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Do I want to get married—again—in a gown that costs the equivalent of a month’s rent, or would I be more comfortable in my yoga pants and a slouchy shirt that hangs just off my shoulder?
And then there’s Archer… doeshewant to marry a chick in yoga pants? Has he always envisioned the princess gown and tiara and all that bullshit romantics think about?
“Doctor Mayet?”
“I can’t…” Folding my arms, I stop in the middle of the room and shake my head. “I don’t know how to decide.”
“Perhaps I could select one for you? Just to get us started.” She moves to the rack closest and gently fingers the silky fabric of a sleeker, less Disney gown. “This one is a sheath gown, Doctor, and will emphasize your long limbs and delicate shoulders. You stand at a lovely five feet, seven inches, which means this gown will make you look especially tall and slim. This dress comes with halter straps, but over there,” she points to another rack, “is a strapless option, if you would prefer to highlight your décolletage. Alternatively,” she releases the fabric and moves to the next, “you could consider?—”
“Do you have a phone?”
“Do I…” Surprised, she releases the dress and turns to study my face. “What?”
“A phone?” I look down at her black dress and the spacious pockets on the front.Pockets. Then I cast a glance along the row of gowns and wonder which one comes with those. “I left my phone back in my suite.”Lie! “I need to make a phone call.”
“Um…” Mary knows her boys, I think. She’s been with them since their infancy. So she studies me now with a quirked brow. “I believe I heard Mr. Malone mention something about keeping you away from work.”
“Well, Mr. Malone doesn’t get to control me.” I charge forward and slow only when the poor older woman backs up a step. Presenting my hand, palm side up, I challenge her. “Your phone, please.”
“Doctor—”
“Your phone.” I slip my hand into her pocket and steal the device with a fast swipe, then bringing it out in preparation to dial, I come up against a locked screen and huff. Turning it again and showing her my issue, a low growl works along my throat because the woman merely smirks. “Unlock it. Please.”
“Mr. Malone said?—”
“Mr. Malone is a pain in my ass, and he has no right to ban me from my phone.”
“He’s trying to save you from work?—”
“And in doing so, he’s controlling me in a way I do not consent to. Passcode.” I shake the phone and wait. “I won’t tell him I made my call. You won’t tell him. He won’t know, and so, the world will continue to spin toward oblivion and that man, that pain in my backside who thinks his behavior is romantic, won’t have his ego shattered.” I shake it one last time. “Passcode.”
With a huff of exasperation, she looks to the ceiling, almost as though sending up her prayers, then she taps in her code and drops her hands into her pockets in some kind of silent defiance.
But that’s okay, because I got what I want, and I have no particular beef with the only maternal figure any of those Malone brothers ever had. What I suspect started out as a kind of kidnapping-against-her-will situation, eventually led to a guardian who grew feelings for the boys she was to cook and clean for.
She was no doubt raped and abused by Timothy Malone the Second. Her life would have been hell. But old man Tim is dead now and yet, here she remains. Cooking and cleaning for the boys she grew fond of and attempting to wrangle a bride into a gown she’s not entirely confident about.
On that note, I turn the phone back my way and jump straight over to Google, since I have no way of knowing Aubree’s phone number off the top of my head. Typing into the search engine:George Stanley Medical Facility, Copeland City, I hit on the right contact at the very top of the page. Our website. Ourcontact usemail. My photo, and a spiel about my appointment as Chief.
Ew.
Shaking my head, I hit the number and bring the device to my ear, then I listen to the dial tone, counting three, four, five seconds before the line connects.
“George Stanley, this is Doctor Raquel.”
“Doctor Raquel?” Scowling, I bring the device from my ear a second time and check my screen. “Why are you answering the phones?”
“You’ve yet to introduce yourself,” she drawls, “and yet, I know that to be you, Chief. Are you seriously on a boat in the Caribbean right now andstilluptight? You always act like someone force fed you lemons for breakfast.”
And apart from Aubree, Raquel is my second-most insubordinate doctor on staff.
“How could you possibly know where I am?”
She snorts. “People talk, Chief. And I’m pretty sure Detective Malone told everyoneexceptyou where you were going. You were so resistant to leaving work for a week, he hardly even had to try to keep the secret. Your ears were closed anyway.”
“It wasn’t resistance,” I lie. “It was leadership. I have a facility to run.”
“Not right now you don’t. What’s up, Chicken Stick? Why are you working instead of cleaning white sand out of your buttcrack?”
