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We both rise as if hearing some quiet cue. I continue to stare back at him gritting my teeth. I’m holding back my real thoughts and feelings. I’ve done that for so long that I don’t know how to let go.
But I can feel them bubbling up. I can feel the anger that I’ve suppressed and the frustration as everything that’s happened in the last few months struggling to break free.
Then, it does.
“Shut the fuck up! You’ve lived a coddled, easy life, and you have no idea what it’s like to have no idea if you’ll have enough money to buy food for the week! And no it’s not my own fault, but-”
“Get a job!” Harrison practically shouts in my face like everything in my life would be solved if I had a desk to sit behind forty hours a week. He then turns away from me, and motions to a beefy man in a security uniform.
The guy heads toward me, and I see the steely look in his eye. I’m about to get kicked out, but I’m not going to get kicked out without kicking and screaming about it.
I cross my arms and turn to Harrison. “Aw, are you getting someone else to deal with your problems because you’re not man enough to deal with them yourself? It sucks when someone starts treating you like you treat them, huh? Well, I’m not that kind of woman anymore. Enjoy your night knowing that you’re a selfish prick.”
I give a false wave that is radiating anger, then grab my small bag and march out of the club. I can feel the security guard practically breathing down my neck the whole way.
When I see the cocktail waitress who gave me the low down on Harrison, I give her the middle finger. She bursts out laughing and mutters something about it working “every time.”
Once I’m outside, my shoulders slump, and I feel the cool, spring air wrap its fingers around me and dry the sweat that was starting to bead on my forehead.
Well, I hadn’t thought it would work, but when I saw him… I had to try something. Now, I just need to go back to the tiny shack I’m calling home and figure out how I’m going to keep moving with my life.
Harrison was right about one thing. I do need a job.
Chapter two
Harrison
After giving the difficult news to a patient that he has just been diagnosed with agraphia, I sit in my office and stare at my calendar of appointments for the rest of the day. I know I already have the next two patients waiting for me in private waiting rooms. On days when I don’t have surgeries scheduled, I’m usually meeting with a lot of patients and diagnosing their problems.
As a neurosurgeon, I tend to hate these days. It involves giving a lot of bad news, rather than surgery days which are long and hard but usually end well.
Monday will be a long day at the hospital, but today, I need to find some alternative methods of dealing with chorea, which is what I’m 95% sure the next patient has.
Breanna flashes into my mind from last night. Just the thought of her squeezed into that midnight blue dress makes my penis start to harden.
I know I’m already late for my next appointment, but I lean my head onto the back of my chair and close my eyes, reimagining our encounter.
Instead of her asking me for money just when we were getting to know each other, she matches my touch with her own, reaching between my legs and grabbing me hard to let me know she means business.
I can almost hear her leaning in and saying, “Harrison, touch me however you want. I’m yours tonight.”
But my sexy daydream keeps getting interrupted by her angry face as she yells at me and tells me exactly how little she knows about my life.
I have definitely not grown up easily, and my brother will testify to the same. We came from a broken family where we were shifted back and forth between two parents who didn’t really want us.
In high school, I decided that no one else was going to make decisions for me again, and I chose a high-earning profession, even though I had never particularly shown an interest in anything medicine-related before.
Here I am, earning a high six figures every year. It’s not the best job, but it has a lot of perks.
I scoff and shake my head, adjusting my pants to cover the slowly falling erection. Breanna has no idea.
My phone rings, and I’m about to click on the “do not disturb” mode when I see that it’s Lisa, the nanny.
I sigh and answer. She knows she’s not supposed to call me at work, but she’s been known to do it from time to time when she’s having trouble dealing with three-year-old Jaxon.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “I am just about to be with a patient.”
“I can’t do this anymore,” she says, and I can hear she’s near tears.
