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Disorganization was one trait he’d gotten from his parents that he couldn’t seem to shake. It was almost ingrained. When they got involved in one of their schemes, record-keeping was part of the process and they didn’t do it well. Soon they had no idea how deep they were in financially and couldn’t put their hands on the documentation to figure it out.
When his father discovered the severity of it he would go out and get an hourly job. Then when the next big moneymaker scam came along his father would quit his job and devote all his time to building the new “business.” Sean had heard all his life, “This will be it. We’ll be on the road to riches this time.” That time had yet to come.
He’d left all he could of that behind, except for being unorganized. He needed someone good with written documentation computer skills to assist him. The sooner the better. He only had a few weeks until the submission must be flawless.
Ms. Marcum had done another superb job with the latest reports. She seemed efficient. In her last email she’d offered her assistance. Would she consider helping him out for a few weeks? There was only one way to find out.
Ms. Marcum, I have a proposition for you.
Sean chuckled. Maybe those weren’t the correct words.
Ms. Marcum, would you be able to come by my office around three p.m. tomorrow? I have an opportunity that I would like to discuss with you in person.
S. Donavon
Hopefully she would agree to their meeting and his need for help. He couldn’t allow her to refuse him. How was he going to get the work done if she didn’t assist him? His office staff was already busy enough. There was no time to hire someone else to handle it. He was reaching desperation level. Somehow he must gain her cooperation.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS LATE in the morning when Cynthia opened the email she’d saved for last.
She responded.
I’m sorry but I have another appointment at three. Can we make it four?
After a moment’s hesitation she sent the email out. She was tempted to rearrange her entire afternoon. She really needed this job. But Rick’s meeting with the scholarship council was too important to miss.
She didn’t have to wait long for a reply.
I have rounds at four. How about we make it five? I won’t keep you long, I promise.
S. Donavon.
Seconds later she typed: See you at five.
* * *
That afternoon Cynthia entered the glass doors of a modern single-story brick building. It was located across the street from the large multistory hospital in the center of Birmingham. A free-standing sign indicated the building contained Dr. Donavon’s office. It was late in the day and only a few cars occupied the parking lot. Most of the patients would have been seen and the staff was probably leaving for the day.
She’d only been here one other time when she’d signed her employment papers. Transcribers worked behind the scenes and Cynthia liked it that way. She didn’t have to leave home and that suited her lifestyle perfectly. That way she was able to work her schedule around her brothers’ needs. It was highly unusual for a doctor to call her to his office. So why was Dr. Donavon doing so now?
Doctors’ pictures were usually posted on their websites but she’d made it a point not to look for Dr. Donavon’s because she didn’t want to ruin her fantasy image of him. His appearance didn’t matter anyway; this certainly wasn’t a social call.
With a flutter of trepidation in her belly, she stepped to the reception window. Would she be disappointed when she saw him? The young woman with platinum blond hair and bright red fingernails behind the glass looked at her. She asked with an edge to her voice, “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Dr. Donavon,” Cynthia said in a firm tone.
The woman looked down her nose at her as if Cynthia had requested the impossible. “Is he expecting you?”
“Yes. I’m Cynthia Marcum. The transcriptionist. He told me to be here at five.”
“Let me see if he’s still here.” She picked up the phone and spoke to the person on the other end. Putting it down, she said briskly, “He’ll be right out. Just have a seat.”
Cynthia did as she suggested. She studied the functional room containing metal chairs and a few end tables. There was a magazine rack on the wall and a fake potted plant in the corner. It was quiet and there was only a lone overhead light on. Minutes later the woman switched off the lights over her desk, came out from behind it and headed out of the front door without a glance in Cynthia’s direction.
Was she alone in the building with just Dr. Donavon? What did she really know about the man? Even doctors could be ax murderers. She should have said no to meeting him after-hours. Waited until morning. She hoped she was a good judge of character even if her decision was based on emails alone. Shaking the idea off, she nervously shifted in her chair. She’d been so caught up in her fantasy she hadn’t been thinking straight. Now she was letting her nerves get the better of her. Surely there was someone else in the office as well.
Cynthia watched the minute hand move for five agonizingly slow minutes before sounds of footsteps coming in her direction caught her attention.
What did he look like? The flutter increased, along with her curiosity. Steps grew closer. The quivering grew to a swirling. She felt as if she were going to meet her favorite rock star. After the way she’d pictured him maybe she was.
Cynthia shook her head and glanced at the ceiling to regain rational thought. She stood. No one could be that good-looking no matter how wonderful his voice was.
She was wrong. On both counts. The man towering over her was at least six feet tall. With dark hair and crystal-blue eyes, he would make any woman swoon. The fact he still wore a white lab coat over a blue-checked button-down shirt and tan pants didn’t hurt his look of authority. He was glossy-magazine-front-cover gorgeous!
Her breath caught as she stared. His looks matched his voice and then some. And she was making a fool of herself right in front of him.
He smiled while giving her an odd look. “Ms. Marcum?”
Cynthia let out the breath she’d been holding. When had she ever been so focused on someone’s looks? She wasn’t that shallow. Still this man had her gaping at him. She needed to find a flaw if she was going to regain her sanity. She croaked, “Yes.” Then cleared her throat and continued. “Please call me Cynthia. I’m not much on formal names.”
“Good. Come with me. We can talk in my office.”
He started down the hall. When she didn’t follow immediately he stopped and looked at her. “Ms. Marcum. Cynthia?”
“I’m sorry. I’m coming.” She needed to get control. Stop embarrassing herself.
She followed him along a hall with exam rooms on both sides. She saw a nurse standing at a counter at the end of the hall. With relief, she saw they weren’t alone after all.
He stood beside an open doorway, inviting her to enter by extending a hand. He joined her, making the area suddenly feel small. Moving behind a desk that had seen better days and was piled high with paper stacks, he remained on his feet. Positioned on her side of the desk was a straight-backed wooden chair that reminded her of one in the library of her elementary school and appeared just as in
viting.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Cynthia. Please have a seat.” He took the chair on squeaky wheels behind his desk. It was by no means the latest model either.
Cynthia sat, then glanced around. This might be the saddest doctor’s office she’d ever seen. She’d envisioned a businesslike area filled with books, which this one was, but it also had a feeling of neglect. Somehow she had expected more. Minimal yes, but not so outdated and drab. There were no pictures of a wife or children, not even a dog. No indication of a hobby. No curtains hung above the utilitarian blinds. The one lone lamp on the desk only added to the sadness of the cluttered atmosphere. The space was an enormous contrast to the outstandingly handsome man sitting in front of her. What had happened to him for him to keep his personal space so...impersonal?
Did his home look this needy as well? Didn’t he have a wife, a mother, or at least a girlfriend who could help him out with decorating? Every fiber in her wanted to buy him an antique desk and two tufted chairs. He needed her plant worse than she did.
Dr. Donavon cleared his throat and her attention returned to him. Those piercing blue eyes watched her closely. “You don’t like my office?”
He was observant. She needed to make sure she schooled her emotions from showing too much on her face. “I just hadn’t expected your office to look...um...like this. Sometimes I let my imagination carry me away.”
Dr. Donavon leaned back in his chair giving her a direct look with a small smile on his lips. “How’s that?”
She glanced around again. “I don’t know. I just thought it might not be so uh...” How could she say this without sounding critical? “Maybe have more chrome and glass.”
“I’m not really into chrome and glass.”
Cynthia gave a nervous laugh. “I’m not either. Please forget I said anything. You didn’t ask me here to insult your décor or to be your interior decorator.”
“My apologies as well. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You’re not what I expected either.”
