Page 368 of The Doctors Will See You Now

“Understandable,” I acquiesced.

Normally, I would’ve shaken his hand and gone about my day, but something about him wouldn’t let go. I wanted to know more about him. And not just his job. “What time is it?” I asked, and he glanced at his watch.

“A little after five.”

“No wonder I’m hungry.” I slapped my hands down onto my thighs and grinned. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Huh?”

“To eat?”

“Uh…” He glanced around the room, confused. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t planned on eating yet—”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get your appetite on the way,” I said and stood from my chair with my briefcase in hand. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

“All right, then. Let’s go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“To dinner.”

Internally, I sighed. I’d been impressed by her willingness to accept the decision I’d made and move on. Most headhunters were relentless nags no matter how many times you said no, and I’d actually believed she was different—soft and forgiving of real human problems and circumstances and as pretty on the inside as she so visibly was on the outside. Fuck, she’s pretty on the outside.

Obviously, that was a ruse.

“Look, I really appreciate the offer of the job, and the time you had to take out of your day to come here and try to woo me, but as I told you, I have more here to consider than a salary and helping other people. My daughter is here. I’m not going.”

Her smile ratcheted up, and the creases of confusion at the corners of my eyes only deepened.

“Good. Let’s eat.”

“Ms. Hol—”

“Charlotte.”

“Charlotte,” I acquiesced. “I don’t know how I can be any clearer on this—”

“Nick,” she called, almost teasingly. The left side of my chest contracted at the friendly familiarity. “I’ve got it. You don’t want the job. But I want a burger, and based on the tired lines on your face and wrinkled clothes, you’re at the end of a long shift, probably without food, and you could use one too. So grab your wallet or your purse or whatever the fuck it is you carry, and let’s roll.”

“My purse?” I asked roughly.

She shrugged. “How would I know what you’re into?”

“I don’t carry a purse,” I assured. It obviously didn’t matter, but for some reason, it felt like I needed to deny it. I couldn’t quite explain the feeling of insecurity. Maybe I was just discombobulated by her lighthearted nature. For the last three years, almost everyone I talked to knew my past and carried it in every word, expression, and interaction they had with me.

The tiny hint of her breasts that peeked through the top of her blouse heaved, and sensation tingled in the tip of my dick.

Okay, maybe it’s not as complicated as expectations and tiresome interactions. Maybe it’s just my lower brain.

“Oh,” she hummed, turning to close up her soft-leather briefcase in the seat of her vacated chair, her blond hair falling down in front of her face in a cascade. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I agreed awkwardly. I honestly hadn’t made small talk with a woman that didn’t include aneurysms and traumatic brain injury in at least a year, and apparently, all of my parts—aside from my penis—and tools had a light coating of flaky rust. “Listen, I really don’t have to come with you to dinner—”

Her head flicked up, and her hair flared out in an arc as she did. “Would you stop trying to blow me off? It’s getting kind of insulting.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks at her offense. I hadn’t intended to make her feel bad. I’d just been trying to let her off the hook. Luckily, the heavy scruff roughening the line of my jaw would serve valiantly as camouflage.

“I’m sorry. Dinner. Sounds good. Where are we going?”