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“Not yet.”
The elevator dinged with its arrival. She boarded it. He followed.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” she asked him, her eyes on the numbers above the door.
“Better than convincing this hospital’s most influential staff member that we need her to be on our side? No, I don’t think so.”
“Hmm,” she murmured. “Tell me, how much money is the hospital shelling out for you to spend your time harassing me?”
Such a smart-ass.
“Trident’s fees will show up in next year’s audit,” he said. He leaned over just as the door opened on the third floor, and said in a lowered voice, “And this isn’t harassment. It’s aggressive campaigning.”
She shook her head, that grin still on her lips. Drew walked in step with her as they made their way to her office.
“I literally have fifteen minutes to catch my breath before I have to make my afternoon rounds,” she said. She yawned as she sat behind her desk. “I was hoping to catch a quick cat nap, but I guess that’s not possible because of you and your aggressive campaigning.”
“You wouldn’t be so tired if you had come over to my place last night,” Drew told her.
She laughed. “I’m pretty sure I would be even more exhausted if I’d done that.”
“To sleep,” he reminded her, sitting in the chair across from her desk.
“Do you really think I would’ve spent my time at your place sleeping?”
“Yes, because that’s all I was offering you last night. However, tonight I’m also offering dinner.”
“Haven’t we had this discussion? All I want from you—”
“Yeah, I already know what you want from me, London. But I think we need to redefine this imaginary line that you’re not willing to cross.”
She hunched her shoulders and shook her head. “I don’t think we do. I’m pretty damn happy with things the way they are.”
Drew sat back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over his chin as he stared at her.
“What if I’m not?” he asked.
Her brows nearly touched her hairline. “Really? You seemed pretty damn happy Sunday night.”
“What if being pretty damn happy isn’t enough for me?”
She released a sigh. “Drew, don’t mess this up.”
“It’s dinner, London. A simple meal between fr—”
“Two people engaged in a mutually satisfying sexual arrangement,” she finished.
“Would it really kill you to think of yourself as my friend?”
“We’re not friends.”
“I want us to be friends.”
“Ugh. Please stop.” She dragged her hands down her face. “I want a nap.”
“London.”
“Drew, I can’t just tell myself that we’re friends after spending the past fifteen years hating you.”
