical director position but instead offered to donate sizeable funds to sponsor three winners on an all-expense paid vacation. The giveaways were intended to boost recruitment and retention at the hospital, as it was sorely needed.
I made keeping my monetary donation anonymous a requirement of my offer. After his assurance that this would be possible, I reminded him that the purpose of this promotion was to get full-time employees excited about working at St. Luke’s. Focusing on the opportunities, versus anything negative. That it would be best not to make a big deal about the winners, but instead move on to the next chance for someone new to win. To keep the momentum going. I feel confident about this.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
The staff has seemed so much more positive in the last week. And they work hard. They deserve this. I’m well aware I’m a puppet master, trying to find reassurance in my manipulation. But I’ve replayed the hopeful look on Poppy’s face repeatedly. I stealthily watched her walk down the hall from the cafeteria to the elevators after getting her form. That optimistic expression made me feel ten feet tall.
“And all of this is a ruse to what? Get her to take a trip with you?”
Fuck. When he says it like that…
I clear my throat, feeling more than a little ridiculous at admitting this to him. “To go out with me.”
Max starts to choke on his Seven and Seven. “Okay, let me get this straight. Renowned surgeon, Dr. Broadie Weston, who could have any chick he wants, needs to con some woman into a date?”
“I can’t have anyone I want.”
“Name one girl here who’d say no.”
